Chapter 15: Anne's shifting sands

Slamming the door shut behind her, Anne stumbled out of Henry's private chambers and into the clammy semi-darkness of the palace's corridors. Panting for breath, still shaking with trepidation and fear, she dragged herself into a corner and leaned against the cool stone wall in an effort to calm her frayed nerves. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, could feel the sweat running down her back as she tried desperately to make sense of what had just happened.

She'd told him. He knew about Mary now. He was infuriated.

Oh Lord, have mercy on me.

Henry knew now that she had been hiding Mary's existence from him, that she had failed to inform him, her own husband, of the simple yet elementary fact that he had another child, a daughter of royal blood. Driven by guilt and fear of what might happen if she kept it secret much longer, she had finally confessed, praying that his love for her would temper the fit of rage she knew was inevitable. She had known, even as she opened her mouth to tell him about his eldest daughter, that he would react badly, but she had not been prepared for the violence, the insensate fury in his blue orbs as he'd finally reacted to her words. She had watched in horror as he'd slammed his fist down on the wooden table, his shoulders shaking. There had been something so wild about his gestures as he'd spun around to face her and wagged his finger at her, something so physical and overpoweringly violent about his presence, it had scared her half to death. She had been paralyzed with fear, tormented by the sight of him. Too keenly had his antics and the look on his face reminded her of the old Henry, a man whose ire had been easily provoked, who'd loved her no longer. Eyes wide, she had staggered backwards, half expecting him to strike her, but he had not. Oddly enough, as quickly as his rage had come, it was gone again, why she did not know – she presumed that he had finally seen through the fog of his rage and realized how terribly frightened she was. His wild expression had suddenly been replaced by a mask of aloofness and self-control, one she also knew well, but this time she had been strangely thankful for it. She'd fled then, fled from the hurt and disappointment in his eyes - sentiments that were justified for once in his life – unable to look him in the eye any longer.

Anne sighed and closed her eyes for a moment as if to block out the image of Henry. The encounter with him had exhausted her, but she could live with the physical aftermath. Much worse was the torrent of thoughts plaguing her now, the emotional strain. She was confused, shocked, uneasy. But these emotions were familiar, were they not? In the weeks before Henry's accident she had constantly felt this way, like a leaking boat set adrift at sea, about to drown. This feeling was not new to her. However, in the past few months she had gotten so used to Henry's warmth and love once more, she had almost forgotten how much wild rage he was capable of, had pushed to the back of her mind what abysses lurked beneath the surface of his face - so handsome, so arresting - because she had wanted to forget. She had tried to allow the memory of how he could fly off the handle to pass into oblivion. And yet... always, always had she assumed that although his fall had changed him in many ways and he loved her once more, Henry was still the same man. His loss of memory and his new-found vigor had temporarily managed to cover up his vehemence, self-righteousness and cruelty, indeed, but he had not been altered completely. Some things are second nature to a human being, things nothing and no one can erase, not even a loss of memory. As quickly as he had changed after the accident his dangerous inner self could re-emerge, of this Anne was sure. He could easily return to his old ways. And for her own sake, that of her family and of England as a nation, she had to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening.

As the magnitude of her confession and the possible consequences hit her once more, she let out an incredulous laugh. She was in a dangerous position now. She did not doubt Henry's love, his obsession with her. The look in his eyes prior to her admission of guilt and the poem he'd written for her only proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. There was no danger that he would fall out of love with her immediately or start to hate her. And yet, he would surely regard her long silence concerning Mary as a breech of trust, and would wonder what other things she had been keeping from him. He would watch her more skeptically from now on and if she did not move quickly, his skepticism might as well turn into mistrust and aversion. That must not happen.

But then again, what alternative to a confession had there been? Delay even longer what was inevitable? Sooner or later someone would have told him, and if he had learned it from anybody else but her, his rage would have been even more intense. At least she had found her courage and told him. No, there was no need to regret what she had done. The important thing now was to react swiftly and carefully. And, in spite of her shock and fear, ever the trained courtier, Anne knew exactly what she needed to do.

If she wanted Henry to forgive her and secure his affection in the long run, there was no other option than to invite the Lady Mary to court immediately.

Anne knew it was a risk, for Katherine's daughter was never to be underestimated. In spite of the fact that Mary had now taken the Oath and accepted her mother's marriage to Henry as unlawful in the eyes of God, and Anne as Queen of England, there was no way of knowing what she truly felt and what she would do once she came to court. Anne had always sensed in that girl an ambition born out of frustration, a desire to avenge her late mother no matter the cost, and she was not so foolish as to believe that Mary had taken the Oath without ulterior motives. It was not unlikely that Mary would still scheme against the Boleyns and try to bring them down. Also, she had powerful and supportive friends at court who had two things in common – they all hated Anne and none of them wanted to see one of her heirs as the future king or queen of England. Thus, whether Mary actively worked towards Anne's destruction or not, her presence would always pose a threat to Anne, the crown on her head, and her family.

And yet, Mary had taken the Oath and made it clear that she was willing to behave amiably from now on, in the hope of being reconciled with her father.

"Madam," the girl had said upon Anne's visit to Hatfield House, "I have decided to submit to my father's will – in every way."

This indeed was the greatest advantage Anne had over the girl – she was the king's wife, his great love and passion, and therefore had the power to restore Mary in Henry's favor. However, this was only true for as long as Henry genuinely loved her and would do anything to please her. Once she lost his love and trust, her advantage over Mary would also be gone.

Furthermore, she had promised Mary to tell the king of her submission and recommend her unto him.

"I would reconcile you with your father and welcome you back to court, if you will only accept me as Queen."

She had broken too many promises in her past to continue in this vein. She needed to make a change, and deep down she knew that there was no way around Mary, this way or the other. If she did not come to court now, Henry would surely seek her out one day, and then all hell would break lose. The girl had no idea that her father had lost his memory, but if he went to her now, on his own and unprepared, she would surely find out, and that would be the end of all hope for the Boleyn family. Once Henry regained his memory and remembered how much he had begun to hate Anne prior to the accident, it was likely that he would renounce his newly-found benevolence and turn his back on her once more. And she could never let that come to pass, not while she still drew breath.

Determinedly, Anne let go of the cold stone wall and straightened her shoulders. Gazing ahead into the semi-darkness, she bent all her thoughts on the task at hand and started walking, a kind of calmness descending upon her. She could do this. She was a Boleyn and there was nothing she could not achieve once she truly set her mind to it. First, she needed to speak to her father, brother and Cromwell, then she would send a messenger to Hatfield House to summon the Lady Mary to court. Once the lady was here, Anne would think of a way to reconcile her with her royal father, who, mollified by the atonement, would surely be inclined to forgive his beloved wife for having concealed his daughter's existence from him until now.

True, it was dangerous to invite the girl, but then life as Queen was dangerous in itself. It was part of the game and Anne embraced it, had always done so. It was the price to pay for the chance to wear a crown that had graced the heads of women such as Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York - and Katherine of Aragon.

Anne had never doubted it was worth it.

In the evening of the same day...

"What are you saying?" Chapuys stared hard at the Lady Rochford, who was looking at him triumphantly, now that she had informed him of her news. "The Whore has sent a messenger to Princess Mary? She means to invite her to come to court immediately?"

The blond woman nodded, quickly darting a look at the people gathered in the great hall as if to make sure they were not listening. "Yes, Excellency," she said eventually, "I ... accidently overheard a conversation she was having with the Earl of Wiltshire, my husband and my Lord Cromwell about two hours ago. I could not leave earlier – I had duties to attend to."

You eavesdropped, Chapuys added cynically to himself. But who was he to question an ally's methods? After all, eavesdroppers often hear highly interesting and entertaining things.

"What exactly did they say?" He urged, his eyes boring into her.

He had recently begun doubting whether she could truly be of any help to him, since her husband, George Boleyn, did not seem to be the kind of men to confide much in his wife and therefore provided her with no real target. However, Chapuys knew that Jane Rochford was a clever and scheming woman, driven by hatred and jealousy, and therefore a force to be reckoned with. And now, finally, it seemed as if his trust in her seemed to prove useful.

"I did not hear the entire conversation," Jane went on, "however, they talked for a long time about the risks of Princess Mary coming to court, what with her hatred of the Queen... the Concubine," she added quickly, "and the Boleyn family in general. They said that even though the Princess took the Oath, it was still possible that she would plot against the Boleyns and Master Cromwell. They agreed that bringing her to court was dangerous."

Chapuys frowned. So they did presume that there was probably more to Princess Mary's submission than mere obedience and the desire to please the king. He should have guessed. Chapuys reminded himself that it was never wise to underestimate one's enemies. And yet, it did not really matter. What mattered was that they had finally made up their minds to invite the Princess to court. With the king's permission? And why now?

He asked Lady Rochford whether the group had given any reasons for their timing.

"I remember the Concubine saying repeatedly that it was now or never. That they had no more time to lose, or else she'd be in danger of losing his Majesty's trust and affection."

Chapuys looked at her sharply. "I'm glad you've come, Lady Rochford. This is excellent news. So it is likely that there has been some kind of … quarrel between the king and the Harlot. Did you notice anything in her demeanor, her countenance today since she returned from her visit to his Majesty's rooms?"

Lady Rochford had informed him earlier in the day that the Harlot had gone to visit his Majesty on her own, dismissing her ladies who would usually follow her wherever she went. Queens did not just roam the palace or any other abode without their ladies-in-waiting in tow. But then again, the whore Anne Boleyn had always been an unusual woman, so it was not surprising that she would flaunt the court ceremonial and do as she pleased.

"I'm not sure," Jane answered, gazing into space for a short moment. "There was steel in her eyes when she returned, as if she had made up her mind to do something. She looked quite determined. But I could tell that beneath her resolve there lurked something different … trepidation or nervousness, I do not know."

Chapuys mind worked quickly. This supported his assumption that something must have happened between the king and the Harlot, something that had shaken and frightened her but also brought forth her famous courage and steely determination. But what exactly had happened and how did it connect to the invitation to Princess Mary?

"And they all agreed that fetching the Princess was absolutely necessary?"

Jane shook her head. "My Lord of Wiltshire was against it, and my husband... well, I think he could not quite decide. But the Concubine insisted that the Lady be summoned to court, and Cromwell agreed with her. He said … how did he put it?" She paused and frowned as if struggling to remember. "Ah, yes. He said that they had to fetch her now, for if the king went to her of his own accord and alone, he would harden his heart against his wife or, even worse, Mary would discover 'that which brought about this great change in his Majesty ever since his accident'. I do not know what he meant by that."

Nor did Chapuys. That which brought about this great change in his Majesty... Like everyone else, of course, he had noticed that the king had been greatly changed by his accident, that he had been more gracious, merciful and kind than before. In the past three months Henry VIII had proven to everyone that he still had the potential to be a strong, if not always just, ruler, who had a vision for England and her people. And although he was still stubbornly pursuing the Dissolution of the Monasteries - an abomination in the eyes of all true Catholics - he had nevertheless improved somewhat in Chapuys' and many other people's eyes. These days his Majesty reminded the Ambassador not so much of the paranoid and easily provoked lord of the months before the accident but rather of the young king he had once been under More's guidance: vibrant, hopeful, enthusiastic - a golden Prince of Christendom.

However, much to Chapuys' chagrin, the accident also seemed to have renewed the king's interest in the Concubine, who, of this the Ambassador was sure, had been losing ground in the months before the king's fall. She had been frightened and nervous then, everyone had been able to see it. Threatened by Jane Seymour's presence at court and the king's changing emotions, she had lashed out at everyone, foolishly taking out her frustration on her servants and even those with whom she should not have quarreled, like Cromwell. Chapuys had virtually smelled the Harlot's anxiety, it had been an overpowering scent permeating every room she had entered and a heady odor to him, her mortal enemy. He had smelled success then, had been sure that the Harlot would soon be overthrown, one way or the other. Too palpable had been the king's waning love and growing aversion, coupled with his obvious affection for Lady Jane. Surely, if his Majesty's accident had never taken place, that winsome young woman would soon have been Queen of England, an occurrence both the Ambassador and his master would have welcomed. Mistress Seymour was definitely not as pliant and innocent as she seemed - Chapuys had sharp eyes, perhaps the sharpest at court, and he sensed that beneath her demure facade Jane had an ambition as great as Anne Boleyn's. Nevertheless, she was obedient to the outside, she was kind and reasonable, and, most importantly, a devout Catholic. As Queen, she would doubtlessly have promoted the cause of the true religion and that of Princess Mary.

Yes, had things turned out differently, a true believer and peacemaker would have succeeded to the throne, replacing the vindictive usurper and heretic who currently wore the crown. However, the king's fall from his horse had thwarted all plans Chapuys, Cromwell and the Seymours had had prior to the incident. Ever since his speedy recovery, the king had been nothing if not smitten with the Concubine's devilish wit and the lure of her flesh, spending as much time with her as he could, showering her with expensive gifts and calling her his "beloved wife and queen" in public whenever he could. He had also been on good terms with the Boleyn family and a loving father to the brat, as Chapuys preferred to call the Whore's only child. If the fact that the Concubine still had not provided him with a son and heir affected him, he had not let it show. All this proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the his Majesty did not resent Anne Boleyn any longer – in fact, it was obvious that he had fallen in love with her again. Once more that she-devil was the mistress of his heart, the poison in his blood, the passion of the king. Consequently, his Grace seemed to have lost all interest he'd ever shown in Jane Seymour, or any other lady of the court, for that matter. The Harlot was once more the center of his world.

But what on earth had caused the king to change his mind? Chapuys, for the umpteenth time, couldn't help thinking that a piece of the puzzle was missing. No matter how hard he tried to unravel the mystery surrounding his Majesty's rekindled feelings for the Concubine, his sudden disinterest in Jane and his general new and improved personality, always something seemed to slip through his fingers. What exactly had happened to the king? He had a feeling that this elusive information would aid them in their mission to destroy Anne Boleyn.

"What are we to do now?" The Lady Rochford's voice shook Chapuys' out of his reverie.

Concentrate on the tasks at hand, he told himself firmly, do not attempt to achieve too much at a time. If it is God's will, you will bring the Concubine down one day.

Yes, what were they to do? Apparently, the king and the Harlot had quarreled about something today. Good, Chapuys thought darkly. The sooner the king was reminded of the Boleyn whore's manipulative and aggravating ways, the better. It would be one task of many to find out what their argument was about, and Chapuys presumed that it had something to do with the missing piece of the puzzle. If only they found it, they would be able to use it mercilessly to their advantage.

Another thing stood to the fore. Apparently, Mary's arrival at court was to be a surprise. The king obviously did not know of their plans to bring her here, or else they would not have talked of the possibility of him going to visit her on his own. This puzzled Chapuys, unaware as he was of the king's loss of memory. He had been waiting with bated breath for the royal pair to finally make a move towards the Princess, after all she had taken the Oath and the Concubine had promised to recommend her to her father. However, nothing had happened for weeks, and now that Mary was to come to court, the king obviously had had no say in the matter, which was preposterous and confusing at the same time. It made no sense.

The Ambassador looked at Jane, thinking quickly. "Has the messenger the Concubine wanted to send to the Princess Mary already left, Lady Rochford?"

"Oh, yes. They eventually agreed that the Princess should come to court, and sent a messenger on his way immediately, accompanied by a couple of guards who are supposed to accompany the Lady on her way to the palace."

"So the Concubine expects the Princess to set off directly after receiving the message that she's wanted at court." Chapuys figured, and Jane nodded.

He wondered whether it would be clever to send someone after the royal messenger immediately with a message to the Princess that she should refuse to come to court. What had Cromwell said? If the king went to his eldest daughter of his own accord and alone, he would probably harden his heart against his wife as a result, or Mary would find out what was behind his sudden change in character and his rekindled love for Anne Boleyn. Chapuys, like Lady Rochford, could not really make sense of this statement but was dying to know what exactly Mary would find out if her father visited her at Hatfield House. Should he advise her to spurn the Concubine's wishes as she had done before? Should he tell her to stay put and wait for her father to come to her?

It was tempting, but he still decided against it for two good reasons. For one thing, the king would probably not be able to leave court in the next two weeks as he was busy with state affairs, and Chapuys felt like they had no time to lose. Secondly, and most importantly, he actually wanted and needed the Princess here at court. With her on the spot, it would be so much easier to communicate and plot against the Concubine. Mary's presence would be a constant threat to her, even if she was aware of the dangers and planned to keep a close watch on the young woman. He was undeniably curious how the Concubine would attempt to present Mary to the king and how she would behave in the presence of the girl whom she had feared and hated for so long.

Having decided that he would not send one of his men after the royal messenger, Chapuys smiled at Lady Rochford.

"Let us wait for the arrival of the Princess then, Lady Rochford. Once she's here, we'll see how we can bring about the downfall of the Concubine. However," he added as he noticed her frown, "I must ask you to continue digging for the secrets of your husband and his family. If you can, find out the reason for the Harlot's argument with the king, or at least watch her closely and report to me any mood swings, anything that might give her away. That is, if you are still willing to go through with this." He finished strategically.

Her lips were a thin line. "I am more than willing, your Excellency, and please rest assured that I will continue to try and find out whatever I possibly can. It's not as if I'm not already trying."

"I know. But in matters such as these, it's wise to be patient. Do not give up. If God wills it, the Harlot will be destroyed. Right now, we need to find out the secret the Boleyns are keeping from us all. I am sure it has something to do with the king's accident and its immediate aftermath. He did not change so drastically without cause. Also, we must do everything in our power to pull the rug out from under the Concubine's feet. Once the Princess is here, this, too, will be easier."

"Forgive me, Excellency," Jane replied archly, "but do you not think you are setting too much hope on the Princess Mary? She may be a princess in our eyes, but she's officially a bastard. And the king has been neglecting her ever since his marriage to the Harlot."

Chapuys paused for a moment, as he often did when someone said something that made sense to him. "You are right," he said eventually, patience ringing in his voice, "she is officially a bastard. And the Harlot, even if she does endeavor to reconcile her with his Majesty, will undoubtedly try to make sure that it remains this way. But you have seen the king. He is changed, almost like a different man. I am sure he will be kinder to his daughter, now that she has taken the Oath and submitted to his will - even if only on paper. His Majesty knows nothing of our plans. For it is we, Lady Rochford, who must now make sure that the Princess if often in her father's presence, that he remembers how goodly and noble she is. We must press our advantage and keep her always in the king's good and kind graces."

Jane nodded hesitantly, her lips a thin line. "But what exactly, Excellency, is our advantage? Right now I see no way to destroy my sister-in-law unless we find out her secrets."

"That may be so," Chapuys agreed, "and that's why I have to urge you to stick to your mission. Do what you can to find out what she's hiding from the world. If you do, I am sure we will be able to move swiftly against her. But even if we never find out, there are other ways. Once the Princess is here at court, we will be able to put more pressure on the Concubine." As an afterthought he added, "I will speak to the Seymours once more and urge them to put Jane in the king's way. Even if he does not love her anymore, perhaps she can distract him or make him fall for her once more. It is worth a try. If only that lady could be queen..." But he was neither in the mood nor did he have the time to go down that road again. And so he trailed off, his eyes fixing on Lady Rochford.

"What else can be done, Excellency? Who else could help us?" She asked, apparently still doubting him.

Chapuys smiled wanly. "Many, I am sure, will soon come to our aid, once the Princess is here. But until then..." His eyes left her and he stared into space for a moment, lost in thought. He had been thinking about a particular person for a while now, unsure what to make of him. "There is one who might help us but who has not yet approached us," he continued, "doubtlessly for some mysterious reason of his own. He is powerful and close to the crown, and I am sure that he knows something. I had hoped he would aid us in destroying the Concubine, but apparently the king's accident somehow changed his mind."

Lady Rochford looked at him uncomprehendingly. "You cannot mean Cromwell. He would never help us right now, he has joined with the Harlot and - "

"It is not Cromwell I am speaking of," the Ambassador interrupted, surprised that her sharp mind had not made the connection. "It is the Duke of Suffolk. And now, Madam, I must leave you." He bowed lightly, suddenly eager to get away. There were questions in her eyes, and many of them, but he had not the time to answer them all. She would have to deal with some of her uncertainty alone.

"Do what you can, my lady," he reminded her once more, "and please, report to me as soon as you find out something that could be useful to us. We will meet soon, together with the Seymours and hopefully the Princess, and then we will decide what to do next. Be well."

"Excellency - " she opened her mouth to say something, but he had already turned away from her.

Swiftly, he walked out of the hall and down one of the corridors in order to find one of his informants in a nearby office. Lady Rochford's questions and cares he pushed into the back of his mind, focusing quickly on the new task at hand. Everything would fall into place eventually, he knew this to be true. God was on their side and with His help, they would find a way.

Right now, Chapuys needed to speak to the one man who was as close to the king as Cromwell and the Concubine. The one who surely knew more about the secret shrouding the king's accident and its aftermath but who, for reasons unknown to the Ambassador, had decided not to join with him and his small group of schemers – yet. But Chapuys did not hold his position as the Holy Roman Emperor's trusted confidant and messenger for nothing. His gift of diplomacy and persuasion had swayed the hearts and minds of many during his long career, and now, once more, it would be put to the test.

He needed to find Brandon.

In the stillness of her bedchamber, Anne the Queen sat in a chair by the fireplace, absentmindedly staring into the crackling flames. Her father, George and Cromwell had long gone, her maids she had dismissed – she was alone. With a sigh, she put a hand to her right temple and began to massage it gently in an effort to soothe her nerves. Although she felt better now she had made some kind of plan and knew that Mary would soon be at court, doubts remained. She could not help pondering the decision she had made today, and the unforeseeable consequences. Would Mary's presence here be to her advantage in the end? If the people of England accepted her, Anne, as the reconciler of Lady Mary and the King, it would bolster her position as Queen immensely. They had never loved her, and prior to the accident she had not cared much, foolishly persuading herself that she was secure in Henry's love. She had stubbornly ignored the names they had called her, had listened but paid no mind to what they had whispered, thinking that it mattered not if they cursed her.

The Great Whore... She has poisoned Katherine… The Scandal of Christendom …

But now she was desperate to make them love her or at least regard her with something other than scorn and hatred, and to make them see that she was not a whore and usurper but a woman worthy of a crown. Also, she keenly felt the need to bind Henry's subjects to her if she wanted to remain Queen for the rest of her life – she needed their support, and she would never have it as long as she was officially at odds with Mary. For the people of England had a deep-rooted love of that girl, the daughter of the Spanish Queen they had held in such high regard.

In the passionate and demanding years of Henry's courtship, Anne had never truly grasped just how much they had loved Katherine – she had represented to them everything they could ever have looked for in a queen – dignity, kindness, a proud heritage and the support of a powerful royal ally, her nephew the Emperor. They had loved her and accepted her easily, both as the bride of Arthur and later as wife to Henry and Queen consort of England.

In their minds, she, Anne Boleyn, had replaced this paragon of a queen, bringing with her only her arrogance, an accursed French upbringing and an ambitious family, supporting the king in his break with Rome and pushing forward the Reformation. True, many people now embraced the true religion and had taken the Oath, which manifested Henry's status as Head of the Church of England, but Anne did not doubt that equally many people were either still stoutly Catholic or, although keen on some sort of change, still resented her and the king for breaking with some of the ancient and beloved sacred rituals and beliefs. In the eyes of many, she was still a whore, a she-devil and as much a messenger of Satan as Cromwell. She had replaced the good queen, she had brought nothing but unrest and conflict to England, and, on top of it all, she had not stopped at having her husband discard Katherine but had also worked tirelessly against Mary, England's beloved Princess. Anne could not help resenting them for believing that Katherine's daughter was indeed a princess, and she would certainly never share their view that Mary should be treated as an equal to Elizabeth, the heir presumptive. However, she did admit to herself that she had been treating Mary more harshly than necessary, and therefore she could understand the people's resentment of her to some extent.

But the old days were gone, and the old Anne was no more. Henry's accident had changed everything, including her, to some extent. She had known that everything would change ever since she had prayed beside her husband's unconscious form in the royal pavillion, had known the incident to be a turning point. Nothing would ever be the same again, one way or the other. She remembered her solemn vow, her promise to God.

"I beseech Thee, oh Lord, have mercy on my husband. I swear to You now, if he lives, I shall lead a different life. I shall abjure conceit, hatred and vengeance. I will sacrifice."

God had shown her the mercy she had begged for, and in the past few months she had done her best to be a better person, a good mother, a good queen. She had defied her father and approached the Lady Mary, urging her once more to sign the Oath. But it was not enough. This was her test, her task. For the love she bore England, her family, and her daughter, she needed to make sure that she remained Queen, and a respected Queen at that, which would never work if she did not reach out to Mary. For the love she bore Henry, she needed to reconcile him with his eldest child. He would never fully forgive her if she did not, and she could not bear the thought of falling out with him once more. This time, it would break her spirit.

Yes, she thought resignedly, it all comes down to Mary. Perhaps she will truly be my death, but until then I shall not forget my promise to God. I shall lead a different life, forsaking my lust for vengeance.

The people had been robbed of their Spanish queen, but if God gave her the strength, she, Anne, avenger no more, would become the kind of mistress they desired. Kind, virtuous, merciful. She would make peace with Mary and treat her with all the courtesy due to the bastard daughter of a king, illegitimate but nevertheless of royal blood, the beloved heir of Katherine of Aragon. She would be kind to her, even if the girl should plot against her. Somehow she would find a way to make Mary beholden to her. And then, very soon, the people would realize that Anne Boleyn may have risen to the throne on the wings of ambition and arrogance, but that she was now not only a peacemaker and gracious stepmother, but also a champion of virtue, a true believer, a woman of honor.

"Hear me, oh Lord," she said out loud in the reddish semi-darkness of the room, "Thou who art the way, the life, and the truth, be my witness now - I will give this realm the Queen it deserves."

Guys, I am SO sorry for updating so infrequently. Goodness, it took me almost a year to post this chapter. I have no excuse except that I couldn't write much for lack of time and energy, and perhaps also writer's block to some extent. But now I'm back, and although I shall wisely refrain from making any promises, I think it's all right to presage I'll be able to come up with more than just one chapter this year! Ha ha. Oh, by the way, I wish you all a Happy New Year and I hope you'll keep reading this story in 2014. I WILL finish it one fine day, but till then... Well, I have it all planned out in my mind, I just need to write out the chapters. Tell me, my dear readers - have you any idea of the shape of things to come? ;-)