ROCHFORD HALL – AUTUMN 1524
Anne watched Lady Boleyn coo and fuss over her granddaughter lying naked on a fleece by the fire. At the King’s command, Mary had called her baby Catherine. The nursemaid handed Lady Boleyn fresh swaddling, and she wrapped her granddaughter in it then scooped her up in her arms. The baby wriggled her head, rooting for milk.
Lady Boleyn looked at Mary. ‘She’s hungry.’
‘I’ve not long fed the greedy little tyrant,’ Mary grumbled.
‘Well, she needs feeding again,’ their mother said and with great reluctance lowered her granddaughter into Mary’s arms.
Mary loosened the drawstring on her smock and put the baby to her breast. The baby’s head moved to and fro, seeking, then she latched on. Mary closed her eyes and winced.
‘It won’t hurt as much once your skin toughens up.’
‘Henry came to see Anne, not his daughter. He barely held her a moment.’
Lady Boleyn raised an eyebrow. ‘You can’t be sure Catherine is his child.’
Anne looked across at the baby who was suckling noisily, crowned by wispy red hair.
‘Yes, I can,’ Mary snapped. ‘William and I agreed we wouldn’t lie together while I lay with the King.’
‘You were a long time to get with the child then.’ Their mother’s voice held a note of surprise.
‘Henry wanted to enjoy me, to begin with,’ Mary said bitterly. She glanced at her baby then at Anne. ‘He told me from the outset that he only sowed his seed in a woman when he was tired of her, so I guess that’s that.’
‘You should’ve let William get you with a child when you were away from court, and you wouldn’t have had to be his mistress,’ Anne retorted.
Mary drew in a deep breath. ‘You have an answer for everything, little sister.’
Unwilling to test Mary’s fragile temper, Anne rose and went to stand at the window. It was a cold bright September day. Rochford Hall was one of the largest houses in the land and its grounds extended for miles around. Her family had inherited the manor from her great-grandfather, Thomas Ormond de Rochford and seventh Earl of Ormond. A large skein of wild geese was flying across the sky in from a north-westerly direction. The wind whipped around the house, buffeting the windows. The silk curtains rustled in the draught, and the pattern of swallows and wolves stirred to life.
‘It’s going to be a cold winter,’ she observed. ‘The geese are coming in early.’
‘What did the King want to talk to you about, Anne?’ her mother asked.
Anne watched her mother and sister reflected in the window. After a moment, Mary prompted their mother with a nudge.
‘He didn’t ride out here for nothing,’ her mother pressed.
Mary began winding Catherine, her movements rough with agitation. ‘Anne,’ she said sharply.
‘He spoke about me returning to court, but I told him I couldn’t leave you.’ Anne turned to face Mary.
A twist of smoke rose up the chimney, and Catherine let out a loud burp. Mary rose and laid her in her cradle.
‘You’re like those geese preparing to fly,’ she said to Anne.
Anne took a breath. ‘I do as our mother and father bid.’
‘And you’re only too glad to do their bidding.’
Anne shrugged. ‘Father will be here shortly. You can vent your displeasure at him.’
‘What’s the use?’ Mary mumbled and continued to settle Catherine.
‘I have no desire to return to court, but I also have no control over the matter.’ Anne paused. The birth of Catherine had briefly brought them closer, but Henry’s trips to visit Anne had stirred enmity between them. After a moment Anne added, ‘I had a strange dream last night.’ She had no desire to quarrel with Mary, and she knew her sister was fascinated by herbs and medicines, spending many an hour deciphering dreams with the cunning folk.
‘What did you dream?’ Mary asked at once.
‘I was in what I can only describe as the kitchens or cellars of an old castle. Tunnels led off the room, and there was a window high in the recess of the wall. I could see trees through it and what resembled a forest. There was a fire glowing bright red in the hearth, and three silver platters were laid out on a trestle. I couldn’t stop looking at the thickness of the walls. They were dressed quoin, and I knew I was in a well-fortified place.’
Mary turned to Anne and gave her a thoughtful look. ‘How did you feel?’
‘I felt overwhelming sadness,’ Anne replied.
‘Can you say why?’
‘It was as if I were inside a primitive part of myself and I had nothing to offer.’
‘Despite being in a kitchen, and despite the silver platters?’ Mary observed.
‘There was no food and I didn’t know what to do.’ Anne’s voice cracked, and she stopped speaking.
‘Here, drink this.’ Mary passed her a cup of mead. ‘The cellars aren’t the rooms of a castle I would associate with you, but maybe you are looking for a way out?’
‘A tunnel is a rite of passage, I suppose,’ Anne replied, and felt tears forming. Through their glaze, she saw the look of irritation her mother was giving her.
‘These are uncertain times. You’re passing from one stage of your life to the next,’ Lady Boleyn remarked.
‘I said the walls were well fortified,’ Anne told her mother as the door opened and her father entered the room.
‘How’s little Catherine?’ he asked, smiling, as he walked straight to the cradle.
Catherine gurgled and waved her fists.
‘She’s getting big,’ her father remarked to Mary as he rocked the cradle with his foot. He turned to Anne. ‘What’s the matter, Nan?’
‘She’s been having peculiar dreams,’ Mary told him.
‘You haven’t eaten something out of season?’ her father asked.
Anne shook her head.
Lady Boleyn gave a disparaging sniff. ‘I think Anne is anxious and wants to know, as do I, what’s happening about her marriage.’
‘The King wants us all back at court.’
‘Me too?’ Mary questioned.
Her father nodded and sat down on the bench. ‘Kildare has been made deputy in Ireland.’
‘Since when?’ Lady Boleyn shrieked.
‘And Piers is Treasurer,’ her father continued. ‘The commissioners sent to Ireland by the King and Wolsey advised that a transfer of power from Ormond to Kildare was justified.’
Lady Boleyn’s brows rose. ‘Why?’
‘Because while Piers can muster assets and vast amounts of men, his presence is needed in his own territories.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Lady Boleyn snapped.
Anne looked at the wall hangings, a set of bright tapestries depicting pastoral scenes. One in particular stood out, a shepherd and his wolf-dog herding sheep into a fold. It had been beautifully done. Silver and white thread had been used for the sheep and black and silver for the wolf. The sky was dramatic. The embroiderer had used gold threads in amongst the blue to create the fading sunlight and the onset of dusk. It twinkled with a hint of menace. She thought of the Aesop fable about the shepherd boy and the wolf.
‘It was your brother who pressed for Kildare’s return to Ireland. No point grumbling now,’ her father said to her mother.
‘The conditions my brother met in Ireland were an abomination,’ Anne’s mother shot back. ‘Dublin Castle is so dilapidated he was forced to lodge elsewhere. Not to mention the city and the hinterlands that are ravaged with the plague. He lost members of his household, became sick himself, and still endeavoured to restore Ireland to good order and obedience. He would have been able to do more had he the resources.’
‘Be advised, Elizabeth, there is more to being a soldier than donning a livery. I told him and your father that he shouldn’t take the post of lieutenant, but none of you would listen. Your brother was never going to be able to bring the Irish to heel. He was foolish to think he could. You all were. Kildare made sure of that when he appropriated Irish funds.’ Her father shook his head. ‘And, now Kildare’s back running Ireland, and the best of it is your brother had to ask him to return.’
‘My brother is advising the King on Ireland,’ Elizabeth said in an elevated voice.
Her father rolled his eyes. ‘The King’s priorities are continental diplomacy, defence of the northern English borders, and then Ireland, in that order.’
Anne looked between them. ‘And you’re going to send me to the place you’ve just described?’
Her father shook his head. ‘I needed you to think I was.’
Like a game of chess, he was often three or four moves ahead of everyone else. While his opponents were playing their opening, he was playing his middle, and by the time his opponents were playing their middle, he was closing his game. Some people called him a cheat; others called him skilful.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘So you would behave as I wanted and take James into your confidence. If you had believed otherwise, you would not have done that. Kildare will curtail the raids of the Gaelic Irish on the Pale. That will satisfy the lords, but a solution will only come when the Irish have exhausted themselves fighting one another.’
It would satisfy the King if Kildare forced the Gaelic Irish to pay coin to the crown. More revenues meant more soldiers to hold the Pale. Both were as cunning as wolves.
Anne’s mother shook her head. ‘You’ve been telling me that for years.’
‘Have patience, Elizabeth. It’s happening. Less than six weeks ago, James Kildare raided Piers’s southern estates and exploited the disaffection of the younger Butlers.’
‘How could Henry be so foolish as to settle the lordship on Kildare when only a year past, his brother signed that treaty at Askeaton Castle supporting Richard de la Pole’s claim to his throne? It is beyond sense,’ her mother protested.
Her father quirked his brows. ‘Simple. King Kildare is the man to control the Gaelic Irish for now.’
Lady Boleyn bristled in an angry gesture. ‘You should have supported my brother when he asked the King for more money for Ireland.’
‘Father just told you that Ireland isn’t on the King’s agenda, so why put it on yours?’ Anne snapped. These spats between her parents were a daily occurrence, and she had reached her limit.
‘Ireland should be important to all of us. We have rich lands there that are within our grasp!’
Anne rolled her eyes contemptuously. ‘You will get all sorts of valuable things and fill your house with plunder, as the proverb says.’
‘Quiet, or you’ll find yourself in Ireland sooner than you think,’ her mother snarled.
Her father chuckled. ‘The King wants Anne at court.’
‘You think it’s amusing to make fun of me,’ her mother said.
‘Don’t excite yourself, Elizabeth. We’re joining the King at Richmond for Christmas.’
‘The King directs us like a watercourse wherever he pleases.’ Anne couldn’t keep the coldness from her tone.
Her mother looked around. ‘You’re too clever for your own good. It will be your downfall. Come, Mary.’ She scooped Catherine up into her arms and Mary followed her out of the room.
Her father leaned his head against the cushioned high back of his chair, closed his eyes, and murmured, ‘Pass me a cup of that mead.’
‘How did you ever manage without me?’ Anne asked as she passed her father a cup.
‘I was rarely at home,’ her father answered. Looking in the direction of the tapestry, Anne heard him mutter, ‘It’s wolf’s blood.’
‘What is, father?’ When he didn’t answer, she too gazed at the tapestry, trying to read his mind. She thought of her mother and sister. ‘They are your badly behaved flock?’
Her father smiled.
Anne tilted her head and fixed her father with a steady gaze. ‘And I am your wolf dog! Man and his dog…’
Her father’s eyes lit up.
Anne gave a nod in the direction of the tapestry. The wolf twinkled in the forefront. ‘Isn’t a shepherd’s flock the thing that is most precious to him?’ When her father didn’t reply, Anne said, ‘You use me to round them up. I have a bad relationship with them on your behalf.’
Her father’s gaze sharpened. ‘I love you the most,’ he said, as if that excused all.
Anne searched his face, not doubting their bond, but it puzzled her that he would not defend her to her mother. He never had. Her thoughts drifted to the King. His sly glance and the pleasure in his voice that afternoon when he had casually said Percy’s marriage to Mary was going ahead. All she had been able to do was feign indifference. She didn’t want to return to court, nor did she want to stay at Rochford Hall. She longed to return to Hever for the freedom it offered. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought. ‘I am going to take a walk before we lose the sun,’ she said.
Her father nodded. ‘Very well, but wrap up. It’s bitter outside.’