“I promised him an audience,” Henry muttered. “I can’t send him away without giving offense.”
Chapuys did not look once in Anne’s direction. When Henry beckoned him forward, he spoke in a low voice. “Sir, I cannot believe that a prince of your Majesty’s great wisdom and virtue has consented to the putting away of the Queen. Since your Majesty has no regard for men, you should have some respect for God.”
Henry’s face flushed an angry red. “God and my conscience are on good terms,” he retorted. “You sting me!”
“Then I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” Chapuys apologized.
Henry glowered at him. “If the world thinks this divorce so extraordinary, then it should find it strange that the Pope granted me a dispensation without having the power to do so. Moreover, messire, I wish to have a successor to my kingdom.”
“Your Majesty has a daughter endowed with all imaginable goodness and virtue, and of an age to bear children,” Chapuys reminded him. “Nature obliges your Majesty to leave the throne to the Princess Mary.”
“I wish to have male children,” Henry growled, really riled now.
“Your Majesty is not sure of having them?” Chapuys asked boldly. Anne was holding her breath.
“Am I not a man like other men?” Henry barked, incensed. “You are not privy to all my secrets!”
Chapuys bowed, but persisted. “I must warn your Majesty that the Emperor will never recognize the Lady Anne as queen. Any annulment you might procure in England can have no validity in law.”
“It was no marriage!” Henry snarled.
“But your Majesty has often confessed that the Queen was a virgin when you married.”
“Hah! A man when he is jesting and feasting says a good many things that are not true.” He leaned forward menacingly. “All your remonstrances are useless. The Lady Anne, as you call her, is my Queen. The Emperor has no right to interfere. I shall pass such laws in my kingdom as I like. And now, Messire Chapuys, this audience is at an end.”
As Chapuys bowed himself out, Henry whispered to Anne, “Don’t let him upset you, sweetheart. He is all threats and hot air, and I’ve heard it far too many times before.”
—
After the officers and members of Anne’s household had all sworn their oaths of allegiance, she summoned them to attend the first meeting of her council. Looking around at them as she sat in her great chair at the head of the table, she reflected that Henry had done her proud. The household he had assigned her was worthy of the greatest of queens. It was packed with Boleyn connections, all eager to serve her, and as officers he had appointed able men who were congenial to her.
Her great train of ladies was headed by the King’s own niece, Lady Margaret Douglas, who had served the Princess Mary as lady-of-honor, but seemed happy to fill the same post under Anne. Margaret was half Scots, the daughter of Henry’s older sister Margaret; she was a great beauty and a poet. Anne was also delighted to have Elizabeth Browne, Countess of Worcester, who was a good friend, despite her half-brother, Sir William FitzWilliam, the treasurer of the King’s household, having shown himself hostile toward her. Her old friend from Hever days, Lady Wingfield, had come up from Stone Castle to join Anne’s retinue.
Anne was not keen on having her overbearing Aunt Elizabeth among her ladies, but as her uncle, Sir James Boleyn, had come all the way from Norfolk to be her chancellor, she could not very well refuse. And then of course there was the resentful Jane Rochford, another whose appointment could not be avoided. Mary would be there to counteract her antipathy, for Mary did not like Jane either, but Anne was uncomfortable having her sister in her household. She now saw that her parents had been right, and that Mary would be an ever-present reminder that Anne’s marriage to Henry might be considered by some to be as incestuous as Katherine’s. Anne had felt obliged to invite her, feeling she could not do otherwise, but she would have preferred to keep her out of sight. God grant that no one knew or found out about Mary and the King.
Among her bevy of maids of honor were her lively, learned cousins, Lady Mary Howard and Madge Shelton, pretty Nan Saville, demure Nan Gainsford, and pert Frances de Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford. The matronly Mrs. Stonor was Mother of the Maids, and Mrs. Orchard had come up from Hever to assist her.
Anne knew it was important, now that she was queen, to overcome the slurs of her detractors and her undeserved poor reputation. People must see her as a patron of religion and learning, the living embodiment of virtue. She had this in mind when she addressed her household.
Her voice rang out. “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, while you are in my service, I expect you to conduct yourselves virtuously. Gentlemen, you are to resist frequenting brothels, on pain of instant dismissal, to your utter shame. You shall set a godly standard to others by attending Mass daily and displaying an irreproachable demeanor. Ladies, you too must be above reproach. I want you to have these, to hang from your girdles at all times.” She nodded to her chamberlain, who handed out exquisite little books of prayers and psalms to each woman in the room.
From that day onward, Anne decreed, she and her ladies would spend several hours daily making garments for the poor.
There were a few murmurs and downcast looks, but after only a week, Anne’s old silk-woman, who had served two queens before her, turned to her and said, “Madam, I’ve never seen better order among the ladies and gentlewomen of the court!” That pleased her no end. She hoped her enemies had noticed.
—
Her new life was not all sewing and charitable works, although these occupied her for much of the time. For years she had been forging friendships with courtiers of wit, charm, and intelligence, who could be relied upon to ensure that the days were never dull, and they now formed the core of her inner circle. George, Norris, Weston, Brereton, Bryan, and other gentlemen of the King’s privy chamber flocked to the Queen’s apartments to enjoy stimulating conversation and flirt with her ladies and maids. Anne loved nothing more than to lead the repartee and banter, and she insisted on informality in the privacy of her chamber. Sometimes, when his duties permitted, Henry would join them. He would bring his lute and play for them, or dance with the ladies, or show a keen interest in the book of love poems that Margaret Douglas, Mary Howard, and Madge Shelton were compiling.