Anne slammed the book shut. “Tut, Nan, it’s just a bauble, and I am resolved to have him, so that my children may be royal, whatever becomes of me.”
For all her bravado, the drawing had upset her, and she consigned the book to the fire. Who had left it for her to find? Access to her privy chamber was restricted to approved servants and those who were close to or approved of by her. She wondered if Jane Rochford had done it. She mentioned the book to Jane, but got no reaction.
As the days passed, she forgot about the incident. Christmas was coming, and this year, God be praised, she would not be spending it in exile at Hever, but presiding over it at court, by Henry’s side.
1533
Anne felt excitement mounting as she came from her close stool and washed her hands. She was a week overdue, her breasts were tender, and today she had felt nauseous on rising. She was with child, she was sure of it.
She hastened to find Henry, but he was in Council. She waited in the gallery, fidgeting, for him to emerge. When he did, she hurried up to him as the lords following in his wake stared curiously.
“I must speak to your Grace,” she murmured, barely able to contain herself. What would he say when she told him that the heir to England slept under her girdle?
“Of course, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Gentlemen, we shall meet again at the same time tomorrow.”
And by then everything would have changed!
He led her into the nearby chapel and looked at her questioningly.
“I’m with child!” she burst out.
His face was transfigured; it burst into a radiant smile. “Thanks be to God!” he breathed, bowing to the crucifix on the altar. He turned to her. “You know what this means, Anne? It is a vindication of all I have done. Heaven has smiled on us both. Our marriage will be truly blessed. Oh, my darling, I am so proud of you!” And he took her in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her gently. “You must take care,” he urged. “You carry a precious burden. Thank you, Anne, thank you! You cannot know how much this news means to me.” He laid his hand on her belly. “A son—an heir to England, and her savior, no less. Now we will be free from the threat of civil war.”
“I am the happiest of women!” Anne exulted. “I shall choose ‘The Most Happy’ for my motto as queen, to remind me of this precious moment.”
“We must be married without delay,” Henry said. “I’ll go and talk to Cranmer now.”
He returned to her chamber rejoicing. “Cranmer says there is no impediment, and that my union with Katherine is unquestionably null and void. He says he will confirm everything formally in his court. Darling, there is no need to wait, and no time to be lost. People must believe that our child was conceived in lawful wedlock. We must be married now.”
—
It was still dark when Anne rose on the feast of the conversion of St. Paul, the twenty-fifth day of January. Anne Savage was dressed already, and waiting to attire her for her wedding. Around them the palace slumbered on.
She had chosen to wear white satin, with her hair loose, in token of the symbolic virginity of a queen. The gown was beautiful, with its low square neckline, hanging sleeves, pointed stomacher, and heavy skirts. It was a gown made for display, but this wedding had to take place in secret, so she suffered her ladies to conceal it under a voluminous black velvet mantle lined with fur.
With Anne Savage bearing her train, she hastened silently up a deserted spiral staircase to a little oratory in a high tower. There, awaiting them in the sanctuary, stood Henry’s chaplain, Dr. Lee, in full vestments. Then Henry arrived, tall, eager, and imposing in cloth of gold, accompanied by his gentlemen, all sworn to secrecy: Norris, who met Anne’s eyes with a slight but poignant frown; Thomas Heneage of the King’s Privy Chamber, and William Brereton. Anne Savage divested her mistress of her mantle. Anne curtseyed gracefully to Henry, who took her hand and kissed it. “You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes drinking her in.
They knelt together before the altar, and Dr. Lee began intoning the words of the Holy Sacrament of marriage. The King’s eyes never left Anne’s as they spoke their vows.
“I, Henry, take thee, Anne…”
“I, Anne, take thee, Henry…”
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder!” Dr. Lee commanded, and pronounced them man and wife.
Anne could barely contain herself. She wanted to shout out to the world that she was Henry’s wife and Queen, but she controlled the impulse. It could not be long before their marriage was proclaimed, for in a few weeks her pregnancy would start to show. She contented herself by telling her friends that she was now as sure that she should be married to the King as she was of her own death.
Now that Anne was his wife, Henry was utterly resolved to brook no opposition. In anticipation of that, he banished Katherine to Ampthill Castle, forty-six miles from London, determined to break her resistance.
Gladly Anne battled the nausea that had plagued her from the first. The only thing that helped was eating apples, for which she had developed a sudden craving. One day, coming out of her chamber with a host of courtiers, she saw Tom Wyatt approaching along the gallery. He stopped and bowed stiffly, avoiding her gaze. She would teach him to be distant, he that had once been so hot in pursuit!
“Tom, do you have any apples?” she asked mischievously. “I have a wild desire to eat apples, such as I never had in my life before! The King tells me it is a sign that I am with child, but it is nothing of the sort.” At the look on Tom’s face, she burst out laughing.
He turned on his heel and walked away. She looked for him all day, intending to apologize, but he did not return.
—
“I think I might go on pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham after Easter,” she told Henry.
“And I think you should rest and not go gallivanting around the country,” he told her. “Go and give Our Lady thanks after you’ve been delivered. She will understand.”
“But I’m feeling very well, apart from this nausea in the mornings,” she protested.
“No, darling,” Henry commanded. “You will not take any risks with our son.”