At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (28 page)

“’Tis not in my meek power to do such. You must be truly so. Ah, the music has stopped. Shall I bring you some ale? Wine?” said Madge. She held onto the king, though the other dancers had pulled apart. She willed herself to keep close to his person.

“Mistress, such refreshment would be most welcome!” said the king.

Madge went to the side table where ale, wine, sweetmeats, and various delicacies were arrayed with great decoration. A stuffed peacock, with all its feathers fanned out, created the centerpiece and the Confectionery, under the direction of Mrs. Cornwallis, had made one of the king’s favorite puddings. Madge put a few bites from several dishes onto one of the golden plates stacked for such a purpose and filled a mug with ale. She returned with these foods for His Majesty. She almost curtsied as she handed them to him, but that would have ruined his surprise. So, she simply acted as if he were Arthur and gave him no extra courtesy.

“For you, Master Robin,” she said. The king had taken a seat on one of the many benches the queen had brought into her apartments for the special entertainment. He motioned for her to sit on his knee.

“A sturdy chair awaits you, Lady Margaret,” he said, patting his knee.

“A fine seat I am sure. But, even though you be the famous Robin Hood, it would be unseemly for me to accept such a chair, however much I might desire it,” she said. Madge forced herself to look at the king; then, as the queen had instructed, she lowered her eyes.

“So you are a virtuous woman—’tis a fine thing to be. Tell me, how do you manage to keep your virtue in such a court?” said the king.

“’Tis not so difficult, Master Robin. Though some would take what is not theirs, most will wait for marriage,” she said.

“Rascals and varlets all who would steal such a prize! But must a lady always have a pledge ere she love?” said the king.

“Dear, dear Robin. The game of love is rigged against a woman. If she loses her maidenhead before she is wed, her name is no longer among the good. No man will marry her if she is sullied. There are no such punishments for men who live ungodly lives, giving in to their filthy lusts. No, a woman of good character must protect herself from all harm,” said Madge, leaning in close to the king so she could speak softly in his ear.

“Well spoken, lady. I admire virtue in women,” said the king.

The queen clapped her hands and the music and talk ceased.

“Now has come the time to strip away the masks of these gallants who have come to our gathering. See your partners!” said the queen.

The king immediately set his plate and cup on the bench next to him and stood. He faced Madge and with great drama, flung away his mask.

“Your Majesty,” Madge said as she immediately curtsied. The king pulled her up quickly.

“No need, lady, no need,” he said smiling.

“Your Grace, had I known ’twas you, my talk would not have been so free. Please forgive me any forwardness. I was so deceived, I began to think truly
was
Robin Hood I spoke to,” said Madge. She looked down, then cast her eyes back up at him.

“Lady Margaret, your king has found you all charm. You did nothing amiss. Would you now like to join me in the pavane?” said the king.

“Harry? Dearest Harry? Would you do your queen the honor of a dance?” said Anne as she glided over to them.

“Madame, it would be my great delight. Lady Margaret, I hope I shall see you again this evening. Thank you for the dance,” said the king, bowing slightly to Madge. She curtsied to them both and watched as they began the slow, stately dance. The queen was full of grace and Madge wondered how the king could ever desire another.

At that moment, Sir Norris approached her.

“Pretty Madge, may I have this dance?” he said in his oily manner.

“Of course,” said Madge, remembering the queen’s instructions to dance with all who asked. She smiled kindly at Norris, as though she had forgotten what had happened the last time they met.

“Mistress, I have not seen you since the unfortunate day in the forest at Wulfhall. I have been severely reprimanded by the king himself and he has kept me from you. He has exacted a promise that such thing will never happen again. I have given my word and asked his permission to speak with you. We are, after all, still plighted to one another and I would ask your forgiveness and seek your pardon,” said Norris. Though his words were pretty, his tone was such as to render them false.

“I thank you for your apology and, as a God-fearing woman, I will grant you pardon. Perhaps you can learn tenderness or perhaps time will change our circumstances. Whatever the future might bring to us, I forgive you and wish you well,” said Madge with as much warmth as she could muster. She noticed the king and queen danced nearby and His Majesty was looking at her. She smiled at the king and then laughed as if Norris had said something witty.

“Mistress, why do you laugh?” said Norris.

“’Tis nothing. Just a passing fancy—for a moment, I thought of the queen’s fool and a little joke she made the other day—nothing at all,” said Madge, still smiling at Norris.

By the end of the revels, Madge had danced with every man in attendance and four times with the king. She had followed every instruction the queen had given and noticed the king’s eyes did not leave her.

“You did very well, Lady Margaret. I know the king and he was quite taken with you, though he thought he was being discreet. But a wife knows. I am sure he will find reason to see you again. Remember, be warm and then cool. Make much ado about him when you are with him, but also allow him to see you at games with other men. He has already forgotten Lady Seymour, at least for this night. He did not dance one time with her,” said the queen.

“I shall do as you tell me, Your Grace. I hope all will end well,” said Madge.

“It shall. After the king has finished with you, you and Master Brandon will marry and all this will be forgotten. I will have my son and England will have an heir,” said the queen.

Twenty-eight

By May Day, the court was abuzz with rumors about the king’s new love, Mistress Margaret Shelton. Her uncle, Lord Wiltshire, along with George, paid her homage as well as did Master Cromwell. Cromwell sent her a dozen dotterels while the duke of Norfolk bowed to her as he passed her in the corridors and sent her some shrimps and carp. The king had given her a strand of pearls on Easter Day and had sent her venison on another occasion. Her father, Sir John, had received monies from a small monastery and both her parents had been given some gold plate by the king, for the “solicitous care” of the princess Elizabeth. All was going as the queen had planned.

“Dearest Arthur, I do not know how much longer I can keep the king from my bed. Daily he pushes me, wheedles and cajoles me. I fear he has more experience in bedding than I do in avoiding,” said Madge as she leaned against Arthur in Cate’s room.

“I know, my love. You are walking on a wire. One misstep and we are all done for,” he said as he kissed her fingers, one at a time.

“Let us talk no more of such things. Let us be merry while we have the chance. Have you seen the book Wyatt carries with him these days? ’Tis a collection of writings by many lords and ladies at court. I have added a few of mine own jottings to it—just verses in jest, declaring admiration and love. Lady Douglas and John Clere make such amusing poems! I have shown it to the queen, thinking to delight her with the rhymes, but she is in no mood for such. Though she praises my progress with the king, she sometimes acts as though she hates me for it,” said Madge.

“It must be quite difficult for her, hearing from your own lips the ways in which the king woos you, knowing all the king says and does. Yet, she insists you continue. The king has been treating her with great public affection. He seems to love her still, if outward show be proved,” said Arthur.

“I speak of her goodness and her beauty all of the time. Until he puts his fingers to my lips and bids me hush. If I have his ear at all, I will do her what good I may,” said Madge.

“Let us speak no more of the king.… I would see this great work you and Wyatt have created. Can you get it for me?” said Arthur.

“Yes, ’tis easy enough. We all pass it back and forth, adding our jots and tittles. Perhaps I will write a secret love poem for you, something that only you will understand. A hidden code declaring our love,” said Madge.

“That, I would like,” said Arthur as he leaned in to kiss her. They were easy with each other now, their bodies familiar, though not as completely known to each other as they would desire. Arthur touched her face and then her neck. Soon his hands were on her breasts and she was breathing quickly. She could feel dampness in the usual place and a tingle sizzled up her spine. She had grown used to those sudden tingles. She sometimes wondered what would happen if she and Arthur continued their fondling and kissing, moving beyond their usual stopping point.

“Dearest … we must cease. The queen awaits me. I have been too long away from the prying eyes of the court. The king has asked me to hunt with him in the morning. I will not be able to escape until the afternoon, when His Majesty naps,” said Madge, rising from the pallet and straightening her dress.

“I shall be here, my love,” said Arthur, running his hands along her waist to her hips. He pulled her to him. “I cannot wait until you are mine! I will make you forget there was ever a King Henry the Eighth of England!”

“When I am with you, my love, I have no sovereign but you!” said Madge.

*   *   *

May turned slowly to June. The king often sought Lady Margaret’s company when he could remove from the dreariness of discussing important matters with Cromwell. He told Madge about these issues, though she cared not a fig for such disclosures. While he prated on about how Cromwell would have him now be friends with the emperor Charles V, the nephew of the dowager princess, Madge allowed her mind to wander to Arthur and the way he kissed her. The king explained why he still held out for a French alliance. He tried to make clear how the death of the old pope, Clement VII, and the election of the new, Paul III, had seemed at first heartening news. Paul III had made overtures to the king, suggesting that if he would but put away his concubine and return to his wife, he would rescind the previous excommunication. Madge immediately told the king that he was ruler in England and the head of England’s church—Pope Paul should humble himself to Henry, not the other way around. As she often managed, Madge said exactly what the king wished to hear and he became even more bound to Anne, if only to prove his own authority and majesty. And though Madge had very little interest in what he said, she was happy when she could give a response that helped the queen’s position.

But no matter what she did to bring the queen back into the king’s affections, the queen would undo her work in a matter of days. The strain of having only the king’s great appetite to protect her from her enemies played on the queen’s nerves. More than once, she screamed at those who would help her if only she could control her temper. First in a long line of those she offended was the duke of Norfolk, who had whispered that the king would reinstate Mary back into the succession if the queen did not bear a son soon. Madge was in the outer room of the king’s chambers when Anne rounded on Norfolk in full fury.

“To think, mine own uncle would imply that the Spanish bastard should be in the succession when Elizabeth is the only legitimate issue of the king is beyond my brains. Has he straw in his head? Dost he think Mary will love him because he hath turned against me, an anointed queen? Nay, Uncle, have a care! I can still bring down a knave such as you! Out of my sight! Out, wretched man!” shrieked the queen, laying many curses on the duke as he left her presence. The news of their quarrel rolled quickly around the palace and even the king showed sympathy to Norfolk, having himself been on the other end of the queen’s sharp tongue.

That first week of June, the king and Madge strolled in the knot garden. The weather was pleasant, with warm winds blowing fragrant scents from the roses and the bride’s veil. The king held his arm out for Madge, which she took with a smile. They walked slowly, as the king’s leg pained him, though the wound had finally closed and seemed to be healing. He led her to a secluded spot where they were completely hidden by high hedges. Nestled inside this green alcove was a stone bench. The king sat upon it and pulled Madge onto his lap.

“This is what I like—Pretty Madge sitting on my knee! The sun is shining, the birds building their nests—I feel young and ready to have that which I have desired for so long. What say you, lady? Will you now give yourself to me?” said the king as he kissed her on her cheek and forehead. His beard scratched against her skin, and she knew that later, her face would be irritated and red. She leaned against him, the odor from his person almost overcoming her. She thought of him without his clothes and how he might smother her with his mighty weight. And she thought of Arthur, how she loved him and how she wanted it to be Arthur who took her, his strong lean body hovering over her, love lighting his eyes. She did not think she could stomach bedding the king, but she also knew she must give in to her fate. She must do all she could to save the queen.

“There is nothing I should like better, Your Grace,” she said, as the queen had instructed.

“Then let us designate a time and a place. I have a house in London where we shall go. We will sail down the Thames in the royal barge at evening time—’twould seem innocent enough. Master Smeaton will amuse us with his songs—perhaps he would sing one of mine own, for I have often written of the great love I bear you. What say you to this?” said the king, his hands roving over her shoulders, her waist, and her buttocks. He kissed her, his thin lips firm against her full mouth. She thought his breath foul but forced herself to return his ardor. The queen had commanded that Madge bring their love to its culmination and she had sworn to do so. She traced Henry’s lips with the tip of her tongue as the queen had shown her. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her hand.