Dear Heart, How Like You This (9 page)
Two
1520–1528
The joy so short, alas, the pain so near,
The way so long, the departure so smart!
The first sight, alas, I brought too dear
That suddenly now from hence must part.
The body gone, yet remain shall the heart
With her, which for me salt tears did rain,
And shall not change till that we meet again.
“But since that I so kindly am served.”
Not long after I reached my seventeenth year a groomsman from my family’s estate at Allington arrived at my chambers at Cambridge with a message from my father demanding my instant return home. Anxious and yet curious about the reason my father would have me suddenly withdraw from my studies, I promptly informed the Dean of St. John’s of my father’s command. Having done this, I then immediately returned to my rooms to pack my saddlebags. Thus, with my father’s servant as my only company, I began the long and arduous journey to Allington. Arriving there, I found my father’s home in a state of turmoil—almost as if someone had upturned an ant nest, and its former inhabitants were scurrying here, there and everywhere in utter confusion. I spent some minutes questioning my father’s servants as to his whereabouts; thinking as I did how strange it was that many of them looked at me with an inquisitive, amused glint in their eyes. I then went to seek him out in the library.
I felt not surprised to hear from our servants that this was where my father was to be found. Since my mother’s death, my father took more and more consolation in making study of the classics. He especially admired ancient works of a stoic nature, and it was in these books he would seek to immerse himself, whenever freed of court duties. Yea, for many long hours, my father made a serious study of these works so their philosophies began to be mirrored in his every action.
When I entered into the chamber, my father stood by a bookstand near a large window at the far end of the room, dressed in a simple black doublet, unadorned by any jewel other than my mother’s large Celtic cross. Ever since her death, my father had taken to wearing this around his neck. The black garments, it seemed to me, greatly increased the impact of the silver of his hair. In recent years, my father had begun to age rapidly, but he still held himself erect and tall, and to my impressionable eyes, struck an extremely imposing figure. He looked up from the book he was reading.
“Tom,” he said, closing the book on the stand with a resounding bang.
With a swift stride, he walked over to embrace me.
“You arrived sooner than I expected. I suppose you’re wondering what is ado?”
“Yea, father,” I replied, as he released me. I felt very mystified as to the reason for my urgent summons home.
Reassuringly he smiled, walking back towards the window. He then turned back to face me, saying: “My son, ’tis good to see you looking so hale and grown. Sit down, Tom… I have some important news for you.”
I found a stool near where my father stood, and hastily sat, feeling glad to give my aching legs a rest. We had ridden very hard the last three hours, knowing that we were close to sleeping in our own beds, and I had yet to get my land legs back. I looked up at my father, who stood there silently, still with his hands behind his back, and waited patiently for him to speak. His previous delight at seeing me now seemed to have completely disappeared. In fact, he appeared abashed and ill at ease—two conditions, I would have said, that were totally unlike my father’s usual character.
At last his figure stirred, and he looked me straight in the eye.
“Tom. Recently the King gave me the wardship of a thirteen-year-old girl, a girl who has been dowered, by her family, with an estate near here. Not a great estate, I must admit, but her lands would greatly add to our own holdings in Kent… This girl comes from a very good family, Tom. Indeed, my dear boy, the girl has more noble blood running through her veins than we Wyatts can ever lay claim to.”
My father paused, glancing quickly at me. He then took a hand from behind his back, and tugged at his ear.
“Thomas, I have made the decision you will wed Elizabeth, and have made arrangements for the marriage to take place immediately.”
I sat there stunned. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that the reason for my recall from Cambridge could be plans to make me a husband. The room was again silent, but my head was splitting with my need to cry out:
Nay! Nay! Nay!
My father’s voice broke into my consciousness.
“Boy—surely you’ve something to say?”
Now it was my turn to look my father in the eye. I had always loved and admired him deeply. Surely he would understand why this marriage could not, must not, take place.
“Father. I cannot,” I at last said.
My father moved slightly and straightened his form, saying gruffly, “What do you mean you cannot?”
“I simply cannot, father,” I replied, this time in a far more tentative voice.
My father scowled at me.
“That is not a good enough answer, Thomas. Surely you must realise that we Wyatts are not as wealthy as our needs require. You are my firstborn son, indeed, my only living son. ’Tis important your marriage builds on what has already been erected. Elizabeth not only fulfils that need, she is also young enough to be shaped to her husband’s requirements. I married your mother when she was close to Elizabeth’s years and I close to yours. I also felt not pleased at the prospect of becoming a husband. But, I tell you soothly, my son. My marriage was the best thing, Tom, to ever happen in my life. Furthermore, this girl shows much promise of becoming a very desirable woman. I believe you will not be disappointed in the wife I have chosen for you… I have given this matter a great deal of thought, my boy. Indeed, Thomas, I am very determined this marriage will take place as soon as possible.”
I got up from my stool so I could be on the same level as my father.
“But father, I have already decided on another.”
My father stared at me from underneath bushy, dark brows. I thought, crazily,
Why is his hair so silver yet his eyebrows so dark?
“So, Tom, has she got a name? Or is she some trollop you have been making calf eyes at whilst you should have been busily studying your books?” he roared in irritation.
I took a deep breath; my heart beat so fast that I feared my chest would burst.
“I desire to marry the Mistress Anne Boleyn,” I blurted out.
My father stared at me again, looking at me as if I had lost my senses, then erupted with laughter. Groping around, he found a stool to sit upon and put his knuckles to mouth. Glancing at me, his head shook slightly, as if he still did not quite believe what I had said.
“Oh, Tom. I am sorry my boy, but I had to laugh. I always knew you were a romantic lad, as well as a dreamer, but even so I could never imagine that your head was so much up in the clouds you could even begin to believe Boleyn would agree to match either of his two daughters on you. Surely you must realise how high his ambitions for his offspring are?”
Without waiting for an answer, my father leaned forward and began to speak even more earnestly. “Anne, I believe, Tom, is promised to the Butlers of Ireland. She is the only sure way Tom Boleyn has to gain what he sees as his rights in Ireland. Especially now that his elder girl has entirely ruined her reputation by jumping from a King’s bed to that of his groomsman… I hear the French King has even given your poor cousin Mary a new nickname; he calls her his ‘hackney.’ Broken in by the King only to give service to others in his court. I feel very sorry for the girl. ’Tis what I would have half-expected myself if I had sent such a young daughter away from her family to a licentious court—such which is found in the court of the French King. Not the best way, I would have thought, to ensure a respectable match. ’Tis a good thing too that your uncle decided to bring Mary home. I believe Boleyn’s fortunate both his girls’ reputations were not ruined. Aye, Tom, Boleyn is very fortuitous indeed. Anne was so young when she was first sent abroad, she was sent to Queen Claude’s court, which, I have been told by those who should know, is just as good as being sent to a strict nunnery.”
“Yea, father. I realise all this already, but…”
“Tom, I am not finished. I want you to listen and try hard to understand. I am sorry, my boy, but you must begin to face the truth. When Boleyn and I began our careers at court we were on a par, but I knew even then that his ambition would lead him far. Especially when I saw for myself how Boleyn encouraged his own new bride to play at love games with the King, when the King was a prince and no more than your age—nay, even younger. My son, his ambition
has
led him far. Much higher than my lack of ambition has led me. But I rest easy in my bed. I have a reputation with the King for being an honest man, Tom. There are not many men at court that can boast that, but I am afraid Boleyn wants more for his daughter than just a son of an honest man.
“In any case, Anne has been in France for the last four years or more. I cannot understand you, Tom. How can you say that you desire to wed a girl who you last saw years ago? Surely you must realise that Anne is no longer the child you once knew? Tom, my lad, you would no longer know her!”
I tried now to speak in earnest to the man before me, even though feeling that all my doors of escape were fast being closed.
“But my good sire, I do know her. I have always known her. We have written to one another over the years. Not much, I admit, but enough to tell me that she becomes with every passing year more and more the Lady of my heart’s desire…”
“Thomas!” my father roared again. “Have you not heard a word I have said? Boleyn does not think a Wyatt’s good enough to kiss his feet, despite our kinship to his wife. Why do you insist in believing he would even begin to listen to a suggestion of joining our bloodlines with his? He has his sights set higher than what he can see at Allington. Tom! Tom! Tom! Wake up boy! We do not live in some romantic fable, but in the real world. Mistake me not and heed me well, Tom, when I say to you that you have as much chance of gaining Anne Boleyn as a dog has of gaining the moon. Furthermore—and I should not have to remind you of this, Thomas—you have a duty to your family, and part of that duty is to marry whom I deem best.”
My father, as he has said, is an honest man and I have always believed whole-heartedly in his honesty. His words then were like being plunged into cold water, of being savagely woken up from my dreams of what could and would be. I felt sick at heart and defeated in spirit, and listened in silence as my father informed me of the plans already undertaken to get my wedding swiftly underway.
So, what of the other party? What of the girl I was to marry? How do I begin to describe Elizabeth? Yea, Elizabeth… I first met her the night I arrived home, seated next to me and eating supper amongst other family members at the dais. At near fourteen, Elizabeth appeared to me to be fully grown, made to look even more mature by the black mourning clothes she wore. My father was right about her promise of desirability. Elizabeth not only possessed lovely silver-blonde hair, but also large blue eyes lighting up a perfect oval face, unblemished by any imperfection. Her figure seemed to me very statuesque and a taller than average. Soothly, in height, Elizabeth almost reached to my ear.
My father had explained to me the reason for the great hurry to make me a wedded man. That is, he feared that her wealth, status and developing beauty would tempt a more powerful family than ours and, before we knew what happened, her wardship would be given over to some other man. The King had strongly hinted to my father that the girl would make a very suitable match for me, but the King was fickle in his favours so my father had moved fast when he decided to take the King at his word.
Thus, here I was, sitting near a strange girl soon to be my bride. What could I do but try to talk to her? And that I found very hard. In all my life, I do not think I have ever found it so difficult to begin a conversation as the one I tried to begin that night. First I looked at her with half a smile, but even though she saw my gaze and smile upon her, she remained silent. So silent the heaviness of this silence surrounded us, threatening to submerge us both. So, I forced myself to speak.