The Boleyn Prince

December 1536

"I do not like it," Anne grumbled as Lady Margaret Lee laced up her scarlet velvet gown tightly.

"What do you not like?" her mother asked, surveying her from the other side of the room.

"That I must greet this traitor who would disinherit my children in favour of Lady Mary. The King did not need to invite him here."

"We must trust in His Majesty's wisdom, Anne." Elizabeth Boleyn's soft tone willed her daughter to hold her tongue. Even in the privacy of the Queens rooms she feared spies working against her daughter.
It was well known that in the early days of their courtship, their fiery rows could have burned a city to the ground. Now, Henry found having to justify his decisions to his wife intolerable. Many a malicious tongue might be ready to over hear Anne questioning the King and report back to him.

"The King should have demanded his head for his treason." She insisted. "Not an invitation to court."

"I am sure His Majesty has his reasons for his actions," she said calmly trying to soothe her tempestuous daughters' irritation with caution.

She could not be placated. For some reason known only to Henry, he had not only chosen to allow the rebels to disperse and issued a proclamation to that effect, but had also invited the leader, the man called Aske, to court for the Christmas festivities at Greenwich, and to be received by him.

"I wish George were here," she sulked, wringing her wrists to allow for her bracelets to be fastened. "When is he returning?"

"You know as much as I do," Elizabeth sighed, adjusting the ruby-encrusted bracelets on her daughters' wrists.

"I cannot think why he felt it necessary to retire from court. It is not as if he cared for Jane."

"It's a question of respect. She was his wife and now she is dead," Her mother said simply. "Irrespective of his personal feelings, Jane was kin to His Majesty. George is showing respect to her as her widower."

"The King didn't even order the court into mourning for her when she died. That just shows what he thought of their kinship."

"That matters not," Her mother insisted, replacing the glass perfume lid onto the bottle. "What will be remembered when George begins his search for a new bride, will be his conduct in the days that followed Janes death."

"But it hasn't been days. It's been weeks. Six weeks to be exact. I need him here. The King needs his guidance. He is of no use to us at Hever or wherever else he has gone to."

A small smile plays upon Elizabeth Boleyn's lips. For as long as she could remember George and Anne had been inseparable, especially as children. Even when Anne was abroad, George had received more letters from her than either she or her father had. He had been by her side when she returned to the English court, chaperoning her against the romantic interests of Thomas Wyatt and Henry Percy. Doing everything together. They shared the same interests. Equals in every way.
As the only surviving son, George had carried the family's hopes for advancement from a young age. It had been he who had been given the sterling education, whilst Mary, the beauty of the family, had carried their hopes for an advantageous marriage. Anne as the younger daughter, and lacking the fair beauty that had made her sister so desirable had been relegated into the background. Typically, of her however, she had she had refused to remain there.
Although the education she received at Hever had been limited, she had proved to be considerably more academic than either George or Mary, who were more interested in sports and finery than book learning.
It had been her fierce determination to outshine her siblings that had earned her praise from her tutors and caught the eye of both Margaret of Austria and the Queen of France. It was that same determination that had carried her through her seven-year courtship of the King and through the perils of her childbearing.
It pained Elizabeth to think of it, but sometimes she feared the depths of her daughter's ambition and what she might do to achieve what she wanted. There had long been rumours Anne had ordered the failed poisonings of the late Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More, and of course, the whole court had heard the gruesome details of the embalmer's findings when examining the late Queen Katharine's body after her death. A black mass had clung to her heart, no matter how much the physicians tried to wash it away. She knew they whispered behind their hands that Anne was responsible.
How Elizabeth wished she could believe her daughter to be above such sin. Her own child that she had brought into the world and nurtured to womanhood to lead a godly life. Yet she could not help but wonder if the old Queen had indeed been hastened to her grave by foul means. Anne had a hard streak that ran through her body like iron.

"There," she declared, surveying her royal daughter, resplendent in her crimson velvet gown trimmed with the royal fur of ermine. "Beautifully regal."

Always susceptible to the flattery of a compliment, Anne marched from her chambers ready to confront her latest enemy, comforted that she looked the epitome of Queenly.

She was taken aback by the youthful appearance of the leader of the rebels as he was shown into the Kings Presence Chamber. She had expected a stout man of advancing years with greying hair to come before them. But the man who walked toward them now was neither. He was younger than she had expected. Probably no more than a year or two older than her. His tall and unshaven features gave him a ruggedly handsome look which, against all her inclinations, she could not help but find attractive
She did not forget that this was the man who had attempted to deny her son and daughter their birth right and for that she hated him vehemently and wished the King would thrust his dagger into that well-formed body of his to be left as food for her dogs as an example to anyone who would dare to challenge their rights to be the King's heirs.
The man, Aske knelt before his sovereign, bowing his head so reverently that one could almost forget he had come to court as a rebel and traitor to his King. His deep voice had the same Northern accent that her first love Henry Percy had also had, though Askes was more pronounced and far more common than the noble Percy.

"Be you welcome, my good Aske," Henry greeted him warmly. Embracing him and raising him to his feet. As he rose, his eyes met with hers. Yet he did not lower them in respect. The traitor dared to look her in the eye. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her thin lips to stifle the growing hostility she was sure that she was conveying all the same.

"It is my wish, that here, before these gentlemen of my council, you ask what it is you desire of me, and, if it is pleasing to God, I will grant it," Henry continued. He loved to play the part of a bountiful and magnanimous King before the Court. The better to inspire hatred for the rebel, she could only hope.

Taking a deep breath, Askes hands gripped each other in nervous trepidation. "Sire, Your Majesty allows yourself to be governed by a tyrant named Cromwell."
A collective gasp rippled through the King's presence-chamber at the traitor's boldness in naming the second most powerful man in the kingdom a tyrant.
"Everyone knows that if it had not been for him, the seven thousand poor priests I have in my company now, would not be the ruined wanderers they are now."

"You would blame others for the villainy of these men," Sir Francis Weston protested, his hand gripping at the handle of his dagger sheathed on his hip before Henry raised his hand to silence his friend.

"If these men are no longer in gainful employment without occupation to pass their days, it is perhaps inevitable that their idleness would lead them to ruin,"

"They had gainful employment, Your Majesty," Aske argued boldly, without hesitation or shame for his argument. "They served God."

"Indeed," Henry replied. "But not as well as they served themselves. I can remember
my own conversation with Erasmus who spoke on many occasion of their laxity and elevated man-made monastic rules for religious life above the God given teaching of the gospels and contributing nothing to the spiritual needs of ordinary people. Now tell me Master Aske. How is that serving God?

"If that be so Your Majesty,"

"Do you doubt me, Master Aske?" Henrys eyes narrowed accusingly. "Do you question my honour?"

"No Your Majesty. I have never had cause to. But I do doubt the honesty of those you keep about you and what they might report back to you."

"You think the King of England can so easily be deceived?"

"I think the wisest of men can be lied to and believe them if the lies are convincing enough," Aske declared. "Your Majesty. I swear on the eternal damnation of my soul that I never knew a better breed of man that one called to Holy Orders. And if some have strayed from their rightful duty, is it right to punish the many for the sin of the few. How will the poor receive the word of God if there are no priests or monks to educate them. How will they receive the alms that could make the difference between them starving or eating. That is what us pilgrims want to see restored."

"I will think on what you have told me today Master Aske, Henry promised, suddenly earnest. "Prepare for me, if you will, a history of these past few months."

"I will, Your Majesty. I give you my word, as a man of honour, that it shall be a true and faithful narrative."

Without thinking, Anne emitted a quiet scoff of amusement through her pouting lips. That Aske should refer to himself as a man of honour rankled with her. His rebellion had cost the lives of good Englishmen, impugned her honour and placed her children's lives at risk. Yorkshire would one day know the error it had made in crossing her. When she had a Duke of York, she would remind him of their treason against his family she vowed to herself.

"I have a gift for you," Henry said, motioning to Sir Henry Norris, who stepped forward carrying a jacket of crimson silk, which he went ahead to place over Askes muscular shoulders.

Anne's lips, which had until that moment been pursed firmly shut in hostile disapproval, slipped open in shock at the sight of such a costly and beautiful gift. Far too beautiful to be wasted on this traitor who looked as though he had never worn such robes in his life. Aske too, looked shocked and somewhat overwhelmed by the Kings generosity and fell to his knees once again.

"I thank you, Your Majesty. I am truly humbled by the grace and kindness you have shown me today. I thank you."

It took every ounce of Anne's self-control to sit silently upon the dais. Her dark gaze firmly fixed on him. Her increasing loathing of him was simmering deep inside of her like a pot reaching its boil.

"Then be of good cheer Master Aske," Henry said raising him back to his feet. "And enjoy the festivities."

Throughout the celebrations, Anne's eyes scoured the assembled company, constantly seeking out Robert Aske to be sure of where he was. She saw him partake of a little of the sweetmeats on offer, but he barely left the far corner of the room. He drank only a little and did not dance at all.

She caught sight of Cromwell, also scanning the room for him and beckoned him over to her with a subtle gesture from her tapering fingers.

Nodding in the direction of Robert Aske, she said: "I hope there is more than just your eyes on that man tonight, Master Secretary."

"Your Majesty need have no fear." He assured her. "There are near fifty of my men with eyes upon him as we speak."

"I marvel that the King dares to let such a man roam freely amongst his court. Any man loyal to the King and his Queen might try to slay him where he stands for the offences he has committed," She murmured suggestively.

A knowing smile played on Cromwell's lips. He knew exactly what the Queen was hinting at. But was not so foolish as to order the murder of a man under the Kings protection.

"Indeed, they might, Your Majesty. If it were not known that the man has the Kings own protection, and is an offence to carry out such an assault within the verge of His Majesty's Court." He cautioned her.

"I am sure that any true Englishman would not mind so incurring the Kings displeasure if it put an end to such a villain," She pressed. "Especially if the Queen were to intercede on their behalf for the King's mercy."

"Your Majesty need have no fear of Master Aske." Cromwell diplomatically, his tone unwaveringly confident. "I am sure that he will not enjoy his freedom for much longer."


Cromwell's words seemed almost prophetic. For no sooner was Christmas done and the New Year upon them, than a new rising began in the north determined to depose the King and place Mary on the throne.
Although it was obvious to everyone that neither Aske nor his followers were part of it, the new rebellion provided Henry with the excuse he needed to rescind his proclamations of pardon, impose martial law on the north and arrest all the conspirators, including Robert Aske.
Anne would have his head for his insolence, she vowed to herself. She would be relentless in demanding it. Henry would see to that. And whilst he was about it. He could deal with his bastard daughter also.