Secrets of the Tudor Court (10 page)

He stops at ten lashes. He is breathless but ever calm as he puts his belt back on. I lay atop the desk, weak, exhausted. Tears fall slick between my cheek and the wood surface. It feels slimy and at once I am filled with disgust.

Norfolk is busy behind me. How much time passes I do not know or care. I hear him call for a basin of hot water, a posset, and some salve. When all is delivered, set behind his door, which remains unopened until he is certain the servant has departed, he retrieves it and sits behind me.

"This should help," he says in an offhand tone as he dips a cloth in the hot water and covers the welts that have arisen like fat red snakes on my skin, pressing it carefully against my back with the same hands that just beat it. He holds the cloth in place a while, and when it cools removes it, dipping it again and repeating the process several times. I feel my shoulders shake with silent sobs. His gentleness in the wake of such violence hurts worse than any beating.

After the hot cloth is removed, he applies some salve. "There is no bleeding. You'll not have any scars."

"You think of everything," I say in bitter admiration.

He does not lash out as I expect, as I almost wish, so that he might end my pain forever and in it bring about his own demise. Again guilt surges through me. He is my father. I must honor him. I did not. I brought him shame. These are the results. Norfolk takes my hand and winds my arm about his shoulder, reminding me of the pain in my throbbing arm.

"Come, lie down," he says, bringing me to his bedchamber and helping me onto the bed where I lie facedown. "Leave the back open to let it air. Cloth will be hell when you do have to dress again." He informs me of this as though from personal experience, and for the first time I wonder how he was raised, who may have executed the same form of discipline on an innocent little boy. Who by starting a cycle of violence inadvertently gave him the right to continue it. "Drink this," he commands in his eerily gentle voice, handing me a goblet containing a hot posset. "It will help you sleep."

"Will I wake up?" I ask in a small voice.

He smiles. "Of course you'll wake up."

I squeeze back tears. I do not want to wake up.

A few hours later my eyes flutter open to the gentle shaking of my shoulder.

"Up now," Norfolk is whispering. The room is dark save one brazier. "To the maidens' chamber with you. The hour is late."

"No..." I murmur. I do not want to remain, but neither can I bear to face the other girls.

"Sit up!" Norfolk commands.

I struggle onto my elbow, then lean on my hand as I right myself to a sitting position. I am still too small for my feet to reach the floor, though his bed sits so high off the ground I doubt even his do. I stare at him in groggy helplessness. Everything looks so far away and distorted.

Norfolk laces up my chemise and dress. My back screams out in rebellion at being covered and I moan. Norfolk retrieves another object I dread; the hairbrush. At these ministrations I whimper. I am too tired to fear chastisement and he offers none, by God's grace. He brings the brush through my hair in swift, painful strokes, then sits behind me, drawing it into a thick plait that he arranges over my shoulder.

I begin to laugh. The sound is strange in my ears. It is the Howard laugh. A laugh void of merriment.

"What?" Norfolk asks.

"I was just thinking," I say, and wonder if it is the posset that makes me so bold. "Should your ducal responsibilities become too heady, you could consider court hairdressing."

To my surprise he chuckles, and as my laugh becomes genuine tears fill my throat and course down my cheeks. My gut twists and quakes as I pull my sobs inward.

He places my hood atop my head. "Now what have you learned, Mary?"

I lower my eyes. "I shall always obey you," I promise, swallowing my tears.

He nods. "Then there shall be no need to repeat this." He takes my hand and leads me through his presence chamber to the door. "Good night, Mary."

I dip into a stiff curtsy. My back is searing in pain. I turn and allow a guard to escort me to my chamber. I will not think of this night. I will obey. I will always obey. Then it won't happen again.

I have learned.

"Where were you?" Anne Savage, another of Anne's ladies, inquires as I trudge into the chamber and ready myself for bed. Her eyes bear a wicked glint, as though I may have gone where I'm not supposed to and she is hoping for the details.

I force a smile. "Talking to my lord father," I tell her. "We talked well into the night. It was the silliest thing," I go on, swallowing tears. "He made me tell him about everything over and over, just so he could feel like he was reliving it all."

"Funny," says Lady Savage. "I always thought your father was a severe man."

"He seems that way, I know," I tell her and am almost convinced myself. "But he is so gentle. He loves me very much."

She nods but her expression is sad.

The next morning a little silver box bearing my name is delivered to the maidens' chamber. Madge Shelton seizes it from the messenger.

"'Mary Howard'?" She regards me in awe. "A gift for little Mary Howard?" She sits on our bed. I run to her to retrieve it, but she has opened it, pulling out a little silver ring inlaid with a fiery opal. "Look!" she cries to the other girls.

"How sweet," Anne Savage says, admiring it.

"Come now, girls, let Mary see it," Mary Carey says as she retrieves the box and ring, handing them to me, her beautiful face wrought with gentleness. "'Tis her gift, after all."

I examine the little ring, the quintessence of daintiness. On either side of the opal the silver has been wrought into roses. I slip it over my middle finger; it is a perfect fit. I tilt my hand this way and that, admiring the colors the stone gives off as the light hits it from each new direction.

"What a fine stone!" Madge exclaims. "Such fire!"

"No," I say. "It is a rainbow. A captive rainbow."

In the bottom of the little silver jewelry box my eyes catch sight of a note. I unfold it and read the few words with care.
He who spares his rod hates his son, but he who loves him disciplines him promptly. Proverbs 13:24.
Tears fill my eyes. He loves me. He does. That is why he is so strict; he honors God's Word because he wants me to be the best I can be. Yes, that must be it. My heart lifts. I push away the cynical thought that he may just be placating me with a trinket, assuaging whatever guilt he is still capable of summoning, while buying my loyalty. Nor do I acknowledge for long the notion that by accepting this gift I make this form of discipline permissible. These are thoughts I push from my mind. I will not entertain the idea that Norfolk's gesture bears anything but the purest intentions.

I look down at my ring, the colors catching in the light; brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, greens, and purples, all shimmering against a pearly backdrop. A rainbow indeed. As God promised Noah not to punish the world with another flood, perhaps this is Norfolk's pledge to me; a rainbow to ease my sufferings, an assurance that there will be no more beatings if I heed him. If I am good.

I
will
be good, I vow. I will not contradict him. I will not be like Mother and hold true to convictions that serve me not; and if I do, at least I shall have the conscientiousness not to admit them.

As I regard my opal, my rainbow stone as I call it now, another thought strikes me: the beach with Harry Fitzroy and our rainbow, another promise of youth and beauty and brighter times to come.

I clasp my hands together and hold them to my chest, smiling. Norfolk could not have chosen a more perfect gift.

"Who is it from?" Madge inquires, cutting through my pretty thoughts.

"My lord Norfolk," I tell her. "Because he loves me so much," I add with a bright smile.

"A dear man, Uncle Thomas," says Mary Carey, her voice filled with irony.

S
o immersed am I in how to conceal my own pain that I do not realize Anne is changing. From Christmas through Epiphany, Anne moves a little slower. Though she laughs and smiles often, joking with her courtiers and ladies, keeping the atmosphere one of constant merriment, she is pale, drawn. She tires easily and naps whenever she can.

One morning I sit at her feet while she plays with my hair. She enjoys experimenting on my thick locks, as if I were a doll, but I do not mind. Her ministrations are nothing compared to Norfolk's; indeed, she is very gentle and it is soothing to feel a woman's touch. She is almost motherly, though she is only about twelve years my senior.

"You're such a pretty little girl," she says, which surprises me as I still believed she found my nose offensive. "It's that hair of yours. I will make you a good marriage; you can count on it."

"I thank you, Lady Anne," I say.

"A pity you're so small, though," she adds. "It will make childbirth difficult. You're delicate as a bird. It's from your father's side, I should think. He's such a little thing, himself."

I giggle at what Norfolk would make of her describing him thus. I imagine he would not be thrilled with the depiction.

"I am small myself, though," Anne goes on to say with a smile. "But endowed with a woman's curves. I think I'll do just fine." At this she rubs her belly, looking down on it with an expression of sheer joy.

I turn toward her, resting my hand on her knee, smiling. "Lady Anne...?"

She nods.

I throw my arms around her. "Oh, my dearest lady, I am so happy for you!"

Anne returns the embrace, laughing, then pulls away. "Thank you, my darling. You mustn't tell a soul." Her lips curve into that smile no one can imitate, least of all me. She places a tapered finger to her lips to illustrate her point. "Think, my dear little Mary. Soon you shall have a new cousin who will be the future king of England!"

I squeeze my arms about myself in delight. "Oh, Lady Anne!" I am beside myself with joy. This means that soon all this bother with the divorce from the princess dowager--Anne's pregnancy has cemented my view of Catherine as the princess dowager now--will be over, and we can celebrate the happiness of King Henry and his forever queen, Anne!

At once Anne's face darkens. She grips my upper arms tight, her nails biting into my tender flesh. "And don't say a word to your father. It's my news. I'll tell him."

"Of course, Lady Anne," I answer with wide eyes. As much as I am beholden to report to him the events of Anne's life, I cannot betray her in this. A mother, especially a queen, has the right to impart this happy news herself.

Her face softens, her smile warm and charming again. "You're a good girl," she tells me, stroking my cheek.

"I am?" I ask her, tears lighting my eyes before I can contain them.

She takes my hands. "You are. Now I want you to dress in your finest. Tonight you will accompany me and some of the other ladies to Hampton Court."

"Why?"

Her smile widens. It can never be called a grin, however. It is too well sculpted and perhaps not spontaneous enough for that description. "Another secret. The king and I are to be married tonight." She waves a hand. "You will witness it, along with Henry Norris and a handful of others."

I raise my eyebrows. "Then will it be over at last?" I dare ask. "Have you had word on the divorce?"

She shrugs. "It's as good as done; just a few more legal formalities." She clicks her tongue in disgust. "That stupid woman!" she says, shaking her head, and I assume she means Catherine of Aragon. She leans back on her chaise then, continuing. "Cranmer is still hesitating. He doesn't want to be archbishop because swearing oaths to the pope would compromise his reformist beliefs. But Henry will find a way around that." Her eyes are half-closed, as though she has just partaken of some decadent, satisfying sweet-meat. "He finds a way around everything. Soon we all will have what we want."

"I do hope so," I say with fervor.

In a burst of energy Anne sits up, waving her hands toward the door. "Out with you now! Go pick out your gown!"

"Yes, my lady!" I cry in delight as I scramble to my feet and head to the maidens' chamber, thinking how wonderful everything is turning out.

We all will have what we want, Anne said. I wonder what that means for me. As I make to my chamber I cannot help but question myself: what do I want? What would make me happy? Can Anne, this woman who seems destined to change the world, grant me happiness, too?

At Hampton Court we gather in the presence chamber. Anne is glowing in her white dress with its diamond-covered bodice and state jewels gracing her elegant throat. The priest mutters something about not being able to perform the service without a license, but the king, magnanimous in his furs and velvet, insists he has it "in safe keeping" and so the ceremony commences unhindered.

I carry my lady's long train, my heart light as I ponder her happiness. As they are joined in holy matrimony, tears stream down my cheeks. Handsome Henry Norris is compelled to lean over and squeeze my arm.

"Now, now, Mistress Mary, no tears," he says in his gentle voice. "This is a happy day."

"Oh, such a happy day," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. I can only pray that their days will always be so happy and filled with hope.

I do not think of Catherine alone in the North, cold and underserved. I do not think of her daughter, separated from the mother she so reveres because of Anne and King Henry's selfishness. I do not think of that at all. They are the past.

This dark-haired creature before me, my cousin, is the future. The mother of a prince. The queen of England.

A
nne's happiness over her pregnancy sends her into a state of such bliss that I find myself dreaming of babies and wondering when I, too, might be able to join the elite set of women who are fortunate enough to add "mother" to their string of illustrious titles. I will not be as my mother, the long-suffering duchess who does not enjoy her children but rather pushes us away from her one by one. I will be loving and kind and make sure they remain in my household, where I will hire the finest tutors to educate them.

All this I am thinking on one lovely spring day while the courtiers play in the garden, each so young and merry and filled with hope, when Anne exclaims to her brother George, "Women crave the most unusual things when with child. I know I'm in a mood for fruit--some pears, perhaps? Can any be found?"

George tilts his dark head back and laughs, then orders some fruit to be brought to the sister he adores and fawns over. It makes me long for my own brother, and wonder if such affection will ever be exchanged between us. Before he left to serve Harry Fitzroy, my brother was nothing but funny and sweet--the family prankster, hiding frogs in our beds and mice in our shoes. But now his loyalty to Norfolk obscures everything, even his fondness for me. Unwanted bitterness churns my gut as I recall his eagerness to report to Norfolk my innocent ride on the beach with Harry. What has this world come to if one cannot rely on her own brother? I blink back tears at the thought. Surely I can trust him. Surely he was just abiding by his conscience as we all must. I can hope.

Anne's statement about her craving to her own loving and loyal brother sets the court aflame in gossip, just as she intends. Her words are repeated over and over, and in no time at all it is common knowledge that not only is Anne with child, she is also married to King Henry.

My father, though not pleased at the precise order of events (he believes in marriage before children, but then he also keeps true to his mistress, so I decide not to use him as my moral compass), is more than happy with the outcome.

The four-year trial over the validity of the king's marriage to Catherine is concluded in March, and Thomas Cranmer is invested as archbishop of Canterbury. A proxy made the oaths to the pope in Rome for him (though Cranmer still wrote a letter of protest to the swearing of them), so it wasn't really as though Cranmer was swearing allegiance to His Holiness himself, which I guess reconciled his conscience to his actions with King Henry, whom he swore his allegiance to first. Before God, before country, before anything.

I wonder at the rightness of this, but only for a moment.

On the Saturday before Easter I carry Anne's train to Mass, where she is prayed for as queen and consort for the first time in public.

She is radiant. Nothing can destroy her happiness now; nothing can stand in her way. She is married, she is pregnant, and she is
queen.

In May, King Henry's marriage to Catherine is pronounced null and void. Thomas More, the former lord chancellor, protests this without reservation, a move I do not think to be wise at all. King Henry is too happy to think about his old friend, however, and I am glad that his words are, at least for the time being, ignored.

Pope Clement is another to object to the state of affairs, and without further ado excommunicates the king. This development doesn't upset the happy couple in the least. They are making their world, fashioning a religion that has no need of a pope or Rome, changing time-honored rules and traditions as is their wont.

I know now that Henry VIII is truly the greatest king to ever sit a throne. No one in history has ever changed so much in so short a time.

And all because of a woman. All because of Anne.

The coronation is a spectacle to behold. We are a fine procession of barges, each containing the king and queen's favorite ladies and lords, making our way from Greenwich to the Tower, then to Westminster Hall where my lady will be crowned. Her barge, once Catherine's, is beautiful and bears her falcon symbol.

We reach the Tower and I am itching to disembark. Everything is so exciting that as much as I want to enjoy the moment, I find the most pleasure in pondering events after the fact, when I can snuggle under my blankets with paper and quill, writing verse.

We are shown to the queen's apartments, which have been redecorated on Anne's insistence and are beautiful. We will stay for two days' entertainments and ceremonies to celebrate King Henry and Anne's great triumph.

We are lavishly entertained at the feast by the finest musicians and bards. The food is rich and savory; meats so tender they fall apart on the tongue, sauces so creamy and tasty that I close my eyes in rapture that I should be treated to such a decadent display.

I am so full and lazy after eating that it is an effort to dance. I want to sit back in my chair and think about the happy day, but know it is disrespectful not to enjoy every aspect of the evening.

As I take to the floor with some of the other girls, I become conscious that I am being watched. I turn my eyes to meet those of the musician Cedric Dane. He is plucking a lute and singing, his voice melding in beautiful harmony with a small group of others as they launch into a cheerful song about marriage and love.

I avert my head, my face flushing. He is far too bold, staring at me like a peasant.

When the dance concludes I make my way through the crowd in the hopes of getting back to the high table where I can nibble on some cheese as a distraction, but Cedric catches up with me. He sweeps into a bow.

"Mistress Howard." His voice is deep, melodious as his singing. "I have not seen you about in some time. Are you well?"

"Quite," I say in short tones. I try to avoid his startling violet eyes but cannot seem to look away.

"Seems our king and queen are in a thrall of delight," he comments. "The world is theirs for the taking--his, anyway," he adds with a half smile.

"What's wrong with that?" I ask, catching the note of anxiety in his tone.

"We have given him ultimate power," Cedric tells me in a near whisper. "In acknowledging his marriage to Lady--Queen Anne and putting Catherine of Aragon aside, the country is assuring him that his every whim will be met. His actions are without precedent. Do you think anyone will dare cross him now? I cannot help but wonder if we have been wise. Have we just set a lion loose in an arena filled with lambs?"

I shudder at the analogy. "The king is wise and just. He is the next thing to God on earth," I say as I have been taught to say. "If he is a lion, he is akin to the lion in the Bible, who lies beside the lamb in peace." The words seem empty. Indeed, Cedric's points appear valid, but I do not want to believe him. "We must remember that he has acted with good reason. He needed an heir for the throne."

Cedric's eyes are downcast. "Oh, Mistress Mary, tell me you have not been convinced that those of your sex are inferior to rule?"

I am about to comment that I am not sure. I have not been told otherwise my entire life. I want to ask him how he came to adopt such liberal views. I want to ask him why he insists on challenging my thinking all the time. I want to ask him why he is so kind.

But I cannot say anything for he has lightened the topic with a bright smile. "How is your song coming along--'O Happy Dames'? I have not forgotten it."

I bow my head. "I have not worked on it. You were so rude, after all--"

"I was not rude." He laughs. "I was truthful. Someday you'll come to appreciate it. Indeed, you'll find it refreshing."

I choose not to take offense. He is too likable. I offer my courtier's smile. "Perhaps what we see is truth enough," I tell him. "Like looking at a rainbow. We know it is an illusion, but oh! how lovely it is for that brief moment of its existence."

"You must remember, Mistress Howard," says Cedric, his tone still light, "that rainbows are transparent. Storm clouds lie in wait on the other side."

Before I can respond my eyes are drawn to another in the room, whose stare bores into me like a dagger. I shiver as I meet the eyes of the Duke of Norfolk. I look down at my ring, my rainbow, a symbol of such hope for me, now clouded by Cedric's cynicism.

I curtsy. "I must go now," I say.

"I have offended you again?" he asks with a smile.

"No," I say quickly. "Not at all. But I must go. Please. Do continue to entertain us. You are very talented."

I turn away from Cedric's puzzled expression to make way for the high table, but am caught fast by my father, who grips my arm, his fingers pressing into my flesh like the talons of Anne's symbolic falcon.

"Forgetting so soon my advice?" he asks in a low, smooth voice that one would mistake as almost cheerful if one did not know his meaning.

"Of course not," I assure him. "Master Dane was only discussing some poetry he is composing for Queen Anne. He was hoping I might be coaxed into collaborating with him."

"You shouldn't involve yourself in such drivel," Norfolk cautions, loosening his grip. "Words appreciated today can be used against you tomorrow."

This is true enough, I suppose. "I hadn't thought of that," I say.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Norfolk says as he guides me to the table.

He watches me the rest of the night. My heart sinks. My stomach is upset, whether from the rich food or his stern vigilance I do not know. My only reassurance comes from the fact that at least in the Tower he cannot draw me aside to beat me.

Anne proceeds down the streets of London, though Secretary Cromwell thought this to be dangerous, since public opinion of her isn't high, to say the least, but she does not heed. She rides through the streets to show them all that she is queen. She has triumphed over Catherine. She has won Henry and the crown of England.

"I shall
make
them love me," she cried this morning. She started the day in bad spirits. I imagine she fears the crowds and what could go wrong. It does not seem an impossibility that someone would try to assassinate her. She trembled and retched, but after taking some wine calmed somewhat and allowed us to finish dressing her in her violet robes.

Now through the streets of London we ride, met by tableaux depicting amusing scenes, and choirs of little children at St. Paul's Churchyard. We wind our way through the streets to Fleet Street through Temple Bar. Up the glorious Strand then, where all the wealthy have their grand houses, to Charing Cross; past Hampton Court to Westminster Hall, where Anne is feasted again.

Life is a flurry of joyous activity. I am tired but tingling with excitement. How breathtaking it is to be young and bearing witness to such wonders! After the feast, my head groggy with wine, I fall into a blissful slumber.

The next day I again have the privilege of carrying my lady's train as Archbishop Cranmer crowns her queen of England, setting the heavy, bejeweled crown of St. Edward upon her dark head. It is so large and ostentatious that her head looks weighed down, but she holds it high, proud.

She is queen. My cousin Anne Boleyn is queen!

I think the summer of 1533 is the happiest of my life. I am surrounded by ladies to play with, and court life is like a faerie tale. Bess Holland has been added to the queen's household and I delight in her warm, soothing presence.

I have turned fourteen and am growing a little. My breasts are small and high, sufficiently filling out a bodice to offer a modest view of my decolletage. My waist is still tiny and I have nothing in the area of hips; indeed, I am between woman and child now, but I am satisfied enough with my body to find it adequate.

Norfolk has been kinder of late. Perhaps it is because of Bess; perhaps he is more unperturbed in the aftermath of Anne's victory. It does not matter from whence the kindness comes, only that it is there. No more does he quiz me on Anne's every move. No more am I expected to report verbatim conversations that always seemed so meaningless and time-consuming, not to mention hard to remember. He does expect me to tell him about arguments the queen may have, especially if they involve the king, or of any other behavioral issues that he would not approve of, but other than that his stricture has been much relaxed.

When we move to Windsor for Anne's confinement, I am called to his apartments one night. I have not seen him alone since my birthday in June, an event, like most of my birthdays, that proceeded without gifts or acknowledgment, save a little tablet from Bess, faithful Bess, which I keep in my silver casket of treasures.

I am dressed for a picnic in a white and pink gown bearing a large length of ribbon that ties under the breasts and flows behind me atop a lacy train. My kirtle is also pink, along with the undersleeves that peek out at the wrists, and I wear little pink slippers inlaid with seed pearls. My broad-brimmed bonnet is also adorned with a pink ribbon, tilted at an angle I find to be jaunty yet sweet.

"Well, if you aren't the picture of summer. Pretty as a Tudor rose," Norfolk comments as I enter his rooms. As usual they are outfitted with an austere desk and sturdy, overstuffed chair. He sits in it now, regarding me with a smile--an actual smile--on his face.

I about choke in shock, unsettled and pleased by the rare compliment. I return a smile of gratitude. "My lord."

He rises and approaches me. I begin to tremble. I do not know what he wants--if this is some new way of beginning a lecture, or worse. His pleasantness is disconcerting. I do a quick review of my recent behavior, trying to recall if I have done anything that could incur his wrath. It is so difficult to predict what will set him off. But he does nothing of the sort. To my increasing astonishment he draws me forward by the shoulders, kissing my cheeks.

When he pulls away he is still smiling.

"How would being a duchess suit you?" he asks me.

My eyes are wide. My heart is pounding. So this is it. He has chosen a husband for me. My thoughts are racing. Who? Where does he live? Will I be sent away? Will he be kind? Will I know happiness?

Noting my pallor, Norfolk strokes my cheek and continues. "You are to be married to the Duke of Richmond in November. How is that? You will be the premier duchess in England; the king--the king, Mary!--is to be your father-in-law." His eyes narrow. "And if there are no male heirs there is a possibility..." He trails off. To voice such thoughts aloud is treasonous. No one would want to be accused of putting oneself too close to the throne; the consequences for such an offense are almost always death.