The Tudor Wife. Emily Purdy

may be, it may well be that I have been deceived!’ And with that he turned his back on Wyatt and stormed from the bowling green. Abruptly he stopped and spun round and went to confront Anne.

      ‘Mistress, you will explain! How haps it that trinket is in Wyatt’s possession and that he wears it upon his heart?’

      ‘Thievery,’ Anne answered smoothly. ‘The same manner in which Your Majesty acquired my ring.’

      For a long moment no one dared move or breathe. Anne had just called the King of England a thief!

      ‘As for why he wears it above his heart,’ Anne continued, ‘I can only suppose that were he to wear it around his waist, as intended, people would laugh; the effect is not quite so becoming without skirts.’

      Henry threw back his head and roared with laughter.

      ‘By my soul, Anne, what a woman you are!’ He offered her his arm and together they strolled back into the palace, all smiles and merry spirits.

      Watching them, George shook his head and smiled.

      ‘There is no one like Anne!’ he declared with pride.

      It was all I could do not to snatch up one of the wooden jacks and beat him over the head with it. I had a vision of myself doing so, so vividly real it was ghastly and made me feel sick with shame. In my mind’s eye I saw myself raising the jack, and bringing it down with all the force I could muster, and hearing his skull crack, and his voice cry out, pleading with pain, as blood gushed out, and I raised the jack and brought it down again and again and again, hoping and wishing with all my might that I could bash all thoughts of Anne out of his brain.

      

      By now the whole court knew that the King wanted Anne, and bets were being laid about how long she would resist before she became his mistress. But Anne herself only hinted at her true intentions, saying once to her sister, ‘You went first, but I aim to go further.’

      Even Queen Catherine knew. Always before she had stoically endured her husband’s infidelities, pretending that she did not hear or see. But this was different; Anne was different.

      One afternoon Her Majesty bade us join her for a game of cards. Obediently we sat down around the table. At her request, I dealt the cards. All continued amicably until Anne triumphantly slapped down a card.

      ‘Mistress Anne.’ Queen Catherine regarded her sadly. ‘You have the good fortune to stop at a King, but you are not like the others, I think. You will have all…’

      ‘…or nothing,’ they finished as one.

      Their eyes locked, Catherine’s intent and searching, Anne’s scorching with ambition.

      At last, Catherine sighed and shook her head, her gray eyes misty with sorrow and what, for just a moment, looked like pity, but it passed so quickly I could not be sure.

      ‘That will be all,’ she said quietly. ‘Leave me now. I am weary,’ she murmured, pressing a hand against her brow, her fingers rubbing as if they could erase the lines that time and worry had etched there, while her other hand reached for the rosary beads ever present at her waist.

      As we walked away Anne said, ‘She is as stubborn as one of her Spanish mules! Even a blind fool could see the King no longer loves her. Why doesn’t she just accept it and get the best terms while she can? Henry is prepared to be generous; he will allow her the title of Princess Dowager and love her like a sister—which is what she is—his sister by marriage. Why does she not give in? I do not understand her at all!’

      And she would not understand until she herself stood where Queen Catherine stood now.

      

      Henry’s next move was to dispatch Wolsey to France to barter for a French bride; while at the same time another messenger was, unbeknownst to the great and powerful Cardinal Wolsey, sent secretly to petition the Pope in Rome.

      Henry chose to keep Wolsey in the dark simply because he feared the Cardinal would not work as hard to bring about the divorce if he knew Henry’s intended bride was Anne Boleyn.

      When Anne learned of this she scoffed, ‘You all but bend your knee to Wolsey! Are you King of England or does the butcher’s boy wear the Crown? I thought it was the Chancellor’s task to do the King’s bidding, not the other way around!’

      Thus she brought the King around to her way of thinking, and Wolsey’s star began its slow descent.

       8

      While Anne played for a King, her heart would suffer another blow when Tom Wyatt chose to graciously withdraw from the field where he had battled Henry for Anne’s love.

      Ever the poet, he renounced her in a poem:

       Whoso list to hunt? I know where is a hind!But as for me, alas! I may no more;The vain travail hath wearied me so sore;I am of them that farthest cometh behind.Yet may I by no means my wearied mindDraw from the deer; but as she fleeth aforeFainting I follow; I leave off therefore,Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.Who list to hunt, I put him out of doubt,As well as I, may spend his time in vain!And graven in diamonds in letters plain,There is written her fair neck round about:‘Noli Me Tangere; for Caesar’s I am,And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.’

      I was there the night he stood up and recited it to the court. And I saw sorrow, true and deep, in his brown eyes.

      Their eyes met across the banquet table where Anne sat beside the King, who possessively rested one meaty, jewel-laden pink paw upon her knee. They shared a long glance of regret, mourning for what could never be.

      Though Wyatt had never replaced Percy in her heart, Anne truly did love him in her way. And, had he been free, I am certain they would have wed.

      When he spoke the last four lines, Anne’s hand reached up to touch the choker of diamonds encircling her neck, and a pained expression flashed across her face. Then it was gone and she cast her eyes sideways at Henry, who was nodding in approval at the words ‘Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not), for Caesar’s I am.’

      When he finished Wyatt bowed low to the sovereign, and Henry leapt to his feet, applauding loudly. The court, ever quick to follow the King’s lead, did the same.

      Only Anne remained seated and silent, then slowly she stood. I was seated only two places down and I heard her softly plead a headache and that she must go at once to bed.

      As she passed him, Henry seized her wrist and said in a voice that made me shiver, ‘Rarely when I hunt does the quarry escape me, no matter how fleet of foot or cunningly it hides. Make no mistake, Mistress Anne, I will catch you, and you will be mine!’

      Anne curtsied quickly and fled.

      Tom Wyatt’s eyes followed her as his body dared not do. He pressed a hand briefly to his heart as if it pained him, then he forced himself to smile and gave himself over to the congratulations of his friends.

      

      The clock had just struck midnight when Anne appeared at George’s door, huddled in her satin dressing gown and trembling violently.

      Wordlessly, he gathered her in his arms.

      Her words came out in a rush. A nightmare. Anne in a fawn satin gown running frantically through the forest, pursued by baying hounds, hoofbeats, and hunting horns. Then she was cornered, her back against a tree, and the King was there before her, steadily advancing, willful and determined, pressing into her, holding her fast, and lifting her skirts. It was then that she awoke, screaming.

      Murmuring soothing words, George led her to sit beside the fire. There was wine warming in a small cauldron and he ladled some into a goblet and pressed it into her hands.

      Both of them ignored me standing in the doorway.

      ‘I want to stop, George,’ she sobbed.

      ‘Then