At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (33 page)

For several days after her time with the king, Madge heard nothing. She had informed Her Majesty of the success of the evening, omitting the part about her own enjoyment. The queen was pleased but also jealous and Madge had to walk carefully around Her Majesty. The king then sent for her and, once again, he bedded her with great success.

*   *   *

The queen had planned a festive gala to celebrate the return of her brother, George, from his ambassador’s mission in France. She had purchased a particularly beautiful dress made of cloth of gold for the event. The bodice was cut quite low, almost showing the edge of her paps. She told Madge she intended to win His Majesty as she had done ten years earlier. She confessed part of what had attracted the king to her in those early days had been the attentions of other men: Lord Henry Percy, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Pierce Butler. The king liked nothing more than to best the men around him, winning at everything, whether it be at the lists or in the bedroom. Her Majesty decided to play the maid once more, encouraging the men around the king to enter her service in the fashion of courtly love. In this way, she told Madge, she hoped to lure the king back to her bed and get a son. Though she invited Madge to the homecoming of Lord Rochford, she insisted Madge wear a dark gray damask with only a few dull citrines and garnets sewn across the square neckline. The dress had come from the queen’s own closet, yet the fabric was worn thin in places and the color was dreary.

In many ways, since Madge’s affair with the king had become a liaison in earnest, the queen seemed changed toward her. Though she had done Her Majesty’s bidding, she often caught the queen glancing at her with evil looks. Her Majesty had little use for Madge these days, except to give terse instructions about how to keep Henry’s interest and turn him back toward Anne herself. His Majesty did not call for Madge often, perhaps once a week, if that. He was not driven to her bed as Arthur was. Madge found herself with time on her hands. She and Shadow used the days for hiking in the woods, to that secret place she shared with Arthur. He would meet them there and many a fine afternoon was made finer by love.

At first, Madge was bothered by the idea of having two lovers. Such a condition was not something she had ever dreamed might happen. She had intended to keep her virtue until her marriage, as the queen had instructed all her ladies to do. After that first time, Madge did not enjoy the king’s lovemaking. He did not take time with her as he had on their first meeting. Instead, he barely kissed her, entered her when his member was able, and did the deed quickly with little skill. Madge felt as if she were some common stew and steeled herself against the king. Bedding him became an act she must perform, but one which she could do while thinking of other, more pleasant things—like meeting Arthur later. She kept ideas about sin as far from her consciousness as possible.

Madge and Arthur often made use of the prayer book the queen had given Madge. Though she kept it on her person most of the time, in order to plan their assignations, she sometimes wrote a note in the margins, telling Arthur, in their secret poetic code, when and where she could meet him. She would then have Nan Cobham, a serving wench, carry the book back and forth, telling the girl Master Brandon was thinking of going into the priesthood. Since Nan could not read the scribbles anyway, it seemed a safe way to communicate.

On the day of the queen’s celebration, Madge was in the outer rooms with Jane Seymour, Lady Rochford, Margaret Douglas, and others. The queen and her brother had been in the bedchamber the whole of the morning, having great discussions about Francis I and his plans regarding the princess Elizabeth. It was to be determined whether Elizabeth would marry the dauphin or another of Francis’s sons. Madge could hear bits and pieces of the conversation when the queen screamed about Francis being a “popish devil” and a “cursed mongrel.” Lady Rochford and Lady Seymour sat in a far corner in quiet conversation while they embroidered something on luxurious satin. Madge brought out her prayer book and began to write the rhyme that would let Arthur know when she could see him again.

The queen and her brother entered the outer rooms without much ado and Madge had not seen them. She was still writing. Suddenly, her prayer book was jerked out of her hands by the queen herself, who stood over her, her face blazing.

“How dare you write idle poesies in the prayer book I have given you! Is it not enough that you write them with Wyatt and the others? I cannot believe you would deface God’s word with such wanton toys! Be gone! Be gone from my sight!” screeched the queen. Madge made a brief curtsy and left the room, her face burning. She wanted to retrieve her book, but the queen was in no mood to return it to her now. Madge had seen the look on Jane Seymour’s face when the queen dismissed her, a puffed-up gloating look. Oh, of all the women in the queen’s service, the Seymour wench raised Madge’s hackles. Lady Jane thought so well of herself and her family—and imagined herself, Plain Jane, replacing the queen in the king’s affections. Fool!

Madge stormed into Cate’s room without knocking.

“Maddie-girl, what is wrong?” said Cate as she looked up from her stitching, her mouth gaping.

Madge told the story and cried the tears of shame she had held back while the eyes of the court were upon her. Cate held her and patted her back.

“She is jealous of you, dearie. She can see your beauty outshines her own. Though I have never approved of our queen, I’ll give her this—she has the heart of a king! She fights for what she wants and does not give up! The folk of the castle have begun to change their tune about her—they know she is not to blame for all the burnings and hangings. ’Tis the king and his greed, that it is,” said Cate.

“I have done everything for her! Given myself to the king! It is not my fault he … he … cannot always…” said Madge.

“Shush, girl! No one should know that secret,” said Cate. “Now, how about some tea?”

Madge and Cate passed the afternoon, planning and talking about when Madge would be free of the king and allowed to marry Arthur. They spoke of returning to Great Snoring where they could raise pups and ride each day; where Madge and her parents could enjoy one another again, once they were relieved of their duties to Elizabeth.

Right before they were to go to the Great Hall to sup, a knock sounded at Cate’s door.

Cate opened it and immediately fell down in a deep curtsy. Madge looked up and then did likewise. The queen entered and bid them rise.

“My dear Lady Margaret, here is your prayer book. I wish to tell you how sorry I am to have lost my temper with you. My brother had disturbing news from France and, as you know, I am fighting to win back my husband. I fear my troubles made me not myself. I hope you know how I value the services you have rendered and the friendship you have given me since I became queen. I also hope I can continue to count on your friendship and love,” said the queen in a calm voice. Her manner was so sincere and gracious that Madge immediately forgave her in her heart.

“You will always have my love and friendship, Your Grace,” said Madge.

“And mine,” said Cate, though no one had addressed her.

The queen smothered a laugh and then hugged Madge. She left as quietly as she had come.

*   *   *

In the queen’s chambers, musicians played and people danced. Wine flowed and great plates of food were brought in. The queen had invited the prettiest people at court, a crowd of energetic youths who could twirl and leap like stags. Poets and scholars and singers and jesters and lovely damsels and handsome gentlemen roamed the outer rooms, laughing and talking. At the center of the evening was the queen herself, resplendent in her cloth of gold. Madge felt a bit dowdy and her clothing certainly did nothing to inspire her to approach any of the richly clad ladies or gallants who wore only the finest silks and velvets and jewels. She stood by herself in a far corner and watched the queen.

Anne was surrounded by her usual admirers: Wyatt was kneeling at her feet, intent upon reading her a poem; Brereton, the most handsome man in the room, stood behind Wyatt; Norris knelt on one knee, gazing adoringly at the queen; and Francis Weston manned the rear. This was the scene the king observed when he entered the room.

“Well-met, friends! Ah, the music is a delight—shall we dance, dearest?” he said as he cut a swath through the gentlemen to Anne. She curtsied and accepted his hand. They moved to the floor as the other dancers stopped and made way for Their Majesties. Master Smeaton began a slow, dignified pavane. The queen had lost none of her grace and the king seemed enraptured. By the end of the dance, he had vanquished the others and sat beside his wife, eating, drinking, and making merry. It seemed to Madge that Her Majesty’s strategy was working.

*   *   *

After that night, the queen invited the same group of courtiers to her apartments often. The king usually appeared at some point, saying he “knew where to find those who would spend good pastime.” Through the summer, the queen played him thus and Madge watched as she lured him, slowly, back to her. Though the king visited the queen often in public, he had not yet approached her bedchamber. Madge was there each night on the trundle, helping the queen prepare herself for sleep.

“I have failed you, Majesty,” said Madge, one night in early July.

“How so, cousin?” said the queen.

“Though His Majesty still comes to my bed, he stays not long after. I have little chance to speak for Your Grace. Often, he places his finger across my lips and forbids me to speak at all. I have tried as I can to fill his ear with good news about Your Majesty, but I fear I am having no effect,” said Madge.

“You are in Windsor Forest!” said the queen, laughing.

“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon?” said Madge, confused.

“Oh, dear—’tis a saying limned by Wyatt—we use it when we mean to say someone is lost and does not understand what is happening! You, dear cousin, have done exactly right. The king often fails with you, a young beautiful maid. I am certain such a fault has humiliated His Majesty—I have seen how he sometimes turns his head away from you when you are in the room. Such occasional failure will surely send him back to me—for I have known both his failures and his glorious successes. Already, he attends me more than he has done in months. And I do not see him going after the Seymour whore! I believe my schemes will bring him to me soon,” said the queen. “So off to sleep—by our wits we will be saved.”

*   *   *

By mid-July, the king had grown into the habit of calling for Madge to come to his bedchamber, quickly having use of her body and then sending her back to the queen’s chambers. He did not allow her to speak, nor did he show her any of his previous tenderness. As a result, she became colder and colder to him. One night, he sent for her in the early evening rather than in the deep of night.

“Lady Margaret, I have called you to my chambers this night to give you some bad news,” said His Majesty. He was seated at his table fully dressed and looked busy with affairs of state. His quill pen perched on the desk atop a pile of papers.

“Bad news, sire? Has ought happened to my family?” said Madge, suddenly filled with dread.

The king laughed his great, hearty laugh.

“No, no, Pretty Madge—no such tragedy. I wanted to tell you I will no longer see you. ’Tis no fault of yours, dear lady. But my queen has been wooing me back into her good graces and I mean to spend myself on her—I need to get a son and she has become a delight to me. I see how the courtiers flock to her apartments and how her beauty and wit enthrall them. I wouldst reclaim my wife, Pretty Madge. For the good of the kingdom,” said the king.

Madge struggled mightily to keep a grin from exploding across her face. She tried not to let the sigh of relief escape her lips and so was silent for a moment.

“Do not dismay, sweetheart. You must have known this day would come—I tire of women so easily it seems. And the queen has spirit and all the graces I could desire. You cannot expect to win me from such a woman,” said the king.

“Oh no, Your Grace. I am happy—for the kingdom—that you will turn your attentions to your wife. The country needs a prince and such I could never give you—but the queen has already given you one healthy child. A prince is bound to follow,” said Madge, curtsying deeply.

“You are taking this news well, sweetheart, and I am glad of it. I tire of women’s tears and tantrums. But my queen has been so gentle of spirit lately, it is my hope she will oppose me no more,” said the king as he took Madge’s hand and raised her up. He then kissed her cheek tenderly and led her to the door.

“Fear not, Lady Margaret. You shall see some benefit from our love affair—I shall find you a husband who will treat you more kindly than Norris—in time,” said the king.

“I require nothing from you, sire. But such a change would be most welcome,” said Madge. Then, she walked out of his chamber and down the corridor, her heart once again light and free.

*   *   *

As the princess Elizabeth’s second birthday approached, the king and queen were planning their autumn Progress, though the season was wetter than usual. His Majesty had told the court that he wished “to make myself and my queen known to my beloved people” and all the courtiers were to ready themselves. The queen was busy ordering new clothes for her daughter, as the child was growing quickly and, as princess, had to be properly attired. She kept Madge busy looking at fabric and laces. The queen spared no expense when ordering items for her child and expressed great joy to think the Progress would stop for several days at Eltham to visit Elizabeth, whom she had not seen for several weeks.

While preparing to go on Progress, Madge had little time for Arthur. Recently, his father had asked him to come home to Guildford Palace in Suffolk to help with the family farms. They met one final time before his departure. Nowadays, no one took notice of Madge’s comings and goings as they had when she had been the king’s favorite. She did not miss the attention—even Norris kept away from her once he saw the king no longer acknowledged her. Norris was ever aware of which way the king’s wind blew and followed it with gusto.