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The most happy
An alternate history of Anne Boleyn
Helen R. Davis
The most happy
An alternate history of Anne Boleyn
First edition: july 2017
©Editorial Calíope
©Blue Collection
©The most happy An alternate history of Anne Boleyn
©Helen R. Davis
ISBN: 978-84-947176-8-0
ISBN Digital: 978-84-947176-9-7
Depósito legal: M-21219-2017
Editorial Calíope
Grupo editorial Max Estrella
Calle Fernández de la Hoz 76
28003 Madrid
[email protected]
www.editorialcaliope.com
Dedicated to Kimberly K. Grounds,
my Anne Boleyn friend.
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
EPILOGUE
AFTERWARD AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Author’s note
This is a work of fiction. Apart from well known historical events and characters that appear in the narrative, names, places, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictious manner and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
January 25th, 1533.
I am Anne Boleyn, and I am not yet married. But soon, very soon, Henry VIII, King of England, will make me his wife. It has been a long courtship, these seven agonizing years, since he pursued me at Hever. I at first did not wish to become Henry’s mistress, but as the years passed, it became clear he would not take no for an answer. I was brought back to court, after my banishment at Hever, to serve Katharine of Aragon, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, whose names still strike admiration and fear into the heart of every European even years after their demise.
It became obvious to the queen, however, that my return to court was merely a cover for the lusts of her husband. I was not his mistress and did not yield, but Katharine did not believe that. She herself knew of the king’s desire to me, although I knew she blinded her eyes and looked the other way, even while continuing to fight. No one believed that Katharine of Aragon, daughter of their most Catholic Majesties of Spain, would be set aside for a merchant’s daughter. Even I myself am truly wondering, will the king marry me? He has spoken of his love for me these past seven years, but until 1531 it was Queen Katharine who remained at his side.
Yet today I am summoned in haste, for Henry will have me as his wife. The divorce will wait no longer—indeed, it has not even come through yet. But we can wait no more. Dressed in a white gown, I am summoned into a small chapel with Henry. He has dressed in white, and my heart skips a beat. The only witnesses are my father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, and my brother, George, as well as Henry’s fool, Will Somers. Thomas Cranmer will perform the ceremony and I, Anne Boleyn, will at last be Henry VIII’s wife, a after seven years of waiting. Henry smiles at me.
“You look like a true queen.” He said, mocking the words of Katharine of Aragon, who calls herself the true queen.
“Only a true queen is fit for a king.” I respond. Henry takes my hand and we walk down the aisle together.
“Witnesses?” Thomas Cranmer asks.
“Her father and her brother. Now marry us!” Henry orders. The vows are recited, and Henry rushes through them. I know he is anxious to take me into his bed. Despite the fact, I have been called ‘the whore of England’, ‘the greatest scandal in Christendom’, I remain a virgin. But not for much longer. I repeat the vows—to love Henry, to honor him, and to obey him, as a good wife should. And with that, Henry kisses me.
That night, I am no longer able to fend Henry off with the excuses of that we are not yet married. He has taken me as his wife today, although—legally—he is still married to Katharine of Aragon. As we are put to bed, he leaves the candles on. Many of them are lit, emitting an eerie glow, as well as warmth. He removes my shift and my gown, and I look upon his handsome chest.
“Anne. Annie.” He says. Annie is his name for me that he speaks when we are alone. “At last, Annie. You are mine.”
The night is a night of passion. Henry says he knows me to be a true virgin, but as we roll around passionately, I cannot help but think of him with Katharine, years ago. I set that thought aside. I am his wife now, his queen. And I will soon bear him the son he desires, the son to rule England in the future.
Days pass and it is soon announced that Anne Boleyn, not Katharine of Aragon, is Queen of England. I do not know, yet, if I carry Henry’s son though. Yet I am craving apples, which are out of season. I finally tell Henry.
“Annie? Apples?” he asks me with a smile. “That means you are with child.”
“Indeed.” I say. I run out into the courtyard. It is February, but it is warm for the season. Not balmy, but pleasant enough. Outside in the court is my brother, George, who is, for all practical purposes, my best friend.
“George! I have a craving to eat apples! This means I am with child, the king says!” I said. George smiles. But all is not certain yet. Indeed, in the game of politics, nothing is ever certain…
Chapter 1
7 September 1533.
“A girl. A strong, healthy girl.” I, Anne Boleyn, wife of Henry VIII and Queen of England hear the midwife say. I despair. I have been in labor for hours, hot and sweaty, sure I was going to give my husband, Henry VIII, a son. But it is a girl. Henry will be furious. He divorced his first wife, Katharine of Aragon, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain… for this? Will I be cast aside as well? He will become the laughingstock of Europe! Nonetheless, I proclaim a name for her.
“Elizabeth.” I say. The cold, hard stares of all the women in the room eye me. I know many of them, among them my own mother, still support Henry’s discarded first wife, Katharine of Aragon, and are only serving me at his order “It is Henry’s mother’s name. And mine. She will be a fine queen.”
“She is another daughter. He has cast aside the true queen for a useless jade who has given him a daughter! Furthermore, the Church has said that your child is illegitimate because he declares Katharine to be Henry’s true wife.” Mother says.
“What good is a girl to us?” my sister, Mary Boleyn, former mistress of the king, says. I burst into tears, but suddenly feel a gush of blood coming from my womb and labor pains beginning again. Hear my prayer, God, and make this one a boy! I beg of him silently. The pains begin.
“If it’s a girl, it better be dead.” Mother states. I labor for hours with this child, so much that it is born on midnight of the next day.
“The child lives.” I hear the midwife say, but I have gone too far and become too ill to care. A child. Not a son. I have failed twice… But then I hear my sister gladly proclaim the gender of the baby.
“A perfectly formed prince, sister!” Mary says. Suddenly the mood of the room changes. My mother, who just a few hours ago proclaimed Katharine of Aragon the true queen, bursts into raptures. Indeed, how quickly people change sides. But I have become ill. I want only sleep.
“It’s the childbed fever.” I hear. I doze off, in and out, dreaming. Dreaming of my two little ones. Before falling into sleep, I named them—Edward and Elizabeth. But the fever rages. I hear my husband’s voice, pleading with the doctor to save me. In and out I hear the voices of Katharine and Mary, laughing at me.
“You give him a son only to die!” Mary, the daughter of Katharine of Aragon, my rival, laughs. Katharine of Aragon laughs as well. I dream I am at judgment and my judge is not God, but the stern Queen Katharine, my predecessor, who condemns me to burn at the stake for eternity. Mary Tudor laughs and I see the hatred in her eyes. I call out to Jesus, and Katharine states that Jesus does not love me. But I awake, at last, next to Henry, who has come to my side. I look around. My mother and my sister are nowhere to be seen.
“Anne, my dear?” he asks. I awake. I am not hot, but I am still weak.
“I bore you… a son.” I said. “Where are my ladies and my family?”
“I asked them all to leave, Annie. I needed to see you alone, to be certain my wife, the mother of my son, lives. I needed to be certain they are not lying to me. And I know you have borne me a son, Annie my dove. And you have also born me a true princess! My Edward and my Elizabeth!”
“You wanted a son.” I say weakly.
“You gave me one!” Henry says. “Oh, Annie! I feared to lose you!”
Annie is the name he calls me when we are alone. I smile at that. Many years ago, he began to call me Annie, in private. Away from the queen, away from court…
“I dreamt of Katharine and Mary. I dreamt I died and God was Katharine.” I said. Henry laughs loudly at that.
“No. She is not God, even if she thinks she is. The princess dowager has heard of your bearing a son. Her household stubbornly insists she is queen, but you are the one There will be tournaments, of course, for the new Prince of Wales.”
“And his sister?” I ask. I am proud to bear Edward, but Elizabeth is mine too. And his.
“She is just a girl. But she has the Tudor red hair. There is no doubt she is mine. We shall do something for her too.” Henry said. “Now, Annie, get some more rest. The health of our prince depends on you living. My son needs his mother, Annie, and I need my queen!”
So I have done it at last! I sink into my silken bed, exhausted still, but savoring my triumph.
Chapter 2
Late September- Early October, 1533.
The tournaments are being planned for the birth of a prince. I am still weak and resting from the exhausting labor. Edward and Elizabeth are taken from me, of course, into the nursery. I had wanted to breastfeed my twins, but Henry would not have it.
“You are a queen! Do not act like some kitchen slut!” Henry roared at me when I suggested it.
“Is it sluttish of a mother to love her children?” I asked.
“It is not for a queen to breastfeed a prince!” Henry said. I had thought of telling him that Philippa of Hainault had breastfed Edward the Black Prince, but decided not to. He had decided I would not breastfeed our children, and that was final.
The Lady Mary has been forced to come to witness the tournaments celebrating the birth of the new heir, and she will then wait on both the new Prince of Wales and his sister. I have declared that she is to change Edward and Elizabeth’s dirty napkins whenever they are wetted or messed. Her and no one else. It will teach her her true place in this world. She is currently the Princess of Wales, but today is the day my son, Edward, will be declared the Prince of Wales, revoking her claim to that title. Of course, Princess Katharine has been told that I Have born Henry a son. I have demanded the christening robe she used for Mary. What a final affront it will be to that half-Spanish brat! I now hear Henry roaring in the other room about Katharine.
“The queen has borne me a son! The princess dowager must surrender the christening robe to us!” he said.
“The queen will not surrender anything to the concubine.” The voice is that of Eustache Chapuys, the ambassador from Spain, and a champion of the princess Katharine and the Lady Mary. He calls me ‘The Concubine’. I do know that in spite of the fact I have borne Henry a son, many still regard Katharine as the queen and Mary as the rightful princess. Mary Tudor herself even still refers to me as the king’s mistress.
“The princess dowager must submit!” Henry says, and then I hear the door slam behind him.
*
He has not visited me since I have been cleansed of the baby. I have heard rumors that he has taken a mistress. He denies it. I have ordered Lady Mary to come to serve me and the new prince and princess. I hear that she arrives today. I have not interacted with her in many years. But I can imagine she hates me. After all, I am the woman who displaced her mother, whom she believes to be a saint! A saint! No saint is as stubborn and obdurate as Katharine of Aragon!
The Lady Mary is brought to me. I take a good look at her as I sit, dressed in my deep burgundy gown made with many pearls. Mary looks pathetic, and quite ill, in her homespun kirtle.
“Kneel.” I order her.
“I kneel only to my father, the king, and my mother, the true queen.” Mary says, stubbornly standing. “My mother is the rightful queen of England and you have cursed this land!”
What insolence! I think. Then, I remember I may do to her as I please, and I strike her across the face. Mary whimpers, but remains standing.
“I have only contempt for you, Mistress Mary.” I say. “You are nothing but a bastard. As the king’s bastard, your rank is lower than that even of my sister’s children, who can at the very least claim legitimacy!”
Mary’s face is bleeding but she remains defiant.
“I am the king’s true daughter, born of his lawful wife, Katharine of Aragon, the true queen of England and the daughter and princess of Spain. Your children are bastards and I am a saint! You are only a whore!” Mary says.
A whore, am I? I then inform her of her duties.
“Napkins, Lady Mary.” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“How dare you speak to me that way! I am informing you of your duty to the new prince and princess. You will be changing Edward and Elizabeth’s dirty napkins, whenever they wet or mess them. You and no one else, Lady Mary. Now begone.” I say. Mary wears a look of utter horror and leaves the room in tears.
The king roars against the princess dowager and the Lady Mary, of course, but he will not have them executed. Killing Katharine would cause an enormous outcry, a rebellion. But with the birth of the new Prince of Wales, the people are ready to forget about Lady Mary. Today the joust will be held. My husband will even be jousting in my honor, as the mother of the Prince of Wales. I will wear a gown of gay yellow, my favorite color, opened upon a petticoat of palest green. Though it is autumn, I feel joyful in my heart that I Have borne the king a son and as such, I dress in the colors of springtime.
The other Mary, my sister, brushes my hair, which I will wear under a gable hood today. I prefer the French hoods, which show a bit of my hair, but as I am the Queen of England now, the gable hood is my statement that I, not Katharine, am the true queen and the King’s lawful wife. Still, as she helps me into my gown and fastens my pearl choker around my neck, I can see the jealousy in her eyes. She, once Henry’s mistress, envies me. Still, she speaks and makes friendly conversation as we sit around a fire, warming ourselves.
“Remember, sister, when we were in France, you said one day you would be Queen of England.” Mary said.
“I thought I was just a child and teasing you.” I say as I look in a hand mirror, admiring my reflection. Though the gable hood frames my head and face, I still maintain a look of Frenchness about me. Indeed, Eustace Chapuys, the champion of Princess Katharine has called me ‘more French than a Frenchwoman born.’ As I muse over my past days in the French court, I hear the crier call for me a
nd Mary to join the king.
I am seated in the seat of honor outside. It is unseasonably warm for October, and I hear Henry complaining about his armor as he is readied for the joust.
“By God, it is hot today!” he said. “Is it October or August, Annie?”
“It is October. But perhaps this warm weather is a good sign, not a bad one.” I say. Henry is superstitious, I know. But I am not as much so. There are rumors spread by the princess dowager’s camp that I am a witch. They point to my black hair and olive skin. How strange that Katharine is the Spaniard and I the English woman. I do believe in God, his holy saints, and his mother, but I accept the warm weather as a sign of God’s blessing, not his curses! Why must the people worry and fret so?
“Annie? What do you think?” Henry asks as he is put into the armor. He removes his visor and smiles at me warmly.
“Joust in my honor and that of the Prince of Wales, my king.” I say with a smile.
“And for little Elizabeth.” Henry says with a wink. He is pleased with his son, but I know he dotes on the girl as well.
The joust is long and it is indeed a hot day. My ladies —Mother, Mary Boleyn, and I —sit in a dais, watching it all, and indeed, Henry wishes to joust all day, and joust he will. Enough tournaments cannot be done for the Prince of Wales, Edward, the future Edward VI I call for hippocras as the joust continues and goes forward. Henry will joust many men. Henry Norris is one of them, and as the two of them ride at each other with lances, I look in horror as Henry is unseated and thrown onto the grass. I gasp, holding my handkerchief to my face. It is Henry’s. Upon it is written ‘Sir Loyal Heart.’ Oh God, no! Not my Henry…
“The king has fallen!” cries Will Somers, his fool. I gasp, a s do my ladies. Thus, a long remainder of the day begins. I am taken away to my chambers to await news of the king. Mother and my sister accompany me, all in nerves and upset. I pass my time in prayer to God’s Holy Mother, begging for Henry’s life. Of course, there are some saying this is a sign he must go back to Katharine, that Edward is not a legitimate child after all, and I hear that from the servants. Day turns to night, but I ask Mary to light candles, as I know that I won’t sleep until I hear of my husband. Mother finally dozes off, as does Mary, but I remain awake, praying, reading Scripture, worrying. Around midnight, news is finally brought to me by Doctor Butts, the king’s physician.
The Most Happy