Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“You should lie down,” Mary Howard urged her, and helped her away to her bed.


Again Anne felt faint.

The lords came for her soon afterward, accompanied by a larger detachment of the King’s guard and Sir William Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, a tall, distinguished knight in middle age who had long served Henry well and was high in his favor.

“Madam,” he said, bowing, “I am to have charge of you during your stay at the Tower. You must come with me now.” His gray eyes were not unkind or devoid of humanity, and his grizzled head was respectfully bowed. Although Anne knew he had been a friend of Cardinal Wolsey, and had been rumored to be an admirer of the late Princess Dowager, she sensed that he had some sympathy for her.

She bade a brief farewell to her attendants, gave Urian a last pat—poor boy, he was looking at her so soulfully, perhaps sensing her distress—then walked with her custodians through the palace to where her barge was waiting. Passing between the ranked stone statues of heraldic beasts, she descended the privy stairs and stepped on board, as the lords climbed into the vessel behind her. Norfolk indicated that she should enter the cabin, then sat down heavily beside her on the cushioned bench and himself drew the curtains so that she should not be seen from the shore. It was one small mercy.

As the barge began its journey, she tried to ignore his sanctimonious tut-tutting.

“You should remember that your paramours have confessed their guilt,” he said.

She flared. “I am innocent! I have had no paramours! I beg of you, take me to see His Grace.”

“Tut, tut!” Norfolk repeated, shaking his head, until she thought she would scream.

“We’re nearing the Tower now,” he said presently, and she started as a deafening burst of cannon fire almost rocked the barge. “They’re announcing your arrival. It’s done when a person of high rank is brought here under arrest.” There was the sound of shouting and loud voices from outside, and the Duke peered through a chink in the curtains. “People are running to see what’s happening.”

Anne looked out too, and at the sight of the great fortress looming up in front of her, her courage almost failed her. She remembered that More and Fisher and the Nun of Kent had left this place for the scaffold.

She waited as the oarsmen steered the vessel toward the Queen’s Stairs, which led up to the Court Gate, the postern entrance where she had entered at her coronation. The difference between that day and this was too monumental to bear thinking about. Back then, Henry had been waiting here to welcome her; he had kissed her in front of everyone. Now she was alone—and terrified of what he might do to her.

Sir William Kingston appeared at the door of the cabin. “Please come with me, madam.” She rose and clambered along the footway behind him, between the rows of staring oarsmen, Norfolk and the other lords bringing up the rear. She could hear the roar of the crowd on Tower Hill as she ascended the Queen’s Stairs. Waiting at the top was Kingston’s deputy, Sir Edmund Walsingham, the Lieutenant of the Tower, flanked by a detachment of guards.

When she reached the dark passage below the ancient Byward Tower, Anne faced the stark reality of her situation. It was rare, she realized, for anyone accused of treason to escape death. She felt so ill with fear that she thought she might collapse. As her stoutly maintained composure disintegrated, she sank to her knees. “Oh, my God, my God, help me, as I am not guilty of those crimes of which I am accused!” she wailed. The councillors stood there looking down on her pitilessly.

“Sir William, we commit the Queen, here prisoner, to your custody,” Norfolk said to Kingston, then he turned to his colleagues, nodded, and made to depart.

Anne struggled to her feet, despairing. “My lords, I pray you, beseech the King’s Grace to be good to me!” Her voice rose on a sob, but still they ignored her and headed back through the postern—to freedom. They knew not how blessed they were!

“Sir William, may I write to the King?” she begged.

“You may not write to anyone, madam,” he told her.

“Please! He is my lord and husband.”

“Orders is orders,” grunted Sir Edmund Walsingham.

“Come this way,” Kingston said. The guards surrounded Anne and she followed the constable along the outer ward of the Tower that led toward the royal lodgings.

“I was received with greater ceremony the last time I entered here,” she recalled. “Master Kingston, do I go into a dungeon?”

He looked at her in surprise. “No, madam, you shall go into the lodging that you stayed in at your coronation.”

The relief was indescribable. Henry, for reasons she could not fathom, was doing this to teach her some sort of lesson. They did not house traitors in palaces. But then no queen had ever been accused of treason in England…

She thought of Norris, of how nearly she had sinned with him, had indeed sinned in her heart. He did not deserve to be caught up in this.

“Where are those accused with me being held?” she asked.

“I am not allowed to discuss them with you, madam,” the constable said.

“They are in dungeons—you don’t need to tell me.”

“We cannot say,” Sir Edmund barked. “Orders is orders.”

“Then this lodging is too good for me!” she cried, imagining Norris in chains, and veering back from optimism to terror. What did they intend to do with her? “Jesu, have mercy on me!” she cried out, and fell helplessly to her knees on the cobbles, great sobs racking her body. Kingston and Sir Edmund stared down at her in dismay, but neither ventured to help her up. It was not done for a lesser mortal to lay hands on the Queen of England. At the thought, she burst out laughing hysterically. They might be preparing to put her to death, but they dared not lift her up!

With an effort, she rose, and they continued past the Lieutenant’s House to the entrance to the palace, where Kingston preceded her up the stairs to her lodgings. It was as if three years had melted away. The rooms smelled musty, but they were just as she had left them to go in triumph through the City. It seemed like yesterday that she had admired the spacious chambers, the great mantel, and the mischievous putti gambolling along the antique frieze.

Those who had been chosen to attend her were waiting for her. She was dismayed to see that chief among them were four ladies she disliked. There was her Aunt Boleyn, the wife of her Uncle James, who had recently incurred Anne’s enmity by switching his allegiance to the Lady Mary. There too was Lady Shelton, who greeted Anne with undisguised venom.

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