The Only Boleyn

Spring 1522 - The Gentlemen

After some time, we ladies heard the sound of the returning hunt and began arranging ourselves and spreading the skirts of our gowns so that we appeared a tableau when the King and his companions arrived in the Queen's rooms. Shortly, the door flew open and King Henry stood proudly on the doorway and laughed with all the boisterous joy of an indulged young man.
"Ha-ha! You were not expecting me - I see how surprised you are!" He said delightedly. We all pretended to look amazed and the ladies began to flutter under the handsome gaze of the King. I saw at once that the golden prince was everything that the French ladies had gossiped about - his auburn Tudor curls sat deliciously upon his head and he was lean and muscular from his constant exercise.
Queen Katherine started, as if astounded at the appearance of her husband.
"And such a lovely surprise it is!" The Queen replied, gesturing at her ladies, "Though certainly one we would never have expected." The King grinned like a spoilt boy at that, and I admired the Queen's patience with him. Apparently she indulges him as a mother would a child.
The Queen chatted amicably with Henry for a while, the male courtiers filing into the chambers and seating themselves with the ladies. Forgetting my foreign poise for a moment, I craned my neck around the entering entourage to see my brother George, who I knew would be with them, for my father had told me he has risen high in the King's favour over my time in France. There, with his unmistakable Boleyn nose, was my wonderful brother George. He entered shortly after the King and I rose to greet him - I picked up my skirt and practically leapt from my seat. I opened my mouth to cry, 'George!', and only the dangerous warning glance from my Uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, made me freeze in my tracks and rearrange my skirt in a more presentable fashion. I noticed one of the ladies-in-waiting with mousy blonde hair staring at me, apparently scandalised. I lifted my chin defiantly and stared right back at her. Who does she think she is challenging? I am Anne Boleyn, lady-in-waiting to three Queens. I raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her and she wilted under my gaze. I returned my gaze to George again and turned away from the lady, uninterested.
     George kissed the Queen's hand in the universal mark of deference, and then she appeared to make a jest to him, for he laughed and he bowed to her again. She waved him in my direction and the next favour-seeking courtier stepped forward. Finally, George looked in my direction and I beamed at him, grateful to see his expression mirror my own. With a quick glance behind him at the King, who was engaged in an animated discussion with several courtiers, I watch my most beloved brother stride across the room to me and I take a quick step backwards as he tries to embrace me, to remind him we are in public, and such behaviour would be entirely inappropriate. He checks himself and smiles the Boleyn smile at me.
"You're taller," he says gruffly, "and more French than I expected." I regard him from under my eyelashes and see my George has grown into a fine young man of eighteen. When I last saw him, he had the fine hair on his upper lip of a boy just entering adulthood, and now his chin has stubble on and his shoulders have broadened.
"I should hope my education is adequate," I say silkily, "it is no mean feat to serve three courts and retain my charm and beauty." George laughs at that, as we always used to laugh as children.
"I am sure that your beauty will soon become famed throughout Christendom, Annamaria. I expect I shall soon have to send a letter to the Pope, singing your praises."
"George, I could not presume to distract the Pope from his holy work!" I smile knowingly at my brother, and he winks at me.
"Mm," George says, grinning cheekily, "And what a great distraction your beauty would be to him. I suppose, being a man of great holiness, you should end up his mistress, as all holy men seem to acquire them nowadays."
"Indeed they do. However, I may have to suffice with an ordained King, if the Pope will not have me." George widens his eyes and his expression is that of mock astonishment.
    "Annamaria! How deliciously treasonous." The look we share then says more than we could ever express with mere words - we are Boleyns; we think the same way and we work together undoubtably.
     We know we are ambitious. We each know the other would benefit from the favour of the King. We know we must never speak of this, even in private.
     We know we would be utter fools to tumble headfirst into danger without the support of our powerful affinity, the Howards and the Boleyns.
     "Now, let me introduce you to our wonderful King!" George offers me his arm and as we step towards Henry, Mary slips into step on the other side of George, and we three Boleyns move as if we were one. We hold our heads high and walk as if we own the palace - until we reach the King. The great man himself turns from his conversation with William Carey and his face breaks into a childish beam at the sight of George.
     "George! What a delight to see you with two beautiful ladies on your arm!" The King laughs a great booming laugh that resounds on the great wooden walls of the chamber. George bows low in response to the King's good humour and Mary sweeps a curtsey so low that she is practically on the floor. I, however, remain standing.
     The King glances at me as if he is waiting for me to curtsey to him, but when I return his gaze frankly, he breaks away and returns his attention to George.
     "And who would this lovely lady be? I'm sure I haven't met her before." Henry looks me up and down as he might look over a horse.
     "Why, this is Lady Mary Carey, Your Grace! The wife of your very own William Carey." George pretends to have misunderstood the King's query, and Henry roars with laughter again once he realises that George is not discussing the woman he had asked about, and the whole court laughs with him, ever sensitive to the whim of the King. "I should have thought you would have noticed her beauty, Your Grace! I know you have the finest appreciation for handsome women - you are truly comparable to the great artists of France!"
     This gains another roar from Henry until he is practically wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes. "George, you are stupider than I thought!"
    "If it please Your Grace." George continues smoothly, barely allowing the King a chance to speak.
     "I was referring to the lady on your other arm, man!" George feigns astonishment and steps back to present me to the King.
     "This here be my sister, Anne Boleyn, who has just returned from her service to the Queen Claude in France." At this, I sweep Henry a perfect French curtsey, and rise up slowly, looking up at him from under my eyelashes with a challenging smile on my face.
     The King looks unimpressed. I'd wager he likes easy blonde women.
     "France, eh... Tell me, Anne. What say you of the music?" He gestures towards the small chamber orchestra playing a jaunty, but decidedly English tune. I made a show of cocking my head to one side as if to listen more intently, but I had already concluded that the music lacked all the complexity and excitement of the music of the French court.
     "I find the music here most delightful, Your Grace. The composer is far more adept than that of any I have heard in Europe." I know full well I am flattering the King himself - why else would he ask for my approval? Besides, the King is well-known as a great fan of good music and art.
     "Oh-ho! I have outwitted you, I do declare!" Henry laughs with delight, and turns to Lord Carey. "That is music of my very own composition, Carey."
     "Most delightful, Your Grace. We all assumed it was a work from the very peak of society's musical talent!" Mary's husband is a skilled courtier - that's the only way one can rise high in this court.
     "Katherine! Katherine!" The Queen looks demurely up from her sewing; she has been studiously ignoring her husband's exchange with us. "Hark at Mistress Anne! She says my music is better than that in France!"
     Katherine smiles calmly. "Quite true, Lord Husband!" As the Queen turns back to her sewing, George endeavours to keep Henry's wavering attention on us.
     "A dark beauty, is she not?" George is referring to my dark curls hidden beneath my hood and my dark eyes. He used to jest about Mary being the golden, good girl and I was the dark rebellious. I still beg to differ.
     "Luckily for Mary, here, Carey and I both believe blondes to be the fairer. More easy to handle, less fuss, eh George?" Mary showed Henry a modest smile, and the whole court laughed with the King.
     I shot a glance at the Queen, whose auburn hair had faded to brown and grey. She was laughing as gleefully as was required of her. I, myself, laughed as happily as I could. We would have been raving mad to do anything but laugh at the King's jokes.