The Rise And Fall Of Anne Boleyn

Chapter One: Bitter Memories and A Kings Mistress

A quickie authors note: This is something I have yearned to create after feeling unsatisfied when looking for a decent tudor queens novel to read. It does start off with an introduction to the main character (Kitty or Katherine Norbury) who will keep tabs on what happens through a closer side to Anne Boleyns point of view but in the next chapter the main character will evolve more into a more visible character and Anne Boleyn will begin her journey. Please keep me updated on how you find this novel for it is a different approach to writing for me and is not easy!

I was there, alongside the other ladies in waiting, when the rise of Anne Boleyn occurred and the downfall of Anne Boleyn happened. And now when I stand in Westminster Abbey listening to King Henry promise to love Jane Seymour as a wife and to stay loyal to her days after the cannons told us of The Night Crows death all I can think of is ‘love is only lust and when lust runs outs then the woman is in peril’ Queen Anne taught me that. She taught that to me when she laid her long neck to the executioners sword.

And I will not make the same mistake as she did for second chances are allowed if only the same mistake is not repeated and in my case I escaped narrowly the Kings hold, his bed and his doomed future.

I sit far behind the pews, near to the end of the big hall and they now swap rings, any moment now they will be classified as true husband and wife and with that I wish to bitterly laugh for as far as I know, as far as any courtier knows the King will never be a true husband, never had been even when we thought he would with Queen Katharine and he never will be. What will happen to plain Jane Seymour when she too fails to conceive a male heir to the throne and a younger, prettier substitute of a Queen walks on past, the King will not show mercy for justice is the one subject he does not do well in.

It hits me when they are deemed as man and wife. She is the third queen I have witnessed in reign and I know that this case is only very rare. In fact if I was a superstitious woman, which alas I am not, I would have thought I was a plague to these woman for I am to serve closely to them. When Catherine was being turned away it was I who cradled her as if she was a subject and I Queen. And when Anne wept over her downfall it was I who wiped away her tears and fed her comforting words and now what will I do to comfort this new queen in her time of need? I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

I got out alive both times, why am I still at court? For I see nothing of any good going to come out of me being here. I was held in the Tower of London for under three works and I still have the disheartened look in my simple brown flecked with green eyes. And why was I held when I was innocent? I was too close to the Queen, I know that I only live now if it wasn’t for the fact that I am like Mary Boleyn when we both have the Kings favour and that is what saved us, the Kings’ petty likings.

Survivors’ guilt is what I live with, my husband in the night feeds me wine and sweetmeats and strokes my hair until the night terrors leave but not for long, they never leave for long. And in the day I curse over the way I forget that Queen Anne is no more, I have to remind myself of the finality of her death. I never accepted death as such a final thing and now I understand. I really do.

I yearn for the older days when I was fresh and young recently plucked by the King, a handsome, desirable man and not a stinking, fat, bitter, old man who he has become today. I yearn for the days where I tarried daily with the gallants and was a loyal subject to the new Queen and past family friend, Queen Anne. The days where I sang and played the lute for the King specifically, the days where I sewed shirts for the poor and played cards, the times I would close my eyes and feel the warmth of the words that Thomas Wyatt would read from his work to the court. I sigh, for I cannot help myself. People do not treat thirty year olds with the same respect of youth as they would perhaps have done when I was sixteen and petal smooth in the life of court.

I will be brave and stay on, focus on my children and my husband, I will be a good wife and a good mother, I will stay with respect for the King for a man as conceited and power mad as he is useful as an ally not an enemy. And I will write to Wyatt, for he is more of a survivor than I and he went through more than I and he lost more than I.

Agreed.

No man should have the power to strip his wife of everything including humiliation and life. I will not allow that to happen to me and I will not allow that to happen to my daughter Grace, and I know and I hope the bitterness passes me like poison in the belly.

*15 Years Before*

Imagine myself in a new gown bought for me by the King himself. You wouldn’t believe me I bet, you would be too jealous to believe me for there is no finer gift a girl can receive from the most powerful man in this kingdom. And all for a few sweet as sugar words when riding behind the grand court on the way to Greenwich Palace, my new gown is green, a vivid Tudor green which shows the fine hue in my eyes and makes my hair appear curlier, prettier and all in all I look like a true lady in the gown. I will thank the King with a peck on his cheek and a grope from him under my skirts later tonight. My gown is a low square cut but no gallant dares tarry with me for I am the Kings mistress and I am off upmost importance. My pearls make the other ladies jealous but none spread whispers of me for I am the Kings mistress and I am off upmost importance. I will thank him by following him to his privy chamber. I have an outline in gold silk and after the Queen I have the most delightful dress in the entire court. I will thank him later by being a good girl to him and from where one gift is given another awaits. And I laugh from sheer delight from this prospect.

Here I am, a young girl at sixteen, young with youth but not young enough to not be betrothed soon and as a Norbury girl my wedding is of course most important but for now my family are quite proud of me for keeping the King keen and his liking for our family keener.  It isn’t like I have much choice over becoming a mistress but I could think of worst things to be doing as the King is the most handsomest prince in all of Christendom, for me when the King took his liking for me it was a deal with it situation, I was nervous and admitted this to him but he loved this, he loves the chase of romance and for this to him, is love. He wrote me poetry and declared his love for me and I acted with grace and pride and whilst falling in love I succumbed to him ignoring my family’s encouragement and for another eight months this has been my life, the Queen knows but treats me the same, I guess for her it’s better that it is me rather than some enemy. I know I am better than Bessie Blount, I mean she gives him one son and she parades her wealth in which she bullies him for and acts like a Queen when like me she’s just another whore, another wanton.

It isn’t all being a mistress though, but as my friends tell me I do drone on about it much, I sing and I dance (privately for the King sometimes but then that can lead to other things so it may not count) I play the lute and compose music with love, I embroider dresses and sew shirts for the poor with the queen, I deal cards and gamble small fortunes and I flirt and I chatter and dance and make merry  all night long until oh behold dawn has come and it’s time to make merry once more.

I laughed all day and I flirted half the night, the king doesn’t mind, he prefers it in fact for he knows the men are interested but he has me at his full command, that doesn’t mean I don’t take advantage of a handsome courtier with a charming attitude but I always keep myself available.

However I was not the only one who had caught his roaming eye, Mary Boleyn, or Mary of Sunshine Hair as Henry called her took my place in the Kings big bed and I was not needed as much as before. Her rosy cheeks, long blonde hair, round blue eyes and the way she acted was enough to stir Henry’s loins and although she was as smart as a tonne of bricks she did nothing but please the King and in return she asked for love but the King refused. The second big thing of the year 1521 was the introduction of Anne Boleyn, her graceful movements, her exaggerated French accent and the B around her neck showing off her family’s name because for Anne she was proud to be a Boleyn.  And that opinion of hers stayed with her always even when most of her family turned away from her desperate pleas later, to Anne the Boleyns’ were a league of their own.

And I admired her for that.