Philippa Gregory - The Boleyn Inheritance

“Oh.”

“Very pleased.”

I glance across at Lady Rochford to see if this is making any sense for her. She gives me a slight smile and a nod.

“He sent me a brooch,” I remind him.

He looks at me sharply. “Valuable?”

I make a little face. “Nothing to the sables that he sent Lady Anne.”

“I should hope not. But it was of gold?”

“Yes, and pretty.”

He turns to Lady Rochford. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she says. They exchange a small smile, as if they understand each other well.

“Should His Majesty honor you by speaking with you again, you will endeavor to be very charming and pleasing.”

“Yes, my lord uncle.”

“From such little attentions do great favors flow. The king is not pleased with the Lady Anne.”

“He sent her sables,” I remind him. “Very good ones.”

“I know. But that is not the point.”

It seems the point to me, but very cleverly I don’t correct him but stand still and wait.

“He will see you daily,” my uncle says. “And you may continue to please him. Then perhaps he will send you sables. Do you understand?”

This, about the sables, I do understand. “Yes.”

“So if you want presents, and my approval, you will do your best to behave charmingly and pleasantly to the king. Lady Rochford here will advise you.”

She nods at me.

“Lady Rochford is a most skilled and wise courtier,” my uncle goes on. “There can be few people who have seen more of the king throughout his life. Lady Rochford will tell you how you are to go on. It is our hope and our intention that the king will favor you, that he will, in short, fall in love with you.”

“Me?”

They both nod. Are they quite mad? He is an old old man; he must have given up all thoughts of love years ago. He has a daughter, Princess Mary, far older than me, nearly old enough to be my mother. He is ugly, his teeth are rotten, and his limp makes him waddle like a fat old goose. A man like this must have put all thoughts of love out of his head years ago. He might think of me as a granddaughter but not in any other way.

“But he is marrying Lady Anne,” I point out.

“Even so.”

“He is too old to fall in love.”

My uncle shoots such a scowl at me that I give a little squeak of terror.

“Fool,” he says shortly.

I hesitate for a moment. Can they really mean that they want this old king to be my lover? Should I say something about my virginity and my spotless reputation, which in Lambeth seemed to matter so very much?

“My reputation?” I whisper.

Again my uncle laughs. “That doesn’t matter,” he says.

I look toward Lady Rochford, who was supposed to be my chaperone in a lewd court and watch my behavior and guard my precious honor.

“I can explain it all to you later,” she says.

I take it then that I should say nothing. “Yes, my lord,” I say very sweetly.

“You are a pretty girl,” he says. “I have given Lady Rochford money for you to have a new gown.”

“Oh, thank you!”

He smiles at my sudden enthusiasm. He turns to Lady Rochford. “And I will leave a manservant with you. He can serve you and run errands. It seems that it may become worth my while to keep a man with you. Who would have thought it? Anyway, keep me informed as to how things go on here.”

She rises from her seat and curtsies. He goes out without another word. The two of us are left alone.

“What does he want?” I ask, utterly bewildered.

She looks at me as if she were measuring me for a gown; she looks me up and down. “Never mind for now,” she says kindly. “He is pleased with you, that’s the main thing.”

This is the happiest day of my life, because today I have fallen in love. I have fallen in love, not like a silly girl falls in love, because a boy catches her eye or tells her some foolish story. I am in love, and this love will last forever. I am in love with England this day, and the realization has made this the happiest day of my life. This day I realize that I am to be queen of this country, this rich, beautiful country. I have been traveling through it like a fool, with my eyes shut – in all fairness, some of the time I have been traveling through it in darkness and in the worst weather that I could imagine – but today it is bright and sunny and the sky is so blue, blue as duck eggs, the air is fresh and bright, as exciting and cold as white wine. Today I feel like the gyrfalcon my father used to call me, I feel as if I am riding high on cool winds, looking down on this most beautiful country that will be mine. We ride from Dartford to Blackheath, the frost white and shining on the road all the way, and when we get to the park all the ladies of my court are presented to me, all dressed so beautifully and warm and friendly in their greetings. I am to have nearly seventy ladies altogether, the king’s nieces and cousins among them, and they all greet me today as new friends. I am wearing my very best, and I know I look well; I think even my brother would be proud of me today.

They have made a city of tents of cloth of gold, flying brilliantly colored flags, guarded by the king’s own Yeomen of the Guard, men so tall and so handsome that they are a legend in England. While we wait for the king, we go inside and take a glass of wine and warm ourselves at the braziers; they are burning sea coal for me, only the best, as I am to be a member of the royal family of England. The floors are lined with rich carpets and the tents hung with tapestries and silks for warmth. Then, when they say it is time, and everyone is smiling and chattering and almost as excited as I am, I mount my horse and ride out to meet him. I go out filled with hope. Perhaps, at this ceremonial meeting, I shall like him and he will like me.

The trees are tall and their bare black winter branches stretch out against the sky like dark threads on a tapestry of blue. The park extends for miles, so green and so fresh, sparkling with melting frost, the sun is bright and pale yellow, almost burning white in the sky. Everywhere, held back by gaily colored ropes, there are the people from London smiling and waving at me and calling blessings down on me, and for the first time in my life I am not Anne – the middle daughter of Cleves: less pretty than Sybilla, less charming than Amelia – but here I am Anne, the only Anne. They have taken me to their hearts. These odd, rich, charming, eccentric people are all welcoming me, as if they want a good queen and an honest queen, and they believe and I know that I can be such a queen for them.

I know very well that I am not an English girl like the late Queen Jane, God rest her soul. But having seen the court and the great families of England, I think it might be a good thing that I am not an English girl. Even I can see that the Seymour family is high in favor now, and could easily become overmighty. They are everywhere, these Seymours, handsome and conceited, always emphasizing that their child is the king’s only son and heir to the throne. If I were the king and it were my court, I should be wary of them. If they are allowed to govern the young prince, to dominate him because of their kinship to his mother, then the balance of this court will all be thrown to them. From what I can see, the king is not careful whom he chooses for his favorites. I may be half his age, but I know well enough that a ruler’s favor must be measured. I have lived my life with the disfavor of the favorite son, and I know how poisonous is whim in a ruler. This king is whimsical; but perhaps I can make his court more balanced, perhaps I can give his son a levelheaded stepmother who can maintain the flatterers and the courtiers at a safe distance from the little boy.

I know his daughters have been estranged from him. Poor girls, I so hope to be of service to little Elizabeth, who never knew her mother and has spent her life under the shadow of disgrace. Perhaps I can bring her to court and keep her near me and reconcile her to her father. And the Princess Mary must be lonely, without her mother and knowing herself to be far from her father’s favor. I can be kind to her; I can overcome her fear of the king and bring her to court as my kinswoman. She need not say “stepmother,” but perhaps I could be as a good sister to her. For the king’s children at least I can be a great force for good. And if we are blessed, if I am blessed, and we have a child of our own, then perhaps I shall give a little prince to England, a godly youth who can help to heal the divisions in this country.

There is a murmur of excitement from the crowd, and I see all the heads turn away from me and back again. The king is coming toward us, and all my fears about him are gone in a moment. Now he is not pretending to be a common man, he is not hiding majesty in the disguise of a vulgar old fool; today he is dressed as a king and he rides as a king, in a coat embroidered with diamonds, with a collar of diamonds around his shoulders, on his head a hat of velvet sewn with pearls, and on the finest horse I think I have ever seen. He is magnificent. He looks like a god in the bright winter light, his horse curvetting on his own land, weighed down with jewels, surrounded by the royal guard with the trumpets singing out. He smiles when he draws near to me and we greet each other, and people cheer to see us together.

“I give you welcome to England,” he says slowly enough for me to understand, and I reply carefully in English: “My lord, I am very glad to be here, and I shall try to be a good wife to you.”

I think I will be happy, I think it can be done. That first embarrassing mistake can be forgotten and put behind us. We will be married for years; we will be happy together for all our lives. In ten years from now, who will ever remember a little thing like that?

Then my chariot comes, and I ride through the park to the palace of Greenwich, which is by the river, and all the barges on the river are dressed out in colors with flags flying and the London citizens are dressed in their very best. They have musicians out on the water, and they are playing a new song called “Merry Anna,” written for me, and there are pageants on the boats to celebrate my coming, and everyone is smiling and waving at me; so I smile and wave back.

Our procession turns up the sweeping approach to Greenwich, and I realize again what a country it is, this new home of mine. For this Greenwich is not a castle at all – not fortified in fear against an enemy who might come – it is a palace built for a country at peace, a great, rich, fair palace, as fine as anything in France. It faces the river and is the most beautiful building of stone and precious Venice glass that I have ever seen in my life. The king sees my delighted face and brings his horse alongside my chariot and leans down to tell me that this is just one of his many palaces, but his favorite, and that in time, as we travel around the country, I shall see the others, and that he hopes I shall be happy with them all.

They take me to the queen’s rooms to rest, and for once I do not want to hide in the private rooms, but instead I am glad to be here, with my ladies around me in my privy chamber, and more of them waiting in the great presence chamber outside. I go into the private robing room and change into my taffeta gown, which they have trimmed with the sables that the king gave me for the New Year. I think I have never had such a fortune on my back in my life before. I lead my ladies down to dinner feeling as if I am queen already, and at the entrance to the great dining hall the king takes me by the hand and leads me around the tables, where everyone bows and curtsies and we smile and nod, hands clasped, like husband and wife already.

I am starting to recognize people, and to know their names without prompting, so now the court is not such a friendless blur. I see Lord Southampton, who looks tired and troubled, as well he might be for the work he has done for me in bringing me here. His smile is strained, and, oddly, his greeting is cool. He glances away from the king as if there is some trouble brewing, and I remember my resolution to be a fair queen in this court that is commanded by whim. Perhaps I will learn what is troubling Lord Southampton; perhaps I can help him.

The king’s foremost advisor, Thomas Cromwell, bows to me, and I recognize him from my mother’s description as the man, more than any other, who sought alliance with us and with the Protestant dukes of Germany. I would have expected him to greet me more warmly, since my marriage is the triumph of his planning, but he is quiet and self-effacing, and the king leads me past him with only a short word.

Archbishop Cranmer is dining with us as well, and I recognize Lord Lisle and his wife. He, too, is looking weary and guarded, and I remember his fears in Calais of the divisions in the kingdom. I smile warmly at him. I know that there is work for me to do in this country. If I can save one heretic from the fires, then I will have been a good queen, and I am sure I can use my influence to bring this country to peace.