Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) (25 page)

"Oh Anne. You can't do that." George's voice
sounded afraid, and it unnerved her, that he would believe her capable of it.

"And why not? I don't care if I'm flayed alive or
burned after, for doing it, for it would give me great satisfaction at this
point. I’ve taken her slanders for months, and have had all I can stand by
now."

But for all her bravado, she knew she couldn’t stomach the
thought. Better to wait and see if her spirit could be broken, and perhaps
then, the country would settle.

By March, though Anne had not made any progress with Mary,
she could count at least one blessing. Archbishop Cranmer finally decreed her
marriage valid, and on the strength of this decree, Cromwell and Henry set in
motion an act that would abolish the authority of the Pope in England and
settle the succession on Anne's children. At least this could please her, for
her life had taken many horrible turns since the birth of Elizabeth. Sweet
Elizabeth, the one child she had borne now installed in a small homestead on
the outskirts of the city until the discontent settled.

"He's trying desperately to get everyone to swear to
the oath," she said of Henry to her court as they sat discussing the
matter.

"Is it true he has commissioners riding abroad to administer
it?" Marc Smeaton had been playing quietly on his lute, but now his high
pitched feminine voice rose above the sweet sounds of strings to catch
everyone's attention. Dear Marc, hopelessly in love with her. She was surprised
to hear the naive musician ask such a political question, usually his
conversation ran the lines of art and no more.

"Yes, he has," she responded, favoring him with an
answer and he blushed. Despite her marriage to Henry, it felt good to be
attractive still, even though the last miscarriage had aged her more than the
stress of disappointing the King.

"Every adult in the kingdom must kiss the bible or some
holy relic and swear to maintain the act," she explained, looking directly
into his turquoise eyes. But while the act itself made her look secure, Henry's
passion had dwindled ’til he could barely look at her. And her fits of anger
and weeping confused him so that he could barely speak. She knew it, that he
avoided her because he couldn't handle her, couldn't understand the sorrow of
each tiny rotted corpse. All he could discern was her failure, not the agony
she bore each time a babe was thrust from her body, unwanted. Her direct stare
emboldened Marc, and his response tore her mind from her children.

"I also hear he plans to charge treason against any who
speak against you or your children, my Queen. And well, I think him right to do
so." She smiled and so did he.

"Why, it’s good to know I have such a loyal
supporter."

"You have many loyal supporters, sister," George
broke in, motioning for Marc to continue his playing. The sounds of the strings
once again emphasized the conversation. But Marc's eyes never left her face,
and she shifted uncomfortably.

"And many who don't will go the way of Bishop Fisher
and Sir Thomas More," George continued, and she could have kissed him for
the way he gazed around the room daring anyone to disagree or to step forward
against his sister. But of course, no one did. This court was entirely hers and
she kept close to the only people she knew would uphold her claim. Francois
Weston, beautiful man with a heart so solid for Henry, he would agree to a dog
as Queen. Hal Norris, pale sickly looking fellow with a determination that
rivaled her own, the only palace official allowed inside Henry’s bedchamber. And
George. All members of Henry's privy chamber and close to his heart, and hers.
Marc the lutenist, low-born commoner who excelled in court because of his
superb abilities, Mary, her sister.

She knew though, that this small court was only a tiny part
of the needed support. The rest of the kingdom still clung to Catherine's
claim, though not publicly anymore, fearing recriminations from Henry. And this
uncertainty along with the bubbling discontent in the country put her nerves on
end. There had to be another way to strengthen her position. Henry's threats
might force agreement, but subterfuge might overthrow even that.

"I pity Fisher," she said aloud.

"I'm certain everyone thinks imprisonment a harsh
treatment for refusal to swear. And indeed, I wish it didn't have to go so
far." Mumble of agreement from the court, and she continued.

"Perhaps there's yet time to salve the situation."

"I hope so," said Francois, who rubbed his hands
over the brazier. The March air still needed some heat to make it comfortable.

"The King has been in an awful temper, cursing all the
bother." His long fingers turned rosy with the heat. It sounded eerie to
her, and echoed her worries. She caught sight of her brother's eye, and he
winked at her comfortingly.

"Let's hear that horrible ballad again, Marc. I'm sure
our Queen will have aught to say of it," he said. Light sounds of strings
stirred on the cool air, Marc’s high voice held the room’s attention.
When
the tower is white and another place green Then shall be burned 2 or 3 bishops
and a Queen And after all this has passed We shall have a merry world.
The
song was done in mimic, indicating his thoughts on the concept, and the whole
assembly took to laughing, but Anne did not. Yet another mention of her death?
How many had there been in the eight years?

"If it’s to be a Queen, then be sure it'll be
Catherine." The bravado in her voice mollified even her, but as they began
to laugh at the caustic reply, she fled from the room pleading pains in her
belly. And indeed, the pains had begun to come, though she hoped from fear.

T
he next morning, George found Anne alone in her
apartments, staring mindlessly into the fire. A plate of food lay untouched on
the table next to the hearth. He picked about the apple slices, foraging for
the least brown, and finding one, shoved it into his mouth. It tasted musty.
Surely a swig of warmed wine would wash away the taste.

"Ho, Anne," He said searching for a drink.

"Have you breakfasted yet? My wife lies abed yet and
refuses to accompany me to the kitchens." She shook her head, strings of
hair stuck to her cheeks where some fluid from her nose held it, wet and slimy.

"Eh?" He put down the flagon he had just raised.

"What's wrong?"

She didn’t answer.

"Come now, Anne. What could possibly have you so upset?
Surely with the King's son inside your belly, you'd have plenty to set you
tripping with glee." He poked at her arm.

"There will be no sons." She whirled on him. Her
eyes were the same shade as the weak wine.

"The commissioners ride the breadth of England to force
the Islanders to swear fealty to a son I'll never bear." She pushed the
chair from her bottom and flung herself onto the bed.

"What is it, what's wrong?" He rushed to her. Her
back rippled like tiny waves beneath his hand.

"I've lost it!" She yelled, weeping harder, the
bed took a series of rapid, grief-stricken blows.

"Oh, no." He stroked her back. Rolling over, she
sighed.

"Oh, yes." A few more tears slid down her cheeks
and pooled on her chin.

"I barely carried it for three months, and last night I
knew it was dying. I felt the pains of its death even through my sleep."
He held his arms out to her. Her heart hammered madly against his chest when he
pulled her close.

"And all through this I must endure Henry's
infidelity," she blurted bitterly into his neck.

"How will I ever woo him from his newest fancy long
enough to get with child again?"

He pushed her gently away, and forced her eye to his.

"You must," he said.

"If the times are as bad as you say. Use what you have,
sister. You are yet beautiful and may still engage him. You have your
intelligence. Didn't you say you and he enjoyed long debates on theology?
Surely you can woo him with his favorite subject?"

"All and all, I can pretend not, I've not lost the
babe. He'll be able to tell. Is it not heavy in my eyes, for it grieves me so
on the heels of the last. My nerves are frayed with it." She shivered, and
he hugged her quickly.

"Perhaps he'll put it to motherly jitters and naught
else. Does anyone know of it?"

She shook her head. The fire popped lazily, and George knew
the sound would echo in his mind later as he tried to sleep.

"When I woke from the pains, I hid." She looked at
him then with a note of urgency.

"But it can't work, he'll never come to my bed whilst
he suspects I'm with child." He shrugged.

"Then you must tell him."

She harrumphed and wiped her eyes.

"Tell him the break with Rome and the near rebellion,
his unpopularity, has all been for nothing? He'll hate me and cleave to his new
love with fresh ardor."

"Mayhap I'll just postpone the confession, in the hope
I can get with child. But first I must put her away." She stood and
marched off to find Henry, leaving George to wait for her return.

Henry was in company of a court waiting eagerly for their
breakfast. He sat against a smoke-laden wall, his rotund face lit and shadowed
intermittently by the light of a torch just beside him. Tapestries provided
backdrop for his now heavy frame, while he provided backdrop for the very
handsome lady who sat on his lap. She looked rather familiar, and as Anne drew
closer, she recognized her as the one he had earlier sported with. She stormed
the remaining distance across the room, having to weave past the three or four
dogs who ran its' breadth. One, she kicked viciously as it snared her foot. It
yelped while she spanned the room in less time than it took for the surprise to
spread across Henry's face. She swiped a goblet from a nearby table, hurled it
at him, and struck the harlot instead. She grinned evilly as the handsome lady
leapt from his lap with the grace of a woodcock.

"Do I mean so little to you that you would shame me
before the entire court, my lord?" She didn't wait for Henry’s blood red
face to grow redder or blanch to white instead, but ranted on.

"You've been toying with me. Masquerading as a
concerned father whilst you love another woman save your wife. And I've allowed
it for fear the potency of my jealousy would endanger the babe. But
this..." She pointed a finger at the girl whose large eyes now grew round
like an owl's.

"This is past forbearance." Her face felt wet and
she touched the accusing finger to her cheek in wonder.

"Why look." She showed him what she had captured.

"You've broken my heart again, and whilst your son
still rests in my belly." Ah the lie came easily, she wiped her hand on
the empty stomach, held it there fleetingly as she thought of the mass of red
and flesh she had purged just hours before. A fresh wave of grief took hold of
her, and she wept before the entire assembly, furious that she should be
degraded so, and so utterly grief-stricken that she couldn't stop. And then
through the blur of rage and frustration, she felt the old brevity come and
with it a passion she hadn't known for weeks. With a quick spin she confronted
her rival and the blazing she felt in her eyes made the paikie cringe, holding
her hand to her throat in fear.

"Get out of my court, and back to whatever hovel you
came from. I have no need here of young harlots."

She began to advance on the girl with nails poised for her
face, but the corner of her eye caught Henry's quick movement. His hand
descended on her shoulder.

"She'll not leave, for she has committed no
crime." Plump hands tightened and squeezed. "Now to your quarters, my
good lady, for I should like to talk with you."

The indignity of having her orders countermanded gripped
Anne’s ire so that it wouldn't give in.

"As I should like to talk to you, my husband."
Anne spun on her heel to flee to her bedchamber. As she gained the hallway, and
the dampness surrounded her, she noticed a swarthy gentleman making his way
toward the banquet hall.

"My Lady," he said, sounding as if a laugh hid
just beneath the words. She held back a sob, nodded to him rather than speak.

"Have you naught to say, your Grace?" Thomas
Cromwell asked, a barely concealed sneer on his lip.

"Naught that would please you," she returned,
staring directly into his crafty eyes.

He held her gaze.

"Is that not always the case, my Queen? You’ve been
quite a demon as of late."

For a moment, she couldn’t believe he’d dare speak so to
her, but realized he did so because Henry allowed such slanders. Indeed Henry
had taken to taunting her before the entire court. The smugness in Cromwell’s
eye enraged her, replaced the anxiety. She glared at him for a full moment, trying
to force him to retreat before she did.

"Careful dear Thomas, for I’ve the power yet to relieve
you of that swollen head."

He gave her a tiny dry smile, and turned to enter the hall.
Anne let go the breath she had been holding. She barely gained her chambers
when Henry stormed in. She hurried George to hide, afraid suddenly that his
presence would infuriate Henry even more. And it was enough already that her
throat felt so tight she could barely breathe.

"Once again wife, you have shamed me before my own
court." Henry pointed a fleshy finger at her face. Hot streams of tears
smeared her cheeks as she swiped at them.

"That's a lie, for it’s you who have shamed me.
Parading your harlot to the court without respect for my condition, or my
feelings." She caught a glimpse of George behind a tapestry, eyes narrowed
in rage, fists clenched tightly to his sides. She warned him with her eyes.
"You know how jealous I am."

"Yes." Henry stroked his beard.

"I know of it, but I am a man as any other, and cannot
take my solace with you. I must sport elsewhere, for fear our babe will be
lost. Can you not see?"

"I see only that long ago, you would have had me during
your marriage to Catherine, and I fear you would throw me away as well, for the
love of another." The flutterings of her stomach made her want to vomit.

"Anne, that will never happen. For the babe that grows
in you will quiet this discontent. You'll see, the country will love our
prince."

She nodded shamefully, aware that she couldn't now tell him
the child no longer existed, and vowed to rid the court of the woman who held
prisoner any chances she had of conceiving again.