Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (7 page)

‘Anne, my love, you know this forest well. Where do you reckon to be the best chance of hunting down a stag?’ In truth, I had no idea which way to go for sure, but I was drawn toward a path ahead, which bore slightly to the right, heading deep into the forest. I turned, flashing a mischievous smile at Henry. I noticed how, as Anne, I lowered my eyes, fixing my paramour from behind my eyelashes before I spoke.

‘My Lord, I think you will find the best hunting to be this way!’ With that, I whipped around and brazenly urged my horse forward to a full gallop, hurtling down the winding track and away into the forest. I half expected in that moment to hear Henry’s thunderous roar call me back for my impudence. Instead, all I heard was a sudden crack of the whip, as the King let out a ‘Ha!’ and drove his stallion forward in hot pursuit, the sound of the hounds barking their delight as they joined in the chase.

It was a dangerous thing that I did that day, to ride so recklessly whilst perched so precariously in my saddle. But Anne’s boldness would always define her, and I admit that the adrenaline was exhilarating. The wind whipped past my cheeks, my full skirts billowed around my legs, trailing backwards over my horse’s hindquarters. Despite riding side-saddle, I felt sure of myself on my mount. I was in no doubt that Anne was an expert horsewoman and had been well taught in the art. She had been groomed for moments like this and shone brightly, eclipsing all. With the King on the move, the entire party followed us apace, but none could keep up with Henry and me as we sped along the forest track, mud and dust thrown up in our wake as we went.

Suddenly, Henry caught up with me and grabbed the reins of my horse, bringing us to an abrupt stop. I jolted in fear; perhaps he was truly angry with me and my brazen behaviour. However, my fears were just as quickly allayed, as he raised his arm again to halt the rest of our party. Henry then turned to look at me, placing his finger on his lips and urging me to silence. Letting go of my reins, he pointed ahead with his gloved and bejewelled left hand, indicating towards something lying ahead of us under the cover of the undergrowth. I strained in my saddle, trying to follow the line of his finger. Just a flicker of movement gave it away to me, although Henry—a superb huntsman—needed much less. A magnificent stag was some fifty metres in front of us, alone on the edge of a forest clearing. Our arrival though had alerted him to our presence, and he was warily eyeing our group, muscles twitching in his flanks, preparing for flight. Henry slowly reached for his bow and arrow, which was in a pouch at the side of his saddle. But at that moment, spooked by his movement, the stag leapt forward into the thicket. The chase was on.

In a fleeting moment, the King spurred his horse forward with an excited battle cry, the hounds baying for blood as they ran along beside us, streaming through the woodland toward their prey. Galloping at full tilt, I followed the King, as we ducked and wove our way at break-neck speed along the path, hurtling through the forest. The chase must have gone on for fifteen or twenty minutes before exhausted, the stag slowed its pace ahead of us. The hounds soon made up the distance, and swiftly brought the creature down, tearing at its flesh. Henry’s huntsman quickly stepped in, for the kill was too precious to be damaged. Henry, aglow with the adrenaline of the chase, jumped down from his horse to inspect the quarry. I could not help but feel sorry for that stag. Henry had pursued it to the point of its surrender, and I thought of Anne, of myself, being drawn to the same fate.

The stag was still breathing, albeit in its death throes. The King turned to a liveried huntsman who was close to my side and held out his hand, indicating that the man should come forth to finish off the beast. In response, the servant knelt close to the stag, unsheathed his dagger and with one swift motion, cut its throat.

As most of our number had also dismounted their horses and gathered round the dead stag, congratulating the King on his prowess and skill, I failed to notice that my father, Sir Thomas Boleyn had drawn up his horse on my right hand side. Some metres back from the fallen stag, we found ourselves out of earshot of the main party. It was the first time that I had been alone with Anne’s father, and I finally had a chance to see him close up.

Thomas Boleyn was a slim man of average height. Like Anne, he had an elongated, oval face, a thick mass of wavy brown hair, flecked through with grey and the Boleyn nose; long and straight. Most obviously, he shared Anne’s high cheek bones, but whilst they added drama to Anne’s face, they left Sir Thomas looking drawn; an impression that was only accentuated by his pronounced Adam’s apple. Finally, deep, chestnut-brown eyes reminded me of my sister’s. However, unlike Mary’s, I could see no great softness in those eyes, but rather calculating and shrewd ambition.

I estimated Anne’s father to be in his mid-forties, well into middle age by Tudor standards. Thomas was dressed head to toe in black. His doublet and breeches were made from rich black damask; the latter slashed at the sleeves, showing his fine, white linen shirt beneath. The doublet itself was fastened at the neck, the standing collar beautifully embroidered with blackwork. A brooch pinned on the garment at the base of Sir Thomas’s neck had a gold mount sporting a large ruby surrounded by diamonds. Finally, thigh-high, black leather riding boots were trimmed with silver spurs, and like the King, he wore black leather riding gloves and several gold rings studded with precious stones. As was customary for all the men, a dagger, this time with an ornately engraved steel hilt, was slung loosely from a sash at his side.

My father leaned forward, speaking quietly so that only I could hear.

‘What of the King? What did he say to you back in the rose garden?’ I nearly laughed! So my father did not yet know of the King’s intentions towards me. Henry meant it then, when he said it was a secret. However, this was my father, and I felt duty bound to reveal the King’s promise to his daughter.

Turning my horse, so that my back was partly toward the King and his party, I too spoke in hushed tones, my head bowed so that others were not able to see my lips as I spoke.

‘The King is seeking an annulment from Katherine,’ I noticed that I was not inclined to call her ‘Queen,’ preferring instead to use her Christian name. ‘He seeks a new wife and has asked me to be his bride.’ With those last few words, I raised my head again to look at my father whose face was breaking into an uncharacteristic, if not slightly Machiavellian, smile.

‘Is he indeed? Then this is the making of you Anne—of our family. It is our destiny to provide a lineage of kings.’ His eyes sparkled, as he busied himself calculating all that was to be gained by our good fortune. ‘I presume you said yes,’ he said with some irony, as if there could be no other answer; as if he expected no other reply from his fiery and headstrong youngest daughter.

Suddenly, I found myself both proud of what Anne had achieved—to be loved to distraction by a great Prince—and at the same time irritated that my father could be so blind to the dangers that I knew lay ahead. I realised in that moment that I had great affection for him, but was also aware that Anne did not entirely trust him.

‘The King said that this is as yet a secret. He has asked his advisors to explore the best way to approach the case. Katherine does not yet know.’ I turned my horse back to the main party. The servants who accompanied us were collecting up the stag, making it ready to be taken back to the castle. Sir Thomas then continued,

‘Tonight we will indeed make merry and celebrate without words. We will keep our own council until the King makes it known you are to be his new Queen.’ I looked back at him, holding my horse steady.

‘Father, think not that this will be an easy path. There will be many twists and turns beyond our current knowing.’ This I said from my knowledge of history. I wanted to temper his ambition and warn him of what lay ahead. Then I added, ‘Katherine will not go quietly. You know how stubborn she is!’ This too had come from my reading, but also strangely from a sense of personal experience that again welled up from within me. I realised that Anne knew this woman well. Not surprising, as I remembered that Anne had been maid of honour to Katherine for several years already. Of course, Henry had made use of this convenient position, affording the couple the opportunity to see each other more often; the young, charismatic mistress-to-be right under the nose of the older queen. In my modern life, I had some experience of being vilified as the ‘other woman,’ but never had I dreamt of what it might be like to have to live in close quarters with ‘the wife.’ This was not a recipe for happy families—but then again this was no ordinary family.

‘Anne, it is true, others will be jealous of our good fortune. The Duke of Suffolk for one, and there will be more; the Montagues, the de La Poles, those who are loyal to Katherine, as well as older families who will see us as upstarts, reaching beyond our station. But your Uncle Norfolk will see the benefits of this alliance with the King. With the leading nobleman in the land behind you, all will be well. When you are Queen and have borne the King his son, your position will be unassailable.’ A courtier came close by on his horse, causing my father to break off discreetly and talk to the young man.

I was exasperated. Mixed emotions weighed heavily upon me. On the one hand, I wanted to be in this extraordinary moment, basking in the love and adoration of so mighty and charismatic a prince. On the other, I could not forget what I already knew. I saw danger lurking where they saw riches; I saw enemies in every shadow, and I knew not how to change history. There was a momentum building that had begun to sweep us along.

Satisfied with the kill, Henry had remounted his horse, which he then manoeuvred towards me. As he approached I said,

‘Sire, I am clear amazed at your skill in the hunt!’ I did not lie.

‘Anne, sweetheart, do you remember the first gift I sent you; the young buck I killed in the forest near Greenwich?’ I smiled demurely and nodded. Henry then came right up next to my horse. Leaning over, the King whispered softly in my ear, ‘Then let the blood of this stag be spilled in your honour, a sign of my undying commitment to you, our love and our life together.’

Once more, he took my hand and kissed it gently, all the time holding my gaze with intense desire. I was struck by the contrast between the brute strength and savagery that Henry had demonstrated during the hunt, and the sweet tenderness he always seemed to bear toward me.

The King then turned to the group again. ‘The afternoon is yet young, my friends. Let us continue the hunt!’ Henry led the way, as together, our merry band headed off further into the forest.

I returned from the hunt, bone-weary and exhausted. Covered in dust from the roadside and sweating from the afternoon heat, I was uncomfortably sticky beneath the many layers of my clothing. When I reached my bedroom, I asked Bess to prepare me a bath. Slightly puzzled, for clearly this was not a common request, Bess and Alice set about the task with their usual quiet efficiency. I sank onto the bed, whilst the two women brought in a large wooden tun and lined it with linen sheets. Then running backwards and forwards, they gradually filled it with hot water from the kitchen. Hot bricks placed inside the tun kept the water warm, whilst Bess thoughtfully pinned posies of sweet, dried flowers and herbs to the linen, so as to infuse their heady perfume through the steamy water.

I could hardly move; I was so weary from the exhilaration of the afternoon. Still lying across the bed, I turned my head lazily to gaze out of a nearby window at a perfect sky. The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent, although its warmth continued to fill the air with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the fragrance coming from the climbing rose that clambered up the castle’s exterior wall. Hever had fallen into a quiet slumber. The lords and ladies of the King’s retinue, indeed the King himself, had retired for a couple of short hours before the evening revels were set to begin.

‘Mistress, your bath is ready,’ Bess said.

‘Thank you.’ I dragged myself up from the bed before each layer of my clothing was finally, and gratefully, peeled away. With the last petticoat removed, I found myself naked. With some amusement, I realised I was not wearing any underwear. Although entirely strange to me, clearly this was the norm, as neither Bess, nor Alice seemed surprised. I looked down at my slim, yet curvaceous body. Anne was delicate and well proportioned; her breasts were pert and whilst not large, were certainly full enough to please a man. Finally, I stepped into the bath and sunk down into the water. Bess knelt beside me and began to wash my back.

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming desire to be alone. In my modern existence, I lived on my own and was used to my own space. Since arriving in that strange and foreign world, I realised that I had not been left alone for one minute. It was something that I would get used to in the months ahead, but back then I had needed time and space to think. I turned to Bess, as Alice had already left the room,

‘Could you leave me, Bess?’ I said with a slight, consoling smile. Bess looked vaguely confused, but did not object. Rising, she bobbed a curtsey, and quietly left the room.