The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn by Robin Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page B

staffs they thumped importantly. I knew if here was Wolsey, sure his household followed close behind. And then I saw a figure plainly clad and lovely to my eyes — Henry Percy, thin and shy with kindness like a halo round a clear and rosy face. My heart beat wild within my breast. Even from a distance and tho he saw me not at all, I felt his love and knew he wished to break away and come to me.
    So making haste I fairly ran thro the halls and up the stairs to Queen Katherine’s rooms where other ladies did attend Her Majesty. I watched the flutter — the waiting women, cooks and maids fussing, tittering, joking every one. The Queen was breaking fast and tho weary eyed, showed gentle cheer this Sunday morn. The two days last were spent, as always Friday and Saturday are, upon her knees on hard stone floors in chapel, fasting, asking God’s forgiveness for sins which, to all else, are goodly deeds. I wondered if the habit of St. Francis worn hid beneath her queenly gown did chafe, or give her comfort sorely needed.
    You see, tho husband Henry loves her still he takes pleasure in their bed no more. For that he seeks none other than her waiting lady my Sister Mary! A French King’s whore, now mistress of Great Harry. I bade Mary tell me how she casts her spells, for truth be told tho she is beautiful, the Court is filled with lovely ladies. She smiled a wicked smile and said to me, “With men it’s how you hold them — tight, then loose, then let them go to grab and hold again.”
    But truly, I have no need for such games with my love, for he is mine and I am his, as clear as these words are writ upon this page. But I digress. Back to that Sunday …
    The ladies of the Presence Chamber stilled, for suddenly a male commotion down the hall and coming near was heard. And then they came, a rush of rough and ready gentlemen, all kisses, bows and compliments. Ladies paired with men to play and sing and flirt an afternoon away. Among the gents, a mild breeze amidst the storm, was my love. At first no words were passed between us. Instead he found two pillows, an empty window seat and placed the cushions there. He took my hand and brushed it softly with his lips, then led me to our little nest.
    I swear my heart was beating so, I feared I would not hear his words. He was kind and generous and so unlike the lecherous gentlemen of the French Court that my studied charm had long ago dissolved beneath his warming stare. Whate’er his awkward faults I easily forgave. But my eyes could see a pall darkening sweet Percys spirit, so I questioned him of it. I wished I had not asked. For the sad tale he told was that in recent days, added to my poor betrothal to James Butler, was now his
own
betrothal. He was tied to Lady Mary Talbot and for this marriage many reasons, all but love, were given.
    ‘Tis nothing strange in such negotiations, for in our world love of the romantic kind is but another name for foolishness. And love within a marriage — the only kind permitted — is no more than duty. But in my heart I decry such principles as these, and so to my sweetheart I raged at this abomination of our separate betrothals, and swore against those who would keep us parted.
    “The Cardinal and King stand with my father on this,” whispered Percy. “What am I to do?”
    Softer still and trembling said I, “Defy and marry me!” I saw his face go pale in fear and dread.
    I asked if he did not remember the Kings own sister Princess Mary. I myself had been in her retinue of waiting ladies when she sailed for France to marry old King Louis. I told him of the great love Mary shared with one Lord Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and how for reasons of alliance, that love was pushed aside. Obedient servant to her brother and her country, the Princess knew that she must sit upon the throne of France as Queen. But before she sailed upon that cold and blustery day from Dover shores — for I was there and saw her with my own two eyes — Mary pleaded