Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“Come on, you snails!” she yelled at her ladies, who were puffing along some way behind her. “Oh, wait there then!” she laughed, and they gratefully collapsed onto the grassy slope.

The tower stood four-square before her, looming up imposingly against the darkening sky. Close up, it looked eerie and forbidding, but Anne was not one to be frightened by phantoms. Using the key the sergeant porter had given her, she unlocked the iron-barred door and pushed it open. Inside she found herself in a dim vaulted chamber covered in wall and ceiling paintings. There was something repellent in the stark black outlines of the people portrayed in them.

It seemed that no one had been here in a long time. Cobwebs trailed across the pointed windows, and a musty smell pervaded the still air. Anne climbed the spiral staircase in the corner. It led to a bedchamber, but the tester bed had been stripped bare. On the floor lay a dusty lady’s stocking.

There was nothing of interest here. She was about to leave when she heard a footfall above. Her heart began to race. What if someone who wished her ill had seen her coming, raced ahead and hidden, determined to kill her?

The footsteps were coming down the stairs now. Her instincts told her to run down to the ground floor as fast as she could, but then a man appeared in the doorway.

“Norris!” she cried in relief.

“Anne!” he exclaimed delightedly. In his surprise he had not used her title.

“I came to explore this place,” she said. “And you?”

“I…had to collect some things.” She noticed he had nothing in his hands.

“What’s up there?”

“Another bedchamber. There’s not much to see.” He seemed reluctant to move, so she sidled past him and ran up the stairs. She was astonished to enter a sumptuous apartment with a bed made up as richly as her own, three tapestries, and some fine pieces of furniture. On the floor lay a costly Turkey carpet.

Norris had ascended the stairs behind her.

“This is a room fit for a king!” she exclaimed.

“His Grace uses it occasionally,” he said.

“For his trysts with Jane Seymour? Don’t worry, Norris, I know about that.” Her voice was bitter. “But I didn’t know that they were making the beast with two backs.”

Norris hesitated again. “Jane Seymour has not been here,” he said.

Understanding dawned. “But he has brought others.”

He did not answer.

“In my time?” She turned to face him.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he begged, choked. “I love you too much.”

It would have been so easy to go into his arms, to feel—for a magical moment—safe and cherished. Kissing him would come as naturally as breathing, and feel beautiful and right. She had never experienced anything like that with Henry. She cared not whether he had brought a hundred women in here. He had never had her heart.

Yet she was his Queen, and—which mattered more—she did not want to forfeit Norris’s respect. She was no wench to be tumbled on that luxurious bed, although for a wicked instant she had been tempted. It would be the perfect revenge to cuckold Henry on the very bed in which he had betrayed her. But this precious thing that existed between her and Norris must not be sullied by revenge or any baseness.

Her voice was gentle but firm. “You cannot know how much I have longed for you to hold me,” she told him, as he looked at her yearningly. “But we can never be lovers.”

“I am ashamed of declaring myself,” he confessed. “The King accounts me his friend. He has been good to me. But I was overcome at the sight of you. I thought, we’re alone here and no one will know.”

“Nor shall they. What we have said shall be our secret. It will be enough to carry in my heart. You have Madge. Be happy.” She felt tears threatening. Thank goodness it was growing dark. She did not want Norris to see her cry. “I must go back.” She led the way down the stairs. “My ladies might come looking for me. I’ll go ahead, you go after.”

He caught her hand as she hastened to the door, lifting it to his lips and kissing it. “You are the sweetest lady that ever drew breath, Anne, and if I can ever be of service to you, you have only to crook your little finger.”

“I will remember that. Now farewell. Give me a few minutes.” She slipped through the door and almost ran down the hill, her heart heavy with a poignant sadness.



Her conscience would not let her rest. She wondered if Henry felt the same urge to confess to sinning with his mistresses. And her infidelity was only in her heart!

She sought out Father Skip and unburdened herself. He absolved her and imposed a light penance, since he felt she had truly repented.

Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her soul, and resolving never to be alone with Norris again, she called for Elizabeth to be brought to court from Hatfield, summoned her tailor, and had the child fitted for more new clothes. Because Elizabeth was so adventurous, darting off without warning, she ordered two leading reins with big buttons and long tassels, then decided that her daughter would look very pretty in a new cap of taffeta with a caul of damask gold. Henry was not forgotten. She bought silver and gold fringe and buttons for his saddle.

She became aware that day of a sense of unease pervading her household. There was nothing tangible, just the feeling that everyone was approaching her a little warily. Over the past week, some had absented themselves inexplicably, with no excuses offered. Today, a few others briefly disappeared. One was Jane Seymour. Was it her imagination, or was something going on? It was like being the only one left out of a secret.

All her old insecurities surfaced again. She felt as if some unknown disaster was looming. But that was nonsense. All was well. Henry was behaving much more kindly toward her; he had defended her rights and Elizabeth’s; he was taking her to Calais soon. So what could she have to fear?

Father came to see her and spent a few minutes admiring Elizabeth and grinning at her antics. But Anne could tell he was preoccupied.

“Your uncle of Norfolk and I have been appointed to the Middlesex Grand Jury,” he told her.

“Why look so miserable about it? It’s an honor, surely.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, as Elizabeth threw her ball at him. He tossed it back. “We are to sit on a commission that will inquire into all kinds of treasons, but I don’t know anything more, and I’m not supposed to talk about it. But you’re the Queen; I can tell you.”

“Henry has probably decided to silence his opponents once and for all,” Anne speculated. “He might even be thinking of proceeding against the Lady Mary.”

Father shook his head. “That really would scupper his entente with the Emperor. No, it can’t be that.”

“Maybe he is planning to make a case against Cromwell.”

Father’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe! Cromwell is still at Stepney. That would be a surprise for him, hah!”

“No more than he richly deserves,” Anne said.

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