Chapter 20
Elizabeth walked into the queen’s chambers, searching the glittering crowd for her sister Anne, Lady Dacre of the South.
Elizabeth’s husband, Thomas, had been playing cards late into the evening with his friends and the new young king, Henry VIII, and had been in the great hall when Anne and her husband Thomas Fiennes had arrived.
He had reported their arrival to Elizabeth and now, as she made her way through the crowds searching for her sister, she laughed at the sights around her.
Greenwich Palace was a hubbub of excitement and elegance as the eighteen-year-old king and his wife, Katherine of Aragon, celebrated their first Christmas as monarchs and a married couple.
Laughter rang from all corners, music spiralled through the air and the heady perfumes of the courtiers joined with the burning logs and guttering candles, creating a cocoon of wondrous scent.
The spicy aroma was intensified by the strategically placed cauldrons of mulled wine which were being distributed by liveried servants and the fresh rushes on the floor, which were strewn with dried lavender, rosemary and sage, added to the festive ambience.
A voice called her name, and Elizabeth turned to see Anne waving to her from near the fireplace.
‘Over here, Elizabeth,’ Anne summoned, and a path opened through the milling courtiers, allowing her through.
‘How wonderful to see you,’ said Elizabeth as the sisters hugged. ‘It’s a delight to be at court for Christmas. The time has passed so quickly, I can’t believe the last time I saw you was at the king and queen’s coronation in June.’
‘It’s hard to know where the time has gone,’ agreed Anne, then she gazed around. ‘This is rather different from last year when the old king was ailing. Christmas was a very low-key affair,’ said Anne. ‘Have you brought the children?’
‘No, they’re at Hever Castle, watched over by an army of staff and with Lady Margaret in charge.’
‘Did your mother-in-law not wish to join the revels?’ asked Anne.
‘No, she claimed her days at court are over,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It’s a new world, a young crowd and she would prefer to stay where things are familiar. How are your children, Anne?’
The change of subject was a necessary diversion away from discussion about Thomas’s mother, a woman of great fortune, fine lineage and short temper.
Since the death of Sir William Boleyn in 1505, Thomas and Elizabeth had moved from Blickling Hall, the Boleyn residence in Norfolk, to the beautiful Hever Castle in Kent, which had been the home of Sir William and Lady Margaret in their later years.
‘They’re thriving, but, like your offspring, I have left them at home. They are at Herstmonceux Castle. Sussex is not far away, but far enough for my husband and I to know we are free of all parental duties for the Twelve Days of Christmas.’
‘You are funny, you speak as though you are a wet nurse,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Your children have more servants than mine to care for their every need.’
Anne grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘True,’ she agreed, ‘as is correct. We are women of the queen now and not to be bothered by troublesome issues.’
‘If Mother were here, she would remind us that our highest duty is to provide children, especially sons,’ said Elizabeth.
Anne laughed. ‘She would also remind us that our duty is to the crown and the queen.’
Elizabeth’s eyes strayed to where the young queen had risen from her chair and was organising the removal of furniture to create a dance space.
The swell of her pregnancy was obvious below her clothes and her women guessed the child had been conceived around the time of their marriage in June, a few weeks before their spectacular joint coronation.
‘How fares Queen Katherine?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘She appears to be well,’ replied Anne, ‘but we both know, you take nothing for granted until the babe is in your arms.’
Elizabeth did not reply; she understood both the soaring joy of giving birth and the debilitating lows of loss.
She had been a Boleyn for ten years and during that time her life and the path of English destiny had both seen huge changes.
In April 1502, five months after the marriage of Prince Arthur and Katherine of Aragon, the heir to the throne had died.
His parents, Henry VII and Elizabeth of York had been devastated.
Prince Henry, once destined for the church, became the heir to the Tudor crown.
A year later in February 1503, tragedy struck again with the death of the queen, Elizabeth of York, leaving the king a morose shadow of his former self.
The queen had been pregnant with a daughter, Katherine, but the child had died within a few days of her birth, the queen a week later.
Three heirs remained: Margaret, now Queen of Scotland; the youngest princess, Mary, pretty, laughing, a miniature version of her late mother; and Henry.
The young prince had been devastated by the loss of his mother, whom he had idolised, his world turning upside down, as his father, who had previously paid him scant attention, suddenly insisted the boy remain near him at all times.
Lady Margaret Beaufort, the king’s mother, helped in training Henry as all the hopes of continuing the Tudor dynasty were loaded onto his young shoulders.
He lived a life of study, religious devotion and, while he was trained with all the skills required for a king – riding, the joust, the sword and archery – his father refused to allow his heir to join in the boisterous sports of the tournament ground.
Instead, Henry was forced to watch as young men he admired, like Charles Brandon, Edward Howard, Henry Norris and Thomas Boleyn, cut a glamorous swathe across the lists.
The court became a sombre place, filled with the ghosts of those loved and lost by the king.
A hardness had stolen over him, and the country had felt they were in the grip of a never-ending winter.
There were endless taxes, strict laws and the bleak shadows of mourning at every corner.
It ended with the death of King Henry VII in April 1509 and the ascension to the throne of the dashing, handsome, energetic young prince; spring had arrived at last.
To prove his intentions of a more generous and even-handed reign, Henry instigated a number of changes within a general pardon claiming justice would be given ‘freely, righteously and indifferently’.
There would be no more informers or spies, men could go about their business in peace and privacy.
In support of the validity of his words, the new king punished those whom he believed represented all the mistakes of his father.
In August 1509, Sir Richard Empson and Sir Edmund Dudley, who had enforced the old king’s stringent and parsimonious financial policies regarding tax and legal matters, were beheaded on Tower Hill.
Following the death of Lady Margaret Beaufort, five days after the coronation of Henry VIII and Katherine, far from being unnerved by the loss of his father and grandmother, the young king had thrown himself into his new role with alacrity.
He gathered around him men whom he admired and trusted, no matter their rank or background.
Thomas Wolsey, the son of an Ipswich butcher, was appointed Lord High Chancellor, even though Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, Elizabeth’s father, was determined to try to oust Wolsey as Henry’s leading advisor.
Elizabeth’s husband, Thomas Boleyn, was another rising star in the court.
He had been made an Esquire of the Body of Henry VII in the December before the old king’s death.
At the coronation, Thomas was created a Knight of the Bath, and he continued to rise high in the court.
His talents as a linguist, his connections to the Howard family, his own family wealth and his skills in the tiltyard made him a favourite of the new king.
Elizabeth’s life had changed too. She had given birth to five children – three boys and two girls, although with the death of two sons, only three remained in the nursery at Hever Castle: Mary, Anne and George.
As a member of Queen Katherine’s court, Elizabeth divided her time between her husband and their roles as courtiers, and her mother-in-law and her children at Hever Castle.
A flurry of music brought Elizabeth’s attention back to the bustling room, where the queen was directing one of the maids of honour, Anne Browne, daughter of the courtier Sir Anthony Browne, and Agnes Howard, Countess of Surrey, Elizabeth’s stepmother, in a dance step from Spain.
‘You must stamp your foot and raise your hands, thus,’ said Katherine, throwing her hands above her left shoulder and clapping as she brought her right foot down with a firm clip.
A cheer went up from the surrounding crowd and Elizabeth clapped along with the others. Her anger at Agnes had softened over the years, although she had never managed to return to the easy friendship she and Agnes had shared in their youth.
A draught of cold air rushed into the room and a group of men entered. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and gasped in surprise. The king had arrived, unannounced, grinning broadly, accompanied by her husband, Thomas Boleyn, Charles Brandon and Elizabeth’s brother, Edward Howard.
Thomas saw her glance and put his finger to his lips, moving around to stand beside her and slip his arm around her waist.
‘The king wants to surprise the queen with a present,’ he whispered.
‘As long as he doesn’t shock her into giving birth too early,’ said Anne from beside them.
‘He’ll be careful,’ assured Thomas.
A moment later, the queen squealed in surprise, then a peal of laughter rolled across the room.
‘Henry, you’re a clever man to surprise me,’ she said and patted his cheek.
‘Open it,’ the king insisted, like an excited child.