The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 3

From the window in the Queen's Chambers, Anne and George Boleyn watched as the great entourage of Princess Elizabeth's household, complete with Lady Mary Tudor trickled through the courtyard at Hampton Court for the celebrations of Prince Henry's christening.

Anne had not wanted her husband's daughter anywhere near the court, for fear that he might forgive Mary's disobedience and reconcile with her. She always harboured a fear that Henry might restore her to her former place without insisting Mary acknowledge her as Queen. After all, he had loved Mary once. Adored her even, devotedly so. Even during their estrangement, he had all the pride of a proud father. She could remember how, less than a year into their marriage, Henry had become emotional when the French envoys had been extolling the virtues of his eldest daughter. He had even allowed her to remove from Elizabeth's household just last year to stay at Greenwich for the benefit of her health when she had fallen so ill it was feared she would die. No doubt some quack doctor had been paid in Spanish gold to trick the King into thinking she was near death so that Mary could be closer to her mother to better conspire against her.

"Tell me again what that little bastard said," Anne demanded from Sir Francis Bryan, their kinsman who had accompanied the Duke of Norfolk to tell the King's eldest daughter of Anne's triumph in the birthing bed.

"She said she was pleased that God had granted the King another healthy son, Your Majesty."

Her dark eyes scoured the line of attendants looking for the pale-faced girl. "And she made no mention of me as Queen? Or referred to Henry as Prince?"

"No, Your Majesty,"

"Spanish bastard," she muttered, as though it was the worst insult she could bestow. Mary's congratulations were veiled and Anne was quick to see their meaning. To Mary, who still considered herself to be her father's only legitimate heir, Prince Henry was no more than another bastard sibling. She already had one baseborn brother, the Duke of Richmond, the King's son by a former mistress. When she had first been sent to Hatfield three years ago she had made a point of stating she was happy to call Elizabeth her sister, just as she called Richmond her brother. It was a clever insult. One which Anne had been determined the little Spaniard would regret.

"Since you so despise the little Spaniard, I wonder that you allowed her to come to court?" George said helping himself to the bowl of fresh strawberries newly delivered to his sisters' chambers.

"Henry insisted," Anne explained as she gingerly walked back into the sanctuary of her birthing chamber. This birth had not been as easy as it had been with Elizabeth and she was still in some considerable discomfort. The last thing she wanted was Mary Tudor aggravating her already frayed temper.

"He thought it might make her see where her true place is now."

George was confused by the logic. "At court?"

"Displaced! There is one heir only. My son. One Princess of England. My daughter. Mary is nothing more than an accident child begotten by an unlawful union. She should never have been born."

At once George was upon her. Covering her mouth with his hand. "God's blood Anne, be careful."
Wriggling free, she brought a stinging slap against his handsome face. Her dark eyes blazing at him. "Do not do that again. Ever. Do you understand?"

"Anne, For God's sake..."

"Do you understand?" She fired back. "I am your Queen before I am your sister. You will never disrespect me like that again"

"Disrespect? I was protecting you. Had you checked the room? Did you know if we were alone? What if someone had reported your words to the King?"

"And what would happen to me if they had? Nothing! I am the king's wife, the mother of his son."

"You still have enemies," George stressed

"And I will crush them." She declared, with more confidence than she had felt in a long time. "My womb gave birth to much more than my son. It gave me back my life. I had enemies before and the King destroyed them, for me. For the love of me. Wolsey, Fisher, More. They died because they were my enemies. I will rid the court of all my enemies because I am the Queen. No one may touch me unless I permit them. Not even my brother."

"You were glad for me to touch and hold you when you took to your bed after you lost your children. You wept in my arms for your loss. You were not above my touch then, Your Majesty."
It was a low blow and George knew it. Her slap on him had taken him by surprise. She had never raised a hand to him before. The old Anne, the Anne he had loved before she had been consumed by her own power would never have done so.

The mention of her lost babies pricked at Anne's already unsteady emotions. She had wept for days at the loss of them that she had loved but never known. Not just for the protection they could have given her if they had lived, but for all the promises of their futures that she would never see.

He knew she wanted to fire back at him. To rebuke him for his chastisement of her. But deep down she must have known there was some truth to what he said. She tried to speak, but her emotions strangled her usually confident voice.

Instinctively, George crossed the room and enveloped her in his arms. "Hush," he soothed her as tenderly as a mother would an infant.

"You're the only one I can trust," she sobbed ignoring the aching from her swollen breasts pressed up against his body. Her voice was muffled against his velvet doublet. Henry had betrayed her with his dalliances with Jane Seymour and before her, her cousin Madge Shelton. Her powerful uncle, the Duke of Norfolk had been alienated months ago by her temper. Even her father kept his distance from her these days. George was the only one whose loyalty she never had cause to doubt.

"I'm not the only one," he murmured softly, stroking her silky raven hair. "You could always recall Mary."

The mention of their sister drew her back from him. Mary had been dismissed from court just months after the birth of Elizabeth for marrying beneath her station. A soldier from Calais. The second son of a man from a village so small, Anne could not even recall its name. The entire family had cut her off, Outraged at her disrespect and audacity, except for George.

"I cannot."

"Of course you can." He played up to her. "You are the Queen. If you wish for your sister to attend you, then who would gainsay you."

"The wife of a soldier from my husband's army? I don't think so!"

"Mary married for love. That is no more than what you did."

"I married the King of England! She married a nobody. And a poor nobody at that." Their sisters' choice clearly still rankled with her, two years down the line. "I have done what I can for her. I send her money and gifts. I agreed to be her daughter's godmother. But Mary made her own choices. She knew what she was doing and these are the consequences."

At that sentence, George knew what irked Anne more than their sister marrying beneath her station and disgracing the family. "Yes. She chose to marry without your permission."

"I could never permit her to so debase herself or our family. To throw herself away on a mere soldier, when she might have been a viscountess or even a countess. No sister would."

"Why not invite her to the christening?" He suggested softly, pulling her back into his embrace. "You could decide if you want her to come back to court then?"