Free Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn by Sarah A. Morris

attention to her beautiful eyes, which were large, round and hazel-green, not to mention full of concern and love for her daughter.
    Like her husband, Anne’s mother was clothed in a rich fabric of black damask, which contrasted with her kirtle of light, grey satin. Although her bodice had been cut squarely, she modestly wore a very fine, white linen partlet that was secured about her neck by a small button. However, the greatest display of both her wealth and piety was the gold girdle belt that was clipped about her waist, and from which was hung a small book. Knowing the religious convictions of the time, I assumed this to be Lady Elizabeth’s Book of Hours. My intuition told me that Elizabeth Boleyn was a proud woman of a quiet and steely disposition; a woman who was fiercely protective of her children. For a few moments we stayed there in silence together, enjoying the sense of closeness between us. It was my mother who broke the silence first.
    ‘Your father has told me about what the King has said,’ Lady Boleyn’s voice was quiet and understated, and yet I detected her anxiety. ‘Anne, if truth be known child, I’m afraid for you. Our King is a mighty Prince and a generous sovereign Lord, but he is also a man of fickle mood. I am proud of you, truly, but I cannot get it out of my mind; if Henry can put aside his first wife of over twenty years, a Spanish princess with the noblest connections throughout Europe, what might he do if . . .’ Her voice trailed off, unable to put words to her fears. She could not know it, but of course I understood her concerns entirely. Indeed, I shared them. Yet, I did not know a way out the situation that I found myself in. The best I could do in that moment was to try and assuage her fears. I shifted in the water, turning more fully to face her square on. Taking her small hands in my own, I squeezed them tightly and looked deep into her eyes.
    ‘Dearest mother, I understand your concerns, the thing is . . .’ I searched around for the right words to say, ‘I know that this is my destiny. For some reason I am meant to be Henry’s wife and Queen of England.’ I continued by appealing to her deep religious convictions. ‘God has brought me to this, you know that don’t you?’ I looked earnestly and deeply into those gentle, hazel-green eyes, punctuating each word with a slight squeeze of her hands in mine. ‘It is God’s will that I accept Henry’s offer—and you taught me that above all else, I must accept the will of God, and love the will of God, as my own.’ I only guessed that this had been the case from the prayer book at her side. ‘Now mother, let us be glad of these many blessings. I’m going to need all your love and support in the years to come. Do not forsake me now.’ With the end of my speech, my mother reached up with her hands and gently cupped my face within them. She smiled, tears welling up in her eyes.
    ‘Yes, you are right, of course you are right.’ My mother raised herself up to her feet, her hand lingering on my cheek for just a moment. ‘I shall send the maids up to make you ready for this evening,’ she said. Walking to the door and opening it, Lady Boleyn turned to look at me one last time. Pausing briefly, she smiled bravely, before leaving and closing the door behind her.

    By the time I entered the Great Hall, most of the dinner guests had already arrived and a cacophony of sounds filled the smoky air. The room had a high vaulted ceiling. I imagined when the castle was first built, the ceiling was open to the outside, allowing smoke from the small central fireplace to escape through the roof. With later renovations, the ceiling had been closed off and the room was dominated by a huge stone fireplace, carved into an iconic Tudor arch and set into the far wall. As the evening was so balmy, no fire had been lit. However, the room was aglow with the flicker of dozens of candles which cast gentle, dancing shadows around the chamber,