Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“What is Queen Katherine like?” she asked.

“Charming, and very kind,” Mother said. “She is a most pious lady, and good to her servants. Of course, she has suffered tragic losses. Six children she has borne, and only the Princess Mary lives. She dotes on her, as you can imagine. But the King needs a son to succeed him, and there’s been no sign of another pregnancy for about four years.”

“Why should the Princess Mary not succeed?” Anne asked.

“Because she is a woman, dear sister,” George replied, pouring more wine. “Women are not fit to rule—most are emotional, weak creatures.” He ducked as Anne picked up a cushion and swung it in his direction. “Help!”

“You are being unnecessarily provocative, dear,” Mother said.

“What of Isabella of Spain?” Anne asked. “What of the Regent Margaret? Wise, successful rulers, both of them. You are behind the times, brother. Give me one good reason why a woman cannot rule.”

“They throw cushions,” George said, smirking. Anne punched him.

“Now stop it, the two of you,” Mother ordered. “There is much to discuss. Anne, I need to know how well equipped you are for the court. You have sufficient gowns of black or white? No other colors are permitted for those who serve the Queen.”



There was really no time in which to feel homesick for France. No sooner had Anne arrived home than she was packing to leave again. At last all was carefully stowed away in her chests, and she and George were on their way to Greenwich, leaving Mother waving them off wistfully from the drawbridge.

The sprawling red-brick turreted palace nestling by the River Thames reminded Anne of the palaces of the Regent. It blatantly emulated them, having been built for pleasure and display. Over all towered the mighty donjon that housed the royal apartments, and surrounding the palace were lovely gardens.

“The King was born here,” George said, as they rode into the stables’ courtyard. “He loves this place.”

Inside, the galleries and rooms were light, thanks to the tall oriel windows that afforded views of the river. The ceiling of the great hall was painted yellow, in keeping with the rest of the brightly colored decor, which seemed gaudy to eyes used to the sophisticated classical schemes of the French royal chateaux. But the walls were adorned with magnificent tapestries or painted with imposing murals. Fine furniture graced all the chambers, and there were costly Turkey carpets on the rush-matted floors.

George escorted Anne up the stairs of the donjon to the door of the Queen’s apartments, where she gave her name to the usher and was announced.

“Good luck!” her brother whispered, backing away, and then she was on her own.



Queen Katherine looked up from her sewing and smiled.

“Welcome, Mistress Anne,” she said, extending her hand to be kissed. She was dressed ornately in rich damask, and her velvet hood was in the traditional gabled English style, with long lappets. It framed a face that was pale, even pasty, and lined with care, but the Queen’s expression was sweetness itself.

As Anne rose from her curtsey, she saw that all the other ladies and maids were wearing English hoods covering their hair. She wondered if the Queen might object to the French hood she herself wore, but Katherine said nothing. She was interested only in courteously presenting Anne to the great ladies of her household, the chief of whom seemed to be the gaunt, aristocratic-looking Countess of Salisbury. Anne soon learned that the Countess and the Queen were great friends.

She quickly settled into the routine of the Queen’s household, but she found, to her initial dismay, that it was more like Queen Claude’s than Marguerite’s. The maids of honor were expected to be punctilious in their devotions and charitable deeds. They spent hours sewing altar frontals, copes, or garments for themselves and the poor. But the Queen also loved music and dancing. She was learned, too, and Anne enjoyed the intellectual discussions in her chamber, although she was aware that her new mistress’s views were strictly orthodox. There could be no mention of controversial subjects like religious reform or the march of women. Yet Katherine’s maids were allowed much more freedom than Claude’s, and the young gentlemen of the King’s household and Cardinal Wolsey’s were even invited into her chamber to make merry with them, all under Katherine’s benevolent eye.

The Queen did not stint on praise. Anne was assigned to look after her wardrobe and personal effects, and everything she did was received with a smile and an appreciative thank-you. She found herself warming to Katherine, whom it was impossible not to admire. And the Princess Mary, who was often with her mother, was the most delightful child, graceful, well-spoken, and entrancing. Within that first week, Anne knew that she had much for which to be grateful in being appointed to the Queen’s household.

The English court was far more sober than the French, and one of the first things Anne noticed was the decorum that was observed. Promiscuity was frowned on, and everyone was expected to follow the virtuous examples of the King and Queen. That license was taken Anne had no doubt, but if so, discretion was the watchword.

She soon realized that she was the focus of attention in the court at large, and supposed it was because she was so very French in every respect: her mode of dress, her manners, her speech, her behavior. Because of it, she stood out among her peers, and inevitably the men came circling, like moths attracted to a flame. But she would not allow her head to be turned.

“They are calling you St. Agnes, for your constant virginity!” Mary giggled as they sat chatting in the lodging in the palace’s outer court, which had been assigned as a privilege to Will Carey, as one of the King’s gentlemen. In these early days, when she knew hardly anyone, Anne often resorted there in her free time, and Mary would serve good wine and marchpane, and tell her all the court gossip. “They say no one would take you for an Englishwoman, but for a Frenchwoman born. Maybe it is not a good idea to appear thus when we are at war with France.”

“It seems to make no difference,” Anne said. “I cannot help being what I am. And I doubt that Father would buy me a new wardrobe in the English style. Anyway, I’ve noticed that some ladies have already copied my gowns.”

Mary shrugged. “Talking of gowns, we might need to get sewing. Will tells me that there are to be revels for the visit of the Imperial ambassadors. They are coming to arrange the betrothal of the Princess Mary to the Emperor.”

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