The Boleyn Prince

October 1536

The court finally began its progress back to London at the end of August. However, the death of the Duke of Richmond cast a solemn air on the celebratory progress Cromwell had organized to help try and endear Anne to the people.
It was to have had an air of the famous triumphs the Emperors or Rome had used to stage the victories of the defeat of their enemies. Cromwell was shrewd enough to realize the people, whose acceptance of Anne as their Queen was still uncertain, would be quick to interpret elaborate celebrations as a victory over Queen Katharine whom the people still loved and so left the celebrations decidedly muted.

Anne played her part beautifully.
Her servants distributed bread and cheese to the gathering crowds. She handed out more alms to the gathering poor than Katharine had ever given. She waved and smiled until her arms and face ached. However, as the procession neared closer to the King's palace at Whitehall, the crowds grew thinner and the cheers became quieter, until they arrived at the palace to a muted welcome.

It was October by the time Henry agreed to put off his mourning clothes and return from his seclusion, though he still refused to come to Anne's bed. Nor did he dine with her in private or dance with her. His mourning garb had gone, but his melancholy remained.

"Is he watching me?" she asked George hopefully as they danced a Galliard before the King, whose persistent lameness forced him to sit out the merriments upon his dais.

"I don't think he is watching anything," George said, discreetly observing the King who sat slouched back in his chair of estate with a faraway look.

From the corner of her eye, she spied the rotund figure of Thomas Cromwell hurrying towards the King. He leaned in toward him and whispered something. Whatever his words were, they were disturbing enough to startle the King, who leapt up from his chair and hurried out of the hall, followed closely by Cromwell and the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.

Their hasty exit has also been noticed by George. "What is going on?" he mused, half to himself.

"Is it too much to hope the little Spanish bastard is finally keeping company with her mother?" Anne muttered bitterly.

He raised his eyebrows at her malice. "It is possible."

Leading her by the arm, they retraced the King's steps towards his Privy Chamber, "If she is dead then you need to be in there with him. Many will look to blame you. Your bad feelings for each other are too well known."

Fired by George's words she threw open the doors of the King's privy chamber herself ready to defend her name, so certain was she that Mary was dead.

The King was in the centre of the room. His golden head hunched over a dark walnut table, upon which lay a map. The Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon stood to his right. Thomas Cromwell to his left, whilst her father and uncle stood behind him. None of them exhibited any signs of grief.

"What is it? What has happened?" She demanded.

It was Cromwell who answered her. "Rebellion has broken out in York, Your Majesty,"

She could feel the disappointment settle on her. Mary still lived. Damm that sickly Spanish bastard and her constant survival. Why couldn't she just die?

"Petty bandits," she said dismissively. "The King's justice will soon strike them down."

It was the wrong thing to say. The King flung himself away from the table in irritation. "These are more than just petty bandits," He seethed. "They are a great army of men, well-appointed with captains, horses, armour, and artillery, to the number of 40,000 men.

Anne could feel her core shrink within her. Such a number was unsettlingly and worryingly large.

"What has caused so many men to rise against the King?" Anne asked.

It was Suffolk who answered her, though he did not meet her gaze. He spoke to the King: "It seems, among other matters, Your Majesty, that the main protest is the dissolution of the religious houses and the introduction and promotion of men of inferior birth to the King's council who they feel subvert the faith of Christ."

"Namely, Lord Cromwell and Sir Richard Rich," Norfolk added, his tone more accusing than speculative towards the Lord Privy Seal.

A small smile played on Cromwell's portly face. "I do hope Your Grace, that you do not think that I ...,"

"What I think, Master Secretary is that high taxation and forced enclosures have worsened poverty throughout northern England," Norfolk cut in. "It is already the most barren county of the realm."

"Enough," the King bellowed from across the room, "Charles, You hold the largest holdings in that part of the North. Take your forces there at once. Tell these traitorous men that if they lay down their arms at once and disperse, I will forgive them all.

Anne recoiled in horror. "My Lord!"

The heads of Suffolk, Cromwell, her uncle, and father turned sharply in her direction. She had never openly challenged the King in public before and they could only marvel at her boldness.

"Madam, this is this business of Kings and their advisors. If you remain, you will be silent," Henry insisted pompously. Turning back to Brandon he added: "Tell these rebels that if they do not lay down their arms, then they will face the severe justice of your forces."

The dark head of Charles Brandon bowed his head to the King. "I will go at once, Your Majesty," he said, taking his leave of them all.

He did not bow to Anne as he passed. He merely tipped his black velvet hat, just as he had done before she had been Henry's Queen. Even back then, Suffolk had hated her.
As Henry's closest friend and brother-in-law by his marriage to Henry's sister, he should have been her main supporter. Yet he had taken against her, reporting to the King accusations of undue familiarity with Thomas Wyatt. It was a clever accusation since the King had known of Wyatt's attraction to her and was horrendously jealous of any other man who had held an attraction to her.
It had taken much persuading and convincing on her part to allay Henry's jealousy. She had claimed her revenge on Brandon, insisting on his banishment for spreading such vicious rumours, but not before spreading an accusation of her own. That Brandon had committed incest by bedding his own daughter. It was petty revenge, but it had achieved the desired effect of alienating Suffolk from some of his more stringently papist friends.
She just hadn't counted on Henry's affection for him. Just months after banishing his childhood friend, the King had brought him back to court, granting him more posts and estates and even giving him the plum role of High Constable for her coronation.
Henry's generosity to his friend had been rewarded with contempt. On the very day she had given birth to Elizabeth, Suffolk had married the daughter of Katharine's closest friend. She had wanted him banished again, yet Elizabeth's birth had greatly diminished her influence over her husband, and he was in no mind to heed his wife's demands as she lay in her childbed cradling their daughter.
Now she was back in the ascendency. Her position was assured. Her son would be the next King and Brandon was just one of several Henry's court that would rue the day they had sided against her.  She allowed him to pass her without quarrel. She pursed her lips and tossed her head. Brandon will learn his place, she promised herself. I will teach him.


An anxiety-filled few days awaited Anne and the rest of the court as Suffolk's army headed north to suppress the rising in Lincolnshire.

A part of Anne hoped that the rebel armies might outnumber Suffolk and send the King his friend's head in a sack. Like so many other rebel armies had done to their enemy's generals before them.
Henry spent most of his days closeted away with his councillor's barely communicating with Anne. Her only source of information came from George.

"The general consensus is that there is little to concern ourselves with," George reported to her as they sat inside the luxurious confines of her Privy Chamber. "Cromwell seems to think that it is nothing more than a rowdy bunch of peasants protesting at the closure of an abbey or two."

"For a rowdy bunch of peasants, they have certainly caused an uproar," Anne retorted taking a sip of wine from her ornate goblet.

"The dammed fools should be grateful they have been freed from exploitation," George insisted vehemently. Over the last few years, George had become an outspoken critic of the corruption of the Catholic priests and their money-making schemes. He had thrown himself into championing the reformist cause, sponsoring publication of papist propaganda and critical plays at Court.

"Your Majesty, my Lord, news from Yorkshire has reached Court. The King has asked for you to come to his Privy Chamber at once." Sir Henry Norris said appearing.

The request delighted her. Henry was asking for her again. He wanted her by his side like he used to. "Of course," Anne said, rising at once.

Henry was pacing the floor of his Privy Chamber like a caged beast. His hands were placed firmly on his ever-thickening hips.

"Lord Darcy reports that the East, West and North Riding and all the commons of Yorkshire are now all up in rebellion. Protesting at the dissolution of the religious houses in the northern part of our kingdom and in far greater numbers than what they were in Lincolnshire." He fumed as she curtseyed.

"So, Suffolk has not managed to quell them then," she thought with a sliver of satisfaction. Henry would not like that. He would see it as disloyalty. If she played her cards right. She could try and undermine him further. She had long suspected Suffolk still adhered to the old religion but knew Henry would never hear anything against him. But if she could now sow the seeds of doubt, she could well unmake him.

"It seems the Rebels have entered York. The Mayor believes the city to be too divided to resist and even Darcy said he does not know how he will be able to hold Pontefract Castle if the rebels reach there." Henry continued, obliviously.

"Does Your Majesty trust Lord Darcy?" Anne asked smoothly. She felt no compunction in turning the heat of inquisition upon the old Baron. He had not shown himself to be a friend to her or her cause when she was Henry's Queen in Waiting. Nor had he supported the King in the matter of the supremacy. Darcy was a far easier enemy to displace than the Duke of Suffolk.

Henry's lips pursed into a sullen sulk. "Until this day, I have had no cause to doubt him. But my inclinations move me to such that I cannot help but distrust his words."

"Your Majesty, Lord Darcy has shown himself to be a man of conscience and due diligence," Cromwell argued carefully.

"He is also the same man who said that he had always understood matrimonial causes were spiritual and belonged to ecclesiastical jurisdiction rather than to Your Majesty," Anne fired back. Her dark eyes flared with indignance and Cromwell's defence of the old man. "That does not speak to me of a man ready to oblige his King."

"Peace sweetheart," Henry said taking his wife by her hand and kissing it. "Darcy has his instructions. He is to hold the castle against the rebels at all costs. If he does not, I will not fail to deal with him appropriately."