the point to me, but very cleverly I don’t correct him but stand still and wait.
‘He will see you daily,’ my uncle says. ‘And you may continue to please him. Then perhaps he will send you sables. Do you understand?’
This, about the sables, I do understand. ‘Yes.’
‘So if you want presents, and my approval, you will do your best to behave charmingly and pleasantly to the king. Lady Rochford here will advise you.’
She nods at me.
‘Lady Rochford is a most skilled and wise courtier,’ my uncle goes on. ‘There can be few people who have seen more of the king throughout his life. Lady Rochford will tell you how you are to go on. It is our hope and our intention that the king will favour you, that he will, in short, fall in love with you.’
‘Me?’
They both nod. Are they quite mad? He is an old old man, he must have given up all thoughts of love years ago. He has a daughter Princess Mary, far older than me, nearly old enough to be my mother. He is ugly, his teeth are rotten and his limp makes him waddle like a fat old goose. A man like this must have put all thoughts of love out of his head years ago. He might think of me as a granddaughter but not in any other way.
‘But he is marrying Lady Anne,’ I point out.
‘Even so.’
‘He is too old to fall in love.’
My uncle shoots such a scowl at me that I give a little squeak of terror.
‘Fool,’ he says shortly.
I hesitate for a moment. Can they really mean that they want this old king to be my lover? Should I say something about my virginity and my spotless reputation, which in Lambeth seemed to matter so very much?
‘My reputation?’ I whisper.
Again my uncle laughs. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he says.
I look towards Lady Rochford, who was supposed to be my chaperone in a lewd court and watch my behaviour and guard my precious honour.
‘I can explain it all to you later,’ she says.
I take it then that I should say nothing. ‘Yes, my lord,’ I say very sweetly.
‘You are a pretty girl,’ he says. ‘I have given Lady Rochford money for you to have a new gown.’
‘Oh, thank you!’
He smiles at my sudden enthusiasm. He turns to Lady Rochford. ‘And I will leave a manservant with you. He can serve you and run errands. It seems that it may become worth my while to keep a man with you. Who would have thought it? Anyway, keep me informed as to how things go on here.’
She rises from her seat and curtseys. He goes out without another word. The two of us are left alone.
‘What does he want?’ I ask, utterly bewildered.
She looks at me as if she were measuring me for a gown, she looks me up and down. ‘Never mind for now,’ she says kindly. ‘He is pleased with you, that’s the main thing.’
Anne, Blackheath, 3 January 1540
This is the happiest day of my life, because today I have fallen in love. I have fallen in love, not like a silly girl falls in love, because a boy catches her eye or tells her some foolish story. I am in love and this love will last forever. I am in love with England this day, and the realisation has made this the happiest day of my life. This day I realise that I am to be queen of this country, this rich, beautiful country. I have been travelling through it like a fool, with my eyes shut – in all fairness, some of the time I have been travelling through it in darkness and in the worst weather that I could imagine – but today it is bright and sunny and the sky is so blue, blue as duck eggs, the air is fresh and bright, as exciting and cold as white wine. Today I feel like the gyrfalcon my father used to call me, I feel as if I am riding high on cool winds, looking down on this most beautiful country which will be mine. We ride from Dartford to Blackheath, the frost white and shining on the road all the way, and when we get to the park all the ladies of my court are presented to me, all dressed so beautifully and warm and friendly in their greetings. I am to have nearly seventy ladies altogether, the king’s nieces and cousins among them, and they all greet me today as new friends. I am wearing my very best, and I know I look well, I think even my brother would be proud of me today.
They have made a city of tents of cloth of gold, flying brilliantly coloured flags, guarded by the king’s own Yeomen of the Guard, men so tall and so handsome that they are a legend in England. While we wait for the king, we go inside and take a glass of wine and warm ourselves at the braziers, they are burning sea-coal for me, only the best, as I am to be a member of the royal family of England. The floors are lined with rich carpets and the tents hung with tapestries and silks for warmth. Then, when they say it is time, and everyone is smiling and chattering and almost as excited as I am, I mount my horse and ride out to meet him. I go out filled with hope. Perhaps, at this ceremonial meeting, I shall like him and he will like me.
The trees are tall and their bare black winter branches stretch out against the sky like dark threads on a tapestry of blue. The park extends for miles, so green and so fresh, sparking with melting frost, the sun is bright and pale yellow, almost burning white in the sky. Everywhere, held back by gaily coloured ropes, there are the people from London smiling and waving at me and calling blessings down on me, and for the first time in my life I am not Anne – the middle daughter of Cleves: less pretty than Sybilla, less charming than Amelia – but here I am Anne, the only Anne. They have taken me to their hearts. These odd, rich, charming, eccentric people are all welcoming me, as if they want a good queen and an honest queen, and they believe and I know that I can be such a queen for them.
I know very well that I am not an English girl like the late Queen Jane, God rest her soul. But having seen the court and the great families of England I think it might be a good thing that I am not an English girl. Even I can see that the Seymour family is high in favour now, and could easily become overmighty. They are everywhere, these Seymours, handsome and conceited, always emphasising their child is the king’s only son and heir to the throne. If I were the king and it were my court, I should be wary of them. If they are allowed to govern the young prince, to dominate him because of their kinship to his mother, then the balance of this court will all be thrown to them. From what I can see, the king is not careful who he chooses for his favourites. I may be half his age but I know well enough that a ruler’s favour must be measured. I have lived my life with the disfavour of the favourite son and I know how poisonous is whim in a ruler. This king is whimsical; but perhaps I can make his court more balanced, perhaps I can give his son a level-headed stepmother who can maintain the flatterers and the courtiers at a safe distance from the little boy.
I know his daughters have been estranged from him. Poor girls, I so hope to be of service to little Elizabeth, who never knew her mother and has spent her life under the shadow of disgrace. Perhaps I can bring her to court and keep her near me and reconcile her to her father. And the Princess Mary must be lonely, without her mother and knowing herself to be far from her father’s favour. I can be kind to her, I can overcome her fear of the king and bring her to court as my kinswoman, she need not say ‘stepmother’, but perhaps I could be as a good sister to her. For the king’s children at least I can be a great force for good. And if we are blessed, if I am blessed,
