The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn Read online

  Henry said nothing to my self but neither did he bid me leave for Wolsey’s coming. And so when at last the Cardinal came, still dusty from his ride and not much full of dignity he knelt before the King and therefore as I stood at Henry’s side — he knelt before me. His cheeks showed crimson, eyes cast down to meet the floor, speech faltered trapped between hot rage and fear.

  Then he rose and they did speak together of many things, but I swear I could not hear at all, for in my head the bells were chiming loud and happily. The man in red was bettered by a girl and for his cruel deeds he’d been repaid.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  16 January 1528

  Diary,

  How very strange it is continuing as waiting lady to Katherine. Convention and civility prevail between the King and Queen despite the truth that I must one day soon usurp her. When I look at her, steely eyes ablaze with courage for the fight, quivering nostrils, mouth hard and resolute, a shudder passes thro me. I do admit I lack the confidence that Henry has, of Katherine’s surrender to his will. He says he knows her well and that she’ll bow to him. I watch her closely but as yet she shows no signs of weakening.

  Many nights she bids me play at cards with her and other ladies. I wonder sometimes, are the invitations meant to keep me in her sight and far away from Henry? Last night we sat cross the table, Katherine and I. Her eyes, I saw, would fall upon my hands and she stared quite openly at my sixth finger, impossible to hide. At first this did annoy me, then it made me bold. I used the hand more frequently, with graceful sweeps and flourishes making much of my abnormality, the other ladies holding back their smiles at my audacity. The Queen grew colder still and very quiet. The game continued and in the course of play I dealt to my advantage … the King of Hearts. The poisonous card did lay between us on the table, the gaudy painted monarch lying on his back. No one moved. No one spoke. The air was rich with jealousy — hers for my future, mine for her past. The Queen broke the silence then, her heavy Spanish accent brimmed with bitterness.

  “Mistress Anne, you have the good hap to stop at a King. But you are not like the others. You will have all, or none.” Then she folded up her hand, placed her cards upon the King … and left. My heart froze inside my chest. For just then I’d felt the shock of having for an enemy a great Queen in whose veins flowed generations of royal blood. No matter if I marry a King, even when the Crown shall rest upon my head I will never have her majesty, the surety of lineage, superiority.

  What have I then? Henry’s love? My family’s ambition? The promise of a half mad Nun? But if truth be said, what drives me to an unknown fate is my own desire for a better hand than what my life has dealt to me. Katherine sees correctly. I have had the good hap to stop at a King, but with this single card I shall play one grand and dangerous game — win it all… or lose everything.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  29 March 1528

  Diary,

  The humbled Cardinal, after his return, has made most diligent effort for the King and I to wed. My Father, touting his own shrewd perceptions in the case, brought me aside to give me guidance and I bit my tongue to listen. He told me it would serve me well to make the Cardinal my friend. “‘Tis still within his power to make or break your fate,” he said. The word was that the Pope, of late, had fled from Rome and seeking safe asylum, found the town of Orvieto — plague ridden as it was — a place beyond the arm of raiding soldiers of the Emperor. From here Wolsey hoped the Pope would send a kindly answer to his pleas.

  As my father spoke to me of plots and plans I saw he spoke as to a peer, not to his youngest daughter Nan. I swear something moved inside me then, some power that grew with every uttered word. My soul felt very large and still and open like a sunlit field. I was content, magnanimous. And so I thanked my Father for his good advice and promised that in future I would give old Wolsey some respect and love for his part in this affair.

  And so I have. He and Henry lately brought to service in our cause two Gentlemen, Doctor Edward Fox and Doctor Stephen Gardiner who on their way with letters to Clement in Orvieto, came to pay me their respect and prove that their employers were most eager for the swift conclusion of the task. They brought a note from Henry to my self which told me he prayed that he and I should have our desired end, which would bring more ease to his heart and more quietness to his mind, than any other thing in the world.

  And then a second missive which was a list compiled by Wolsey and the King of all my virtues which shall be read aloud by emissaries Fox and Gardiner to the Pope. This masterpiece of praise made me smile, even laugh with great delight. For I’m a sober maid and meek, have purity of life and true virginity. I’m wise and beautiful with high and noble blood, educated, mannerly and apt to bear a hearty brood.

  To grant more hope to hostage Clement, Henry sent a herald to the town of Burgos, that proclaimed a war with Charles the Emperor. ‘Twas only an empty threat, for he would never go to war with Spain or Flanders, or surely lose the markets there for wool. But Henry knew the French were making swift advance down Italy and soon its soldiers would free the land and Holy Father too.

  So we wait for word. The winter days outside are grim and chill. But here inside the castle walls I’m wrapt warm beneath the cloak fashioned out of Henry’s love. There is much hope and even happiness. He holds me almost chastely, so convinced is he we’ll have success, soon be wed and quickly bed. But it’s more the Cardinal that surprises me. Each and every Monday night when Court is placed in London, Wolsey entertains us lavishly. Great feasts and solemn banquets at his homes of York and Hampton Court. We dine on plates of solid gold, dance and masque and make quite merry, sometimes stay to greet the dawn.

  For his kind administration I have sent of late to Wolsey a letter from my self thanking him for his good deeds on my behalf with promises to make a just reward to him when I am Queen. As I wrote the humble words of praise for him I had to stop and ponder at it, when so short a time ago I’d wished him ill or even dead. Am I a two faced girl with wild and shifting loyalties? Or do I truly mean what I have said? I am sore confused at this. I believe a person can change. But who has done the changing here? He seems sincere. And even if his motive is impure (he loves the King and fears his wrath) his actions are the fact. If by his machinations he does make me Queen, am I the one to say I love him any less because he does not love me truly? I think not. And so for now he is my friend, as we wait for news from Italy.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  3 May 1528

  Diary,

  The doctors Fox and Gardiner, braving tortured seas and flooded rivers finally found the Pope in Orvieto. Their several letters in reply from Clement made us hopeful. The Holy Father, tho pitiful amidst the squalor of his tiny expatriate rooms, did promise them to grant our two requests. One — a trial for the determining of Katherine and Henrys marriage should take place on English soil. The Pope would send his Cardinal Campeggio, a most impartial judge, to serve with Wolsey on the case. And two — that when these priests had given judgement, it would stand as final, no challenge by the Roman Curia or any other hand.

  The emissaries’ letters told how Clement claimed he’d stand with Henry even if the Emperor complained, and we were full of joy. For these documents, we waited with expectancy all spring. Meanwhile Cardinal Wolsey did continue granting favors to our family — the fair settlement of that old dispute of Piers Butler’s northern lands, giving Father not only property but more important the title Earl of Ormond, making me the daughter of that titled man.

  In this time of waiting, too, at Greenwich some fell ill with smallpox, and Henry saw fit to move me to some rooms above the tiltyard there to keep me far from harm. This chamber, tho never used for sleeping rooms, was most cheerful — large windows o’er the yard and very sunny. More important was the privacy, so Henry came quite often and we had some merry afternoons. He wrote me songs which then we sang and played on flute and virginal. He spoke
to me of battles, clashing swords and armors, his men and their bravery in them. ‘Twas strange that when he spoke of these manly things he seemed more like little boy to me than King. I saw some spark of human kindness that I liked and thought, yes, this man who fights like a soldier to be my husband will make me happy. And so we waited for these documents.

  Then yesterday as the sun was falling there stood outside my chambers in a golden light a man I hardly recognized. ‘Twas Doctor Fox, mud splattered and weary, having come from crossing at Calais and riding night and day in haste to bring us tidings from the Pope. He had brought with him signed documents from Clement giving full permission for the court in England! I gave him wine and meat and bread and sat him by the fire. Then Henry came and as the envoy ate he spoke of all wiles and wise maneuvers Doctor Gardiner made withal the Pope to bring a fruitful ending here. A frightful battle it had been with Clement’s strong objections soundly trounced by threats and compliments. Then tearful he’d relented after warnings that his faithful English King would withdraw support from him.

  The second document, the one that promised no revoking of the court’s decree, he would not sign but gave his verbal promise of the same. It was enough, a cause for celebration. Henry kissed me, hugged me to him, swung me like a child and then embracing Doctor Fox, made many more marvellous demonstrations of his joy.

  Late that night with Doctor Fox sent home to sleep, Henry and I held each other close. He kissed my face, neck, naked shoulders. With this marriage so near I felt restraint had slipped away. ‘Twas warm between my legs and his strong body melded fast to mine. Pulling down my bodice for his hungry mouth, he found my round white duckies, nipples hard and tight. “Shall I have you, Anne, shall I have you now, my love?” he whispered hoarse and low. I felt “yes” between my thighs, but then said “nay.” We’d come so far in chastity. Then he agreed and let me go. With shaking legs and trembling hearts we parted sweetly in good faith that when the Cardinal Campeggio soon arrived we’d have a marriage bed to join within and then to make a son. The spring night comes softly thro the tiltyard windows as I write by candlelight. All will soon be well.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  15 June 1528

  Diary,

  Jesus help us now, the sweating sickness comes. The Court at Greenwich making plans for its remove to Waltham, fell most silent with reports from London. Thousands dying by the day. Whole families carried off in hours.

  I went looking for the King and found him yonder in the apothecary’s rooms. Having heard the news, he and old John Coke set to work together, hoped to find some cures. They stood hunched above the trestle strewn with jars and baskets filled with fragrant herbs and strange colored brews. Henry ground a mortarful of stinking flowers as Master Coke whispered potions in his ear.

  “Henry,” said I and he turned to me. I swear there was a kind of happy look upon his face.

  “Come in, Anne, and see what we have made.” I moved closer and he showed me what he ground beneath the pestle in his bowl. The paste was greyish green and smelled like a mould. “You see this herbal plaster here? When spread upon the skin it draws the venom of the sickness out.”

  Then Master Coke held up a beaker in which a tawny liquid stirred. “His Majesty is very wise in things medicinal. He’s made here a mixture out of henbane, wine and ginger that a person who’s afflicted with this New Acquaintance as they call it, drinks for nine days straight, followed by this other.” What he held up then looked to be a half full bowl of treacle.

  “Henry …” I tried to make him hear me.

  “Listen, love,” he interrupted. “You must remember in this time of sickness to eat most sparingly, drink less, and take the pills of Rasis once a week. Purge the poisons from your rooms with vinegar and hot braziers burning night and day.”

  “I’ve seen this plague before,” muttered old Coke, turning to his sorcerer’s table. “Ere it strikes with pain in head and heart and ere the sweat begins, a person knows an awful sense of fear, an apprehension if you will. And then it hits you like a club. It matters neither if you wrap yourself all warm, or not. You burn with stinking perspiration from your head and pits and crotch.”

  “Henry!” I cried. “My maid’s been taken ill.” He went sober then and pale. “It means I cannot go to Waltham with the Court. I have to take my leave of you. I’ll go to Hever. Stay there till it ends.”

  “A separation now … I cannot stand the thought!”

  Then John Coke spoke unbidden. “But she must, Your Grace, it is the law. A member of the household —”

  “I know the law!” cried Henry, anguished with this reckoning. “Leave us, Master Coke,” he said more gently, and the old man shuffled out. Henry stood at arm’s length, but he did not reach out to hold me. He looked wholly helpless, as I’d never seen before. “What am I to do? You are my love and I want you at my side … but I am King. I have first to save my life.”

  “I’ll go. That’s all there is.” I turned to leave.

  “Take these potions with you, please!”

  “Make up a packet with directions and I’ll send someone to fetch them.” My hand was on the door when I felt his arms around me urgent, trembling. I turned and we were face to face.

  “God help us, Nan. Please don’t die of this.” He kissed me then. Fear had made his sweet mouth bitter.

  “Nor you, my Love.” He let me go. His eyes were wet. “Godspeed,” said I and took my leave.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  23 June 1528

  Diary,

  I write now hand shaking. This may be my end, for Death stalks the halls of Hever, and I fear He’s coming after me. So many gone already. Ere I could take my hasty leave from Greenwich Castle, hundreds died in little more than hours, many from the King’s own chamber. Norfolk’s ill and the Suffolk eldest son and heir has passed away. The Reaper roamed along the highways, too, from Greenwich all the way to Edenbridge. Haunted downcast eyes of drivers, peasants, maids, carriages closed from view, no friendly greetings on the road. Some putrid bodies lying where they fell, ravens feasting on their bones.

  Hever’s ripe with death. My Sister’s husband William Careys with his Maker. Father and my Brother George are gravely ill. Mother thankfully is well but with her tending husband and son, she could also fall at any time.

  This morning young Zouche, the King’s special messenger who’s carried all our many letters forth and back arrived to Hever just past noon with a note from Henry Rex. But ‘fore he’d left my sight he clutched his guts, his face went white. He begged my leave and sure enough I gave it. But when his eyes met mine I saw them wild with fear, and then we said goodbye. He collapsed outside my chamber and was dispatched within our servants quarters sometime after four.

  The letter sent from Henry, wholly well himself and cloistered down in Waltham, sent me hopes this illness passed me by, reminding me of how “few women or none” have got this malady, and that none of our Court and few elsewhere have died of it. ‘Tis a hollow hope and quite mistaken. My maid did die. Our cook’s helper and my Mother’s sister too. I do pray for the King’s good health, but feel some bitterness with his cheerful mood. He stays to himself, walks alone in deserted gardens, thinks and writes upon the subject of divorce in hopes of Campeggio’s coming. How he thinks of this I do not know, when such woeful pestilence rules our souls. I do sometimes fear the King is bloodless, strange and cold.

  Night came round again and halls were left to darkness, no tapers lit by scurrying servants on their evening rounds. I made the rounds my self, for unlit passages are all too sinister and call the Devils demons there. One by one I set the lamps aglow but there was little comfort — only longer shadows, dark whispering corners, slyly creaking doors. When I finally climbed the spiral stair up to my room I thought I heard the sound of rustling robes and ghostly footsteps following close behind. I turned to face the spectre just to find a skulking creature made of fear. They say the sickness starts thi
s way. There’s nowhere here to hide. Diary, Friend … pray for me. My life is surely in God’s hands.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  God help me I am stricken. I can write no more.

  2 July 1528

  Diary,

  I have met Death and live to tell of it. There is little I remember of my body’s illness past the pain like daggers in my eyes and a terrible heat that seemed to boil my blood. I called out for my Mother and her face was the last clear thing I saw in the world ‘fore a long strange night descended on my soul. They say I lay abed teasing the Reaper for five days, writhing under the covers, crying out delirious, sometimes joyful, sometimes as tho in mortal combat with the Devil him self.

  My Mother, that sweet and ever faithful lady, tells me my disease took a fearful course, for instead of sweating out the poisons, they turned inward, made my body reek with noxious vapors. She despaired of my life and sent for Chaplain Barlow who gave me Absolution, and left having said his own goodbyes to the girl he’d brought before the christening font twenty years before.

  As to what I can remember of my unconscious state, there were many colors, very bright and always moving. Sometimes they took the shape of elves all intertwined and dancing in some wild circle. There was music too, a sweet tinkling of fairy bells as if from far away, so very beautiful and merry. But other times a suffocating darkness fell upon me. There was no light, no sound. ‘Twas a void so black and crushing I knew then that I had died, gone to Hell, for its bleakness was terrible. God and Jesus did not reside in this place, I knew that surely. And so when again the colors and the sounds burst through this black prison I must then have cried out in joy, for I knew I lived or was on my way to Heaven.

  Then, just before I came back to this world I saw a vision of my Mother’s mother Margaret, long since dead. She looked beautiful, even with her wrinkled face and hoary hair, for she was dressed very fine and had the figure of a girl. She seemed to be illuminated from all round and the light even seemed to glow within her. She had a great crown upon her head and jewels at her neck and wrists and fingers. Then I saw her belly was no longer slim but like some gentle Madonna, she was big with child. She placed her hands upon her belly and smiled. But suddenly I saw the face was not my Grandmother but me. ‘Twas then I opened up my eyes and found my own Mother there looking down at me with her sweet smile.