The Boleyn Wife. Brandy Purdy

it with this, and hope that it shall be mine.” And boldly he kissed the jeweled tablet.

      Already flushed from the heat of his heavy brocade and silken garments and a vigorous game on a warm day, Henry’s face flamed scarlet. His eyes narrowed and that cruel little mouth became crueler still.

      “It may be, it may well be that I have been deceived!” And with that he turned his back on Wyatt and stormed from the bowling green. Abruptly he stopped and spun round and went to confront Anne.

      “Mistress, you will explain! How haps it that trinket is in Wyatt’s possession and that he wears it upon his heart?”

      “Thievery,” Anne answered smoothly. “The same manner in which Your Majesty acquired my ring.”

      For a long moment no one dared move or breathe. Anne had just called the King of England a thief!

      “As for why he wears it above his heart,” Anne continued, “I can only suppose that were he to wear it around his waist, as intended, people would laugh; the effect is not quite so becoming without skirts.”

      Henry threw back his head and roared with laughter.

      “By my soul, Anne, what a woman you are!” He offered her his arm and together they strolled back into the palace, all smiles and merry spirits.

      Watching them, George shook his head and smiled.

      “There is no one like Anne!” he declared with pride.

      It was all I could do not to snatch up one of the wooden jacks and beat him over the head with it. I had a vision of myself doing so, so vividly real it was ghastly and made me feel sick with shame. In my mind’s eye I saw myself raising the jack, and bringing it down with all the force I could muster, and hearing his skull crack, and his voice cry out, pleading with pain, as blood gushed out, and I raised the jack and brought it down again and again and again, hoping and wishing with all my might that I could bash all thoughts of Anne out of his brain.

      By now the whole court knew that the King wanted Anne, and bets were being laid about how long she would resist before she became his mistress. But Anne herself only hinted at her true intentions, saying once to her sister, “You went first, but I aim to go further.”

      Even Queen Catherine knew. Always before she had stoically endured her husband’s infidelities, pretending that she did not hear or see. But this was different; Anne was different.

      One afternoon Her Majesty bade us join her for a game of cards. Obediently we sat down around the table. At her request, I dealt the cards. All continued amicably until Anne triumphantly slapped down a card.

      “Mistress Anne.” Queen Catherine regarded her sadly. “You have the good fortune to stop at a King, but you are not like the others, I think. You will have all…”

      “…or nothing,” they finished as one.

      Their eyes locked, Catherine’s intent and searching, Anne’s scorching with ambition.

      At last, Catherine sighed and shook her head, her gray eyes misty with sorrow and what, for just a moment, looked like pity, but it passed so quickly I could not be sure.

      “That will be all,” she said quietly. “Leave me now. I am weary,” she murmured, pressing a hand against her brow, her fingers rubbing as if they could erase the lines that time and worry had etched there, while her other hand reached for the rosary beads ever present at her waist.

      As we walked away Anne said, “She is as stubborn as one of her Spanish mules! Even a blind fool could see the King no longer loves her. Why doesn’t she just accept it and get the best terms while she can? Henry is prepared to be generous; he will allow her the title of Princess Dowager and love her like a sister—which is what she is—his sister by marriage. Why does she not give in? I do not understand her at all!”

      And she would not understand until she herself stood where Queen Catherine stood now.

      Henry’s next move was to dispatch Wolsey to France to barter for a French bride; while at the same time another messenger was, unbeknowst to the great and powerful Cardinal Wolsey, sent secretly to petition the Pope in Rome.

      Henry chose to keep Wolsey in the dark simply because he feared the Cardinal would not work as hard to bring about the divorce if he knew Henry’s intended bride was Anne Boleyn.

      When Anne learned of this she scoffed, “You all but bend your knee to Wolsey! Are you King of England or does the butcher’s boy wear the Crown? I thought it was the Chancellor’s task to do the King’s bidding, not the other way around!”

      Thus she brought the King around to her way of thinking, and Wolsey’s star began its slow descent.