January 1540
The celebrations lasted well into the night.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi44IC54WVo
They were lavish; no expense had been spared. The feasting was nothing short of extravagant and every single courtier at the king's court had been presented with the finest of culinary experiences, with sugar plates and buildings, everything drizzled generously in syrup.
The wine was flowing freely, never a glass to be empty. The delightful colour of the wine stained lips red and the alcohol created delirium. Eagerly courtiers drained their goblets, eyes afire with merriment and hearts filled with mirth.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiOjvbELHJ0
Jewels glittered in the candlelight around every neck of every pretty woman, and later they would meet in the darkness in the gardens with a young man, where their hands would fumble and their mouths would meet.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgdNG4ZKCjl
It was a time for rejoicing, and if the king continued supplying them with wine, they were all of them content to stay for as long as he wished. The wine had already made victims of a few weak livers, and the Earl of Oxford had already stumbled into a corridor and nearly pulled down a tapestry as he clung to it for stability. Norfolk was sitting on a wooden bench, head lolling as the world around him was reduced to a blur. Cromwell watched it all unfold with amusement.
He stood proudly by the king’s side, a smug smile gracing his features as he watched the hall before him celebrating the marriage he had orchestrated. The King had married again, but this time he had married a German princess from a Protestant country, forming Protestant alliances against Rome and the Papacy. It was a clever move and Cromwell was practically euphoric. 870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaAYzJinARm
His gaze moved to the new Queen. She was, unlike the other Anne, gentle and rather shy. With fair hair and a round, kind face, Cromwell had instantly taken a liking to her. She exuded warmth and gentleness, with small, soft eyes that gave her an air of calm about her. He was confident she would be a just and patient queen, much like Jane Seymour. Above all he was confident she would please Henry, who seemed to prefer meeker and more submissive women these days.
Standing at Cromwell's side, Charles Brandon, the Earl of Suffolk nudged his arm. It was unusual; Brandon never usually afforded Cromwell a second glance, but tonight he was drunk and friendly.
"I'd wager you're...ah... you're inconceivably happy, eh, Cromwell?" He asked, blinking three times as much as usual. He could hardly get out a full sentence without stopping and thinking for the words, and his eyes were clearly having trouble bringing things into focus. Cromwell said nothing, merely curled the corners of his lips into something akin to a smile and patted Brandon on the shoulder. Brandon snorted and patted his hand. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and steadied himself before stumbling slightly down the steps platform. He mumbled something about going to find Oxford to no one in particular, and weaved through the crowd, disappearing into the sea of revellers.
Cromwell turned his attention back to the throne.
The new Queen Anne sat shyly in her smaller, less ornate chair of state, and if she was aware of Thomas Cromwell's piercing gaze, she did not appear to notice it. 870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0s0QL85xaZ
There were more pressing things for her to consider right now, her new husband being chief among them.
A quick, sidelong glance at Henry incurred a feeling of resentment inside her; he had grown fat, and the wound in his leg made him unable to walk when it was particularly painful. It made the most sickening smell when it oozed - as it commonly did - and everyone simply had to act like they could smell nothing.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZaDkOpDYer
She resisted the urge to grimace. She had been told he was athletic and handsome, but when she arrived in England she quickly learned that those reports had grown stale; King Henry had forsaken all exercise, piled on weight like a pig before slaughter and needed a walking stick to help him move. He was certainly no longer the handsomest prince in Christendom.
The King suddenly stood (with no small degree of effort) and offered his hand to her. Anne of Cleves realised with a jolt that it was time for the newly married couple to leave the drunken masses and retire to bed. She fought back a gulp of fear, and forced herself to smile.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFp6ctbE2Z9
She sent a silent prayer up to the Heavens, and rose from her chair, taking her husband’s outstretched hand.
It was the moment she had been dreading.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxCEhVsXz4q
She could think of nothing worse than having his weight writhing about on top of her the whole night long. Surely he would crush her! But she would have to smile through it - that was what her mother had told her. It would not be pleasant, but she would be Queen, and surely that was more important, wasn't it?
The couple were undressed by their bed servants and left alone. Anne was nervous; she doubted that Henry would be gentle. He probably didn't have a gentle bone left in his entire body. His enormous figure dwarfed her; she became convinced she would die beneath his weight, that his great fatness would suffocate her.
She lay still under the covers, and looked at her husband beside her. Her mother had not told her what to do at this bit, and Anne was expecting her husband to show her. She was entirely new to this, after all.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdkavnK46Db
He looked at her expectantly, and when she said and did nothing, Henry sighed angrily and threw back the covers. He dressed as hastily as he could and left, limping, leaning on his walking stick and muttering bitterly under his breath as he went.
She had, it seemed, displeased the King of England already.
“I like her not, Cromwell! I like her not!” The King fumed the next morning.
He had summoned Cromwell early, and Thomas Cromwell knew as the words left his lips that the question ‘And how was the wedding night, sire?’ was the wrong thing to ask. He half thought the king was going to start stamping his feet like a child.
“Your majesty, perhaps with time…” Cromwell offered. Henry stood from his chair and threw the goblet he held in his hand to the floor. Watered-down wine spilled over the expensive Turkey rugs covering the flooring, and as the red liquid seeped into the fibres, Cromwell thought that surely they would need to be thrown out.
Jolted out of his thoughts by the slamming of the king's goblet onto the small table, Cromwell looked back up at the king who had continued ranting without noticing Cromwell's distraction.
“I have been deceived! She is not the beauty in her portrait. She does not excite me, Cromwell.” He said coldly, fists clenched.
"Your majesty," Cromwell began after clearing his throat. The king held up his palm.
“Pah! Stop. Leave!” He demanded, his nostrils flaring. His cheeks had turned bright red - from the exertion of shouting, probably the most exercise he'd had in years - and a vein at the side of his forehead was bulging.
Cromwell bowed his head in respect, and left the room as the King continued to vent his anger. Cromwell inhaled deeply once he was out of the room and took a moment to compose himself, praying that the king would resolve himself to his marriage. If not... it didn't bear thinking about what would become of the lord privy seal.
February 1540
Anne Boleyn was alone. The mist outside had completely coated the land and she could hardly see past the tips of her fingers.
The sky was darkening quickly, and as she turned to head back inside, she heard the distinct sound of horse's hooves. As she neared the courtyard, she began to discern the shape of a horse and a rider. Through the fog, it was impossible to recognise her visitor, but once she heard his voice telling his horse to halt, it was impossible to mistake him.
“Thomas?” She called.
“Anne! Lord, I can hardly see through this fog!” Thomas Wyatt said with a laugh. She led him inside and got her first proper look of his face. His cheeks were red from riding and his hair astray from the wind. He was even beginning to grow a beard. He looked good with stubble, she remarked. He looked healthy. Happy.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhn7ccaXYOk
He removed his gloves as she led him further inside. The fire was roaring already, and she thanked silently whoever had lit it. She had not realised how truly cold she was until she felt the heat.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Anne asked Thomas as he settled into his chair.
“I come to bring news of court.” He said, taking gratefully the goblet of mulled wine handed to him by Anne's lady in waiting. He wrapped his hands around it, feeling the warmth wrap around each of his fingers. “The King has married again.”
“Oh?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. “I doubt that this one shall last very long.” She said with a shrug and a small laugh. "They never do, do they?"
Thomas laughed with her, looking down into his wine.
"Is there nothing more interesting happening at court? I want intrigue Thomas! Not marriages and the like, I want scandal!" She said, holding her hands to her chest.
"Well..." He began. Anne grinned. “The King does not favour Cromwell as he used to.” He said. Anne’s eyes widened and a fire seemed to ignite within them. Seeing that her interest was piqued, Thomas carried on with a sigh.
“Apparantly the king is angry with him. Cromwell pushed hard for this marriage and it is said that the King does not at all like her.” He said. He paused, and then added in a lower tone: “Apparently the marriage hasn't even been consummated yet.”
Anne’s jaw nearly dropped.
“Tom!” She scolded lightly. “How could you neglect to tell me something as exciting as this?”
“Because it is only a phase.” Thomas said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Cromwell will be the king’s lapdog again in a matter of weeks and this whole thing will be forgotten.”
Anne shrugged and folded her hands in her lap.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhRguDTEmxv
“Well,” she said smugly, “Any amount of difficulty Cromwell faces simply makes my heart sing!”
Only a few weeks later, Anne received a visit from Mary. She was more than a little disappointed when she saw that Elizabeth did not accompany her.
“Sister,” Anne said when she came outside to greet Mary. “Where is my daughter?”
“I needed to speak to you alone, Anne.” Mary said solemnly. She held out a letter.
“What is this?” Anne asked, taking the paper cautiously. Mary bit her lip.
“I fear you will not like it.” She said shortly. “It is a letter from Elizabeth.”
Anne furrowed her eyebrows.
"Why should I not like to receive a letter from my daughter?” She said, unfolding the paper, scanning the page swiftly with her eyes.
“Because it is to her father.” Mary said softly. Anne nodded slowly, understanding dawning on her. Her daughter didn't write to her, but instead wrote to her father. The father that had abandoned her, cast her aside like an old toy. The child wrote to him instead of the mother that loved her so dearly she would commit treason for her.
“I see.” She said quietly.
“She wishes to meet the new Queen.” Mary said shortly. Anne sighed.
“You are not angry?” Mary inquired. Anne shook her head.
“I...No. I don't think so. Saddened, yes. But angry?" She replied, considering Mary's question. She looked deep inside herself and sighed. "She should be at court, it is where she belongs.” She said sadly. Elizabeth was like a fire amongst firewood. A light amongst darkness; a princess amongst peasants, and she was living a life far below her station. “She should be receiving a princess’ education, a princess' life.” Anne concluded. Mary nodded in agreement.
“So... I should send this letter?” She asked.
“Yes. Send it. It is the only chance she shall ever have of becoming a queen.”
Mary nodded once more and soon after departed.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnE92H3dLrW
Anne was left alone once again, and despite her happiness at the sudden doors that had opened for her daughter, her heart was grieved by the fact that her six year old had written to her father asking to spend time at court rather than writing to ask permission to see her mother. Anne tried not to be dismayed, but as the darkness fell, the fire died and the old visions from the Tower came again, she found it hard to be anything else.
March 1540
The next time Mary visited Anne she came, again, alone. Anne’s heart grew heavy once she realised she was not to see her daughter, and greeted her sister cordially.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYonAr0dhkQ
Mary thrust a piece of paper into her sister’s hands. Anne scanned the page quickly; it was a reply to Elizabeth’s letter, but instead of coming from the King, her father, it had come from the office of Thomas Cromwell.
“Henry does not allow her to go to court?” Anne asked. Mary nodded. “What is this, she ‘has a mother so different from this woman that she ought not to wish to see her’? What is this?!” Anne asked incredulously. Mary shrugged.
“Elizabeth is little more than an extension of yourself. That you, and therefore Elizabeth, are too different from the new Queen to appreciate her virtue. You are, in short, the adulteress Henry accused you of being, and Elizabeth is tainted."
Anne was outraged. Her blood was boiling as it ran through her veins.
“To tarnish our daughter, his daughter… I cannot believe he could be so… so…” Anne trailed off. Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing to her face. If Henry were before her now, she knew that without doubt she would have his head, even if she had to carve it off with a butter knife.
“He may yet change his mind... You know as well as I the will of the king changes more frequently than the direction of the wind. This new wife will prove herself unsatisfactory like all the others...“ Mary paused, for Anne had raised an eyebrow and warned her sister with a glare. “....And he shall take pity upon Elizabeth and welcome her back.” Mary continued.
Anne considered this. All they had to do now was wait.
Mary was right. Eventually the tides turned, and with them the King’s favour. Elizabeth had received a letter, this time from the King himself, inviting her to court.
Hampton Court, Late April 1540
“Lady Elizabeth,” The tall man at the door called. Elizabeth looked up at him in wonder and smiled. She was somewhat put off when he did not smile back. The door was opened and before her she saw a dais with two chairs. They were magnificently carved chairs, much taller than anything she had seen before. Upon the chairs sat a great, overweight man and beside him, a young and pretty woman with a face that Elizabeth could tell was not English by birth.
“My daughter!” Henry said jovially. Elizabeth noted that her father looked much different to the man she dimly remembered, but curtseyed anyway, the way Mary had taught her. “Meet the Queen, Anne of Cleves, your stepmother.” He said, indicating to the pretty woman on the other chair. Elizabeth smiled at her and was comforted by the smile she received in return. It was the first warm, genuine smile she had received since arriving at court.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRpAoKJUIUC
As her father remained sat on his pedestal, Queen Anne descended from the dais and kneeled before her step-daughter.
“It is nice to meet you Elizabeth.” She said softly. Elizabeth bit her lip nervously.
“It is an honour to meet you, your grace.” She said, stumbling over the words that Mary had told her to recite. Anne smiled warmly.
“Please, call me Anne.”
Elizabeth smiled at that, visibly relaxing as Anne placed a warm hand on her small shoulder.
“My mother is called Anne.” She said lightly.
The King bristled. His mouth stiffened and his eyes darkened and it was only Queen Anne that was able to break the tension that had clouded the room.
“Lots of people are called Anne, child. It doesn’t mean anything significant. Perhaps you would like to play some cards? Can you play cards?” She asked, steering the conversation into much safer territory. Henry relaxed and rose to leave.
"Well then, I shall leave you two to your card games." He said, patting Elizabeth on the head as he passed with a limp, completely ignoring the presence of his wife.
“Should I not have mentioned my mother?” Elizabeth said in a whisper to Anne once the room had emptied of the king and his men. Anne glanced to her ladies who sat a distance away. Confident that they would not be heard, she answered the child.
“I would try not to mention your mother from now on child. Your father does not like it.” She said softly. Her voice was warm and soft, like honey, and it had a strange accent that Elizabeth had never heard before. She found it comforting and instantly took a liking to her father’s new wife.
“I am glad you are my step-mother.” Elizabeth said with a smile. Her innocence and honesty made the Queen’s heart melt, and she longed for a child of her own. She smiled sadly at Elizabeth.
“I am glad you think so, for being a step-mother to you would give me even greater happiness than being the Queen.” She said in a whisper. Elizabeth wanted to hug her, but remembered what Mary had taught her about court protocol, and refrained.870Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡthNQFUalRr
The Queen watched the child hold her cards to her chest. She was remarkably clever for her age, and she made Anne’s heart ache. She wanted so desperately a child of her own, a child that might endear the King to her… but she knew in her heart it was never to be. Her womb would never quicken with the King’s child, for he still refused her bed. Despite her relief at his reluctance, she mourned bitterly the loss of the child that she would never bear.
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