Anne the Warrior Read online

  Anne the Warrior

  The Six Lives of Henry the VII

  Leigh Jenkins

  To the fans of Tudor history,

  who still argue about their favorite wives

  and count the virtues of Henry the VIII.

  And a special note for Mark, who asked for kindness for Anne.

  Prologue

  October 1537

  “The Queen is dead.”

  The first time I had heard those words I had been eleven years old, and they had been spoken by my tutor, his face pale and his body trembling as he knelt before me. Now these words were spoken to me by a frightened Archbishop Cranmer, also pale and trembling. The first time I had dropped to my knees in anguish, a deep moan leaving my lips as I tried to conceive how I would continue without my mother. This time I merely sank into my chair and waved away Cranmer, who hurried from the room.

  The last time I had seen my beloved Jane had been at our son Edward’s christening, two days before her death. Though she had looked tired, she seemed so pleased to see me after six weeks of confinement. And the joy of having a son – nothing could outweigh the pleasure that had filled my soul at finally acquiring that which I had so yearned for.

  It was forbidden for Jane or me to attend the christening; that was a time for his godparents. His sisters, the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth, had both been present and taken part in the festivities. It was not until the procession, with Edward at the lead, had turned back to Hampton Court that I saw my son again. On this all-important day, the midday meal that would take place in his mother’s chambers.

  I had joined Jane only minutes before the procession reached us and moved quickly to sit next to her on the dais. Sitting next to me in her chambers, her golden hair tumbling around her fur wrap, Jane had reached out to grasp my hand, turning her attention toward me sharply.

  “You are pleased with me, Your Majesty?” she asked earnestly.

  “Jane,” I said, laying my hand over hers. “I have never been more pleased, nor loved you more.”

  Nodding, she pulled away from me as my herald began to open the doors to admit our guests.

  “Then I have done my duty.”

  It was as if I had released her with those words. At the time I had merely thought she was relieved, pleased to have made me happy. In the next days, as she grew sick, I saw that she had seen my words, my pleasure, as a blessing.

  But now she was gone from me forever. Abandoning both me and our son to whatever was to come next. She would never see her son crowned, nor be able to guide him as he tried to learn the craftsmanship that would be necessary for him to become king. Just as my mother had left me, Jane had left Edward with nothing to prepare him for the road ahead.

  Remembering the losses I had sustained thus far in my life, my breath began to leave me and I fell from my seat to my knees. Two page boys appeared by my side and attempted to lift me back into my chair, but there was nothing to be done. My face was covered in tears now and the two boys finally sat helplessly by my side until I was finished. It was not until I was once again standing, struggling toward my bed, that Thomas Cromwell appeared.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, entering into a deep bow. “I wish to offer my condolences on the death of her Majesty the Queen.”

  I groaned slightly, not prepared to hear these words.

  “Your Majesty, we must know where you wish Prince Edward to be sent.”

  Without answering, I started my slow march to my bed once again. Cromwell fell in behind me, talking over the shoulder of the boy who supported my left side.

  “Naturally, Parliament must be called as well, and Queen Jane’s funeral arranged. The Lady Mary has already said that she wishes to be chief mourner. I have arranged for Archbishop –“

  I turned to face the man, this servant who need not bury his own wife. I took two deep breathes before speaking at his upturned face.

  “I will travel to Windsor Palace,” I managed. “And Prince Edward will be taken to Richmond Palace, as had been planned, along with his – along with his wet nurse.”

  I paused to breathe and held up my hand when Cromwell tried to speak.

  “You will continue with business here. I am not to be disturbed at Windsor.”

  With that, I turned to lie down until my chamberlain had prepared for me to travel to the quiet of Windsor Palace, where I could mourn in peace and leave the process of burying Jane to others.

  “But Your Majesty –“ Cromwell burst out from my outer chamber. I stopped at the door frame, leaning against it before turning to look back at him, nodding for him to speak.

  “Your Majesty, for the sake of the realm, another son –“ He paused for a moment before continuing. “We must look to the Continent for a princess, a wife for Your Majesty.”

  I looked into the eyes of this servant, this man who was scheming already to replace Jane even as she still lay on her deathbed. I took a deep breath before answering him.

  “You must give me two weeks. Two weeks and then we can find me a bride.”

  Chapter One

  January, 1540

  She’s fat. It’s the first thing I noticed and it’s what will always remain with us.

  I stood across the cold great hall; no fire had been lit, as no one knew I was coming. When word had reached me that my bride had finally landed on English soil, after weeks of delays due to storms, my anxiety had taken over. Before I realized it, I was riding to where she was staying in Dover, with no warning.

  It had taken two years for me to find my next bride. Jane’s death still prodded at my heart, but our son Edward was the only one who stood between a stable government and the possibility of civil war. And no one knew better than I how important a second son could be – after my brother Arthur’s death, I was the only heir to my father’s throne. And now, out of the necessity for a second son, I stood staring at the woman who was to be my next bride.

  “It is pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  It was obvious that these English words, cloaked in her German accent, were all that she knew. The words came across like gravel; she almost seemed to be choking on them. Even her French was sloppy. Glancing once at Cromwell, who was beside me shaking nervously, I issued a swift bow.

  “I hope that you feel most welcomed here in England.”

  Bewildered, she glanced to her ambassador, who muttered incomprehensibly to her. When he finished she smiled: a wide, bland thing that showed a gap in her teeth. I turned to leave and motioned Cromwell to me as I swept from the room.

  “Is there nothing that can be done?” I asked, immediately seeking a way to prevent the nuptials that will take place before the end of the week.

  “Your Majesty, I will see that she is better dressed. I do not believe she was prepared for this meeting.”

  I grunted and looked over my shoulder before stepping away through the door. She was still standing on the other side of the room, her thin, brown hair hastily drawn up under a large hood that dwarfed her wide face. I saw what Cromwell meant by better dressed; her tight, round clothing gave one the impression of a stuffed sausage, though I imagined that even English clothing would be unflattering. Her wide eyes were still fixed on me; her pale face covered in a light sweat, though this could be from the terror of seeing me.

  With a wave of my hand I banished Cromwell from my side and waited for a stable hand to bring my horse around. My original plan was to stay the night, but after the disappointment that Anne had proved, I wished to be as far away as possible.

  It took only minutes for my horse to be saddled and brought before me. Considerably more time was taken helping me mount the beast and forcing my large bulk into the saddle. I pulled on the reigns slightly to steady the horse, watching him snort huge
clouds into the frosty air. Soon Cromwell, along with my guard and two pages, were prepared to leave; we took off in a steady canter away from the small palace that housed my betrothed.

  I had asked Cromwell if anything could be done and he had not truly answered me – I had not meant to question her choice of clothing, but instead wanted to know if this marriage was necessary, if I was bound to it. And though I wished that a way out could be found, I could see no way to send Anne away.

  My fledgling Church of England was under attack by the Bishop of Rome, Pope Paul III, the head of the Catholic Church. Though I had easily crushed the Pilgrimage of Grace, a rebel uprising in my own country, the Bishop of Rome was now threatening to excommunicate me – no great threat to my soul but a great threat to my country. Excommunication meant I was no longer under the protection of the Catholic Church; that could incite my fellow monarchs to launch a full-scale attack on England. I could not hope to fight off both King Francis and Emperor Charles at one time if they chose to turn their sights on me instead of the Turks invading the Holy Land.

  Worse still, the pope planned to call for any of my subjects who were still loyal to the Catholic Church to rise up against me as well. Though I had already taken care of one group of rebels, if any Catholics in my country were backed by France or Spain, they would be harder to control. And for those in my kingdom who still considered themselves members of the Catholic Church, excommunication would be a dire threat. The excommunication of a king meant the excommunication of any of his subjects who did not rise up against him. And men who watched their monasteries destroyed and their neighbors turned out of their homes would fight for their own souls.

  So now, in an effort to gain allies, I was to marry a woman whom I had just met for the first time this evening. For the first time in my life I had picked my wife based on nothing more than two reports from an ambassador and one portrait done by Hans Holbein. But her brother, William, the Duke of Cleves, was a Lutheran, and his duchy of Cleves was wealthy enough to be considered a threat against both France and Emperor Charles’ lands. If it came to war, he and his fellow Lutherans would be valuable allies in a near-impossible struggle against France and Spain.

  And to spurn Anne now – that would cost me the enmity of these Lutherans as well as the Catholic powers of Europe. To fight a two-sided war against both would be impossible. I could not take on the entire known world single-handed; I may as well invite the Turks from the Holy Land or the wild men from the East to attack my shores as well.

  Beneath me my horse shifted, sliding into a smooth canter as the road before us opened up. I reached up to pull my furs tighter around my face, fighting off the cold that came with the winter night. Looking to the path ahead I sighed, and steeled myself for the rough road ahead.

  ***

  It was not until the next morning that I saw Cromwell again, in my chambers just as I have finished dressing for the morning. This was early, even for him, and I imagined he was still preening over his choice for my bride finally arriving.

  I frowned at his satisfied smirk and call of “good morning Your Majesty!” as he dipped into a low bow. I allowed him to stay there for a moment, the large chain of state that he wore around his neck swinging forward. With an idle smile I contemplated leaving him in his low bow longer just to see if the chain would slip across his oily hair and clatter onto the floor. It was with disappointment that I saw the chain catch on his cap and stop; I instead gestured for him to stand. He seemed almost to spring to attention, a smile still fixed in place under his hooked nose. I turned away from him to allow my page boy to fasten the final chain onto my outfit.

  Waving the boy away I sat down and motioned for Cromwell to do the same. Pulling his great, dark, velvet robes up slightly, he took his regular seat to my right, as a servant brought forth a small pile of dispatches.

  “I trust Your Majesty is well this morning,” he began.

  “Not as well as might be expected,” I responded, exasperated he had not understood my displeasure from the night before. Cromwell’s thick eyebrows furrowed around his large eyes, and he watched me for a moment before answering.

  “I thought Your Majesty was pleased with his bride, though not her state of dress.”

  “Her state of dress?” I roared back. “By St. George, that was the least of the lady’s problems! There was nothing pleasing about her, nothing to suggest any sort of breeding, nor to make me desire her in any way!”

  Cromwell sat back, stunned, his self-assured smile wiped from his face. This at least brought me some pleasure, although I still did not relish my impending nuptials.

  “Your Majesty had no problem with the portrait sent here by Master Holbein,” Cromwell finally said, leaning forward desperately.

  “An artist paints truth as he sees it,” I responded with a wave of my hand. In his years of service to me Holbein had rarely taken as much artistic liberties as he obviously had in this portrait, but the man was still one of the finest painters in Europe. Certainly worse had been done.

  “And a portrait does not show the layers of clothes, nor the smell,” I continued. “Nor was it a full portrait. You should have commissioned a full portrait be done of the lady. It does me no good to see the head.”

  “So you found her head pleasing?” Cromwell answered hopefully.

  “I found none of her pleasing,” I bit back. “However, the head was the least offensive of her traits.”

  We sat in silence for a moment until Cromwell found his voice.

  “Then when Your Majesty asked if there was anything to be done –“

  “I wished to know if this marriage was truly necessary.”

  Cromwell bit his lip and looked down at the table. I knew I was asking for the impossible, but if anyone could make it so, Cromwell could. This man had worked miracles before. And he knew, as I did, that this marriage was his doing, his plan, and his failure. He must find a way to relieve me of it.

  “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice small. “I cannot see a way out. You know why this marriage is necessary.”

  I allowed both palms to hit the table, toppling one of the candlesticks that were, fortunately, not lit. A page rushed forward to right it anyway as I began to yell.

  “It is necessary for me saddle myself with the most unappealing, unladylike girl who could be found? This is the woman you chose to walk where Queen Jane once did, to fill the space my mother once held? It is inconceivable to me how you, or any of the ambassadors, could find her worthy of such a post!”

  Cromwell’s ears picked up at the end and he leaned forward to me and spoke in a hushed tone.

  “Your Majesty, you must see it was the ambassador’s fault,” he said, his words rushing together. “I was tricked by them as was Your Majesty. And even if their reports were limited, Lord Lisle should have sent word when she arrived in Calais. He entertained her there for weeks and said that he believed she would be a good match for Your Majesty. Though it would have been damaging, the wedding could have been delayed had she not traveled to England.”

  I sat back with a sigh. He was correct. It was these men who had failed me; last night had been Cromwell’s first meeting with Anne as well.

  “Very well,” I said, my temper on edge. “You will write to Lord Lisle and demand an explanation. In addition I want all reports written to me on her collected and those responsible for them brought before me.”

  “Yes Your Majesty.”

  “Cromwell –“ I paused for a moment before continuing, anxious that a solution could still be found. “Are you sure that this must take place?”

  With a frown, Cromwell reached for the first in his pile of dispatches.

  “Your Majesty, this is the pressing news I needed to discuss with you,” he began. “Our ambassador to the Emperor Charles, who is currently in Rome, writes that the Bishop of Rome has announced the excommunication. We should receive an official notification shortly. From there it can only be a short time before he calls for the princes of Europe a
nd anyone loyal to the Pope to rise up in arms against the crown.”

  “Why did you not speak of this earlier?” I snapped, but, in the sudden anxiety that washed over me, found it hard to get truly angry. Though I believed the Bishop of Rome had no authority over my soul, this move could have catastrophic effects. I would be a fool to not be concerned.

  “I did not anticipate the discussion over Anne of Cleves,” Cromwell answered. “I am sorry, I should have mentioned this first.”

  I nodded, sinking back into my chair.

  “Is there anything else?” I asked.

  “Not of any importance,” Cromwell replied. “Nothing that cannot wait until before the Privy Council.”

  “Good,” I said, then turned to a page boy. I glance once at Cromwell, then prepared myself for the next words.

  “Fetch the tailor. Tell him that the work on my wedding suit is to continue as planned.”

  ***

  This was not the first time I waited for a bride, but never before had I felt such anxiety. Not about the future or what was to come, but rather about the woman herself. In the past two weeks there had been nothing to commend Anne of Cleves to me. She did not dance, her card playing was laughable, and she still insisted on wearing her ill-fitting gowns. The only blessing I could see was that someone had convinced the woman to bathe, so the smell that had originally accompanied her had finally dissipated somewhat. Her companions, including what I could only assume to be a nanny, still refused to use water to clean themselves, believing that it would bring evil spirits.

  Anne was already inside the small chapel where we were to be married. As this was a marriage of state, rather than personal desire, there were more witnesses; most members of the court had managed to contrive a reason to watch me marry this woman.

  Beside me stood Charles Brandon, his uncomfortable demeanor showing that he felt more like a jailor than a friend at this wedding. A new set of furs sat across his broad soldiers, holding his great chains of estate into place. As one of only two dukes in the kingdom, Charles was allowed almost unlimited freedom in his dress, and it showed – he had often rivaled me in being the most fashionable man at court.