She nodded.
“There were those who expressed doubts at the time, but my Council overruled them, and I was determined to have Katherine for my wife. It was a brilliant marriage alliance, and I loved her. Besides, I was assured, by her and by her father, that she was still a virgin. Arthur was ill when he married her; he died six months later. But, Anne, the good Bishop has directed me to the Book of Leviticus in the Bible, and I have been reading it over and over again, for it warns of the penalty for those who incur God’s displeasure by taking their brother’s widow to wife. ‘They shall be childless’! And having only a daughter, I am as good as childless. All my sons with Katherine died.”
There were tears in Henry’s eyes; he was a bereaved father as well as a sovereign without an heir.
“If the Bishop has these doubts about my marriage, others may too,” he went on. “God knows I’ve studied the matter this past week. I’ve read books till my head ached. I’ve talked to my confessor. He says I may well be in error, and living in sin, and that to avoid God’s displeasure I should ask for the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury and my Council.” He paused, his face that of a tortured soul. “And so, Anne, I mind to do so, with a view to having my union with the Queen declared incestuous and invalid.”
Anne stifled a gasp. “Your Grace would go so far? You would divorce such a devout and beloved queen?”
“I must think of my kingdom, Anne, and what will surely ensue if I die leaving no son. There would be civil war, make no bones about it. God knows, I have enough relations of the old Plantagenet royal blood ready to stake their claim, and some of them may not do me the courtesy of waiting till I die.” There was genuine fear in his voice, and anger too. “I must have a son, Anne, and to do that I need to take another wife.”
Anne was still digesting it all. “But the Queen? What of her? She will be devastated. She loves you so much.”
“She will understand that these doubts must be resolved, and that I need an heir. But, God help me, I don’t know how I am going to face breaking this to her, and for now, Anne, you must say nothing of it to anyone. Katherine has known for some time that all is not well. I have…refrained from her bed, not just on account of this new scruple of conscience, although I have been advised by my confessor that I must do so until the matter is settled. She has a disease…Well, I will not go into it.”
Suddenly Henry’s need for her, his passion, was making more sense to Anne. He had been looking to her for what his wife could no longer give him.
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. She realized that he was weeping silently.
“Anne, I did not ask you here just to talk about my marriage,” he said at length, and surprised her by sliding down on one knee before her. “You have said that you will not give yourself to me, and I respect that. But when I am free, will you marry me?”
This was the last thing she had expected, and it threw her utterly. When Henry had spoken of remarrying, she had assumed that he meant some foreign princess who could bring him political advantages and a large dowry. Kings did not marry the likes of her, who had neither.
He was looking up at her yearningly, tears in his eyes. “Maybe I should not have spoken at this time, since I am not yet free, but Anne, I love you truly, I am mad for you, and I can think of no woman I would rather marry.” He seized her hands and kissed them. “Tell me I may hope!”
“I am not worthy,” she said, unable to grasp the enormity of what they were discussing. “I am a commoner.”
“You have the soul of an angel and a spirit worthy of a crown,” Henry enthused, rising back into his seat and taking her hands. “None could deny it. My own grandmother was a commoner. My grandfather, King Edward, married her for love. There was a lot of fuss, of course. The nobility resented her, and said she was not worthy, but she proved a good queen—as you will, my darling, I have no doubt of it. You are not of ordinary clay.”
Anne’s heart was pounding furiously as the realization dawned that Henry really did want to make her queen, and that it was not such an outrageous proposition as she imagined.
“Besides,” he said, grinning, “it seems that the only way I can win you is by marrying you.”
A thought struck her. “Sir, these doubts you have—they are not on account of me, I trust?”
“No, Anne. I have asked myself that. But had I never met or loved you, I would still have them, and still be wanting an annulment. I have to provide for the succession. It is my duty as king.”
She still could not think clearly. Was she dreaming this? But no, here was Henry, big and ardent, his hands warm on hers.
They were becoming clearer now, the implications of marrying the King. Every material thing she wanted would be hers. The advantages to her family would be immeasurable. The Boleyns would be the highest family in the land. Seeing Father’s reaction alone would be worth accepting Henry’s proposal! Her children and descendants would rule England…
But she would have to take the man with the king. She had never wished in her heart to choose him, and still did not want him in that way. She was not in love with him, and she knew there would be less freedom in marriage to him than with a lesser man who was more agreeable to her. Marrying the King would set them both on a controversial course, and there were sure to be obstacles to be overcome. But her pride was welling up—pride in herself and in her family. A Percy had considered her worthy, and Plantagenet blood ran in her veins. Why should she not aspire to a crown?
A distant bell struck, and she heard the watchman’s cry: “One o’clock and all’s well!”
“It’s late, sir,” she said. “I must go to bed. I beg you, do not think me insensible of the high honor you do me in asking me to be your wife and Queen. In truth, my mind cannot quite compass it. I pray you, grant me time in which to consider, for this is not a matter to be undertaken lightly.”
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Henry murmured, and drew her into his arms, pressing his lips on hers. This time she did not resist.
—
Anne realized that she would have no peace from Henry if she remained at court, so she asked the Queen for permission to absent herself, pleading illness again, and rode home with her mother to Hever. In her hand she clutched a folded piece of paper that an anguished Henry had pressed into her palm before she left. On it, he had written:
O my heart, and O my heart,
My heart it is so sore,
Since I must needs from my love depart,
And know no cause wherefore.