The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 28

Mary had not lodged at Richmond since the day she had been ordered to quit Beaulieu to make way for the man who was now her husband.
The Duke of Norfolk had visited her to tell her that she was being taken to Hatfield in servitude.

The soft dip of the oars into the calm River Thames glided the Boleyn barge ever closer, her stomach began to turn itself into nervous knots.
She had not been back since that dreadful December day. But her attachment to the palace had not diminished. She felt closer to her family there. It did, after all, take its very name from the territorial name of her grandfathers' title before he had become King and her mother had spent many happy months there as a young bride.

The palace had not changed much in the four years since she had left. Doubtless, there would have been decorational changes inside. Her mother's emblems and badges would have long been replaced by the jezebel Anne Boleyn's white falcon. Her arms would adorn the walls just as Queen Katharine's would have done when Mary was last in residence.

When she had last lodged there, despite her dwindling status, she had been allocated one of the best rooms in the palace, overlooking the beautiful gardens with sweeping views of the nearby countryside.
She would not have those rooms now.
Most likely that woman would have installed her half-sister Elizabeth in them already or given them to another of one of the loose morale Boleyn's or Howards that the King now surrounded himself with, Mary thought resentfully.
She envisioned them all, swooping in on her old rooms like vultures over a carcass, picking at her treasures like a corpse, abandoned and exposed for scavenging.

A pair of seagulls squawked above her head, racing each other towards the grey clouds that were coming in from the West.
She envied the freedom of those birds. How she wished she could fly as they did. She would fly to Spain or Rome. far away from scheming, devious Boleyn's and their supporters.
The man who called himself her husband, stood at the far end of the barge pointing out the distinguished guest, the deer in the park that lay rich and green to the side of the palace.
Of course, they had met before, some two years ago.
That woman had wanted the dauphin for little Elizabeths hand. But even France had baulked at matching their future King with a child of such dubious legitimacy.
The insult had not lingered long it seemed for George presumed on that acquaintance to strike up rapport with the admiral, over the last two days, even though the Frenchman, seemed less warm in his reciprocation.

"Richmond Palace, Monsieur," George declared proudly to the French Admiral as their barge glided towards the white-bricked palace that lay nestled on the bank of the River Thames.

Great bay windows looked out onto the river and Mary could not help but wonder if her father was watching their entourage of twenty boats arrive from the royal rooms on the first floor.
She tried to fight the urge to look up to the Kings windows, but her desperate longing to see her father steered her head up to try and catch a glimpse of him.

The barge turned from the river into the narrow moat that connected the highway of the river to the palace.
A shiver of cold ran across Marys body as the boat glided under the stone arche. How she wished she were anywhere else. Even Beaulieu seemed like an Eden rather than face her father's court.
They were met at the steps of the great stairs that led to the royal chambers by the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk and the Earl of Wiltshire.

"Welcome to Richmond Palace, Admiral," Norfolk said as he helped the Admiral to disembark. "I trust you had a smooth journey."

"It was more than tolerable, Thank you, Your Grace," he replied in his heavily accented English.

"Their Majesties are ready to receive you now, if you would care to come this way." The Duke extended his hand towards the internal steps that led to the royal lodgings and began to lead the company inside.
Mary made to follow, only to be stopped by the raised hand of Sir Thomas Boleyn.

"Not her," he said to George dismissively, without so much as a glance of acknowledgement in Mary's direction.

"Has His Majesty forbidden my presence, sir?" Mary demanded, standing her ground against the arrogance of the Earl of Wiltshire

"Have you put aside your obstinate ways and been forgiven for your intransigence?" Sir Thomas taunted her with a haughty sneer of contempt.

Mary could feel her temper rising. She outranked this man in every possible way. How dare he have the temerity to speak down to her as though she were still a child. He, who only held his lofty position because of his amoral daughter and the unscrupulous machinations of his family.

"You can have no hope of their Majesties speaking to you, or even acknowledging you," George tried to dissuade her.

"It would not matter a straw to me if that woman acknowledged me or not. But I have been asked to be here and so I shall." She did not care if her words gave offence. She had endured too many insults from the Boleyn family to care what insults she gave back.

Thomas Boleyn rolled his eyes. "You see why she should not go in," he said to George. Turning to one of his gentlemen, he said: "Show Her Grace to the Dukes' rooms and make sure she stays there."

"I am not your prisoner," Mary insisted.

"No, but you are my sons' wife and subject to his authority and therefore mine, so you will do as you are told," Wiltshire said. "You can walk to your rooms gracefully, escorted as befits a Duchess or I will fetch a litter and have you go thrown in."

Mary would like to have argued that he would not dare to lay a hand on a Princess of the blood, but she knew from experience that the Boleyn's were not above manhandling her.
It was only two years ago when Elizabeth's household had been leaving Hatfield to go to Eltham, she had been offered a dilapidated litter to travel in, far inferior to anything she had ever travelled in before.
She had refused to get in it, only for the household guards to round on her and bundle her into it by force.
The whole incident had made her so violently ill she had spent the entirety of the journey vomiting from fear. Even now to think of it sent shivers down her spine.

Taking a deep breath, Mary drew herself up to her full height and allowed herself to be escorted.
The Boleyn's had robbed her of her honour, her position, and her family. She was determined they would not also have her dignity.