Anne Boleyn: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

every night for the King mv father and for you,” she answered primly. “What shall I pray for now?”
    “Just for that, Mary; for the King your father and for me.”
    Later Catherine walked to the door with her, where the Princess’ own ladies were waiting to take her to her rooms, and kissed her fondly good night. Then she took up her sewing and sat down; most of her evenings were passed embroidering while one of her ladies read aloud. Unlike the King, she had no ear or liking for music. But that evening they were interrupted by one of Henry’s household, a young knight called William Bryant, whose bad reputation and careless manners had always distressed the Queen.
    He bowed; the King had sent to ask a favor of Her Grace. Catherine nodded; whatever it was, she had to comply.
    The King wished her, Bryant said, to take a noble and worthy lady under her protection, and appoint her a maid of honor.
    “My household is at His Grace’s command,” Catherine said. “Who is this person?”
    “My Lord Rochford’s daughter, Madame, Mistress Anne Boleyn,” came the reply.
    Henry was lonely and in low spirits. He sat in the window of his room in Greenwich, staring moodily out over the river. Already it was growing dark, and the nights depressed him as they lengthened, closing out the sunshine and the crisp autumn days. He had been alone for almost two hours, having suddenly roared at his gentlemen to go away, and then picked irritably at his lute, till that too was pushed aside.
    He was restless and angry, because Catherine had spoiled his enjoyment of the bear-baiting that afternoon. They had gone to the royal pits with a large company of courtiers and the Queen’s ladies to watch Henry’s favorite sport, and he’d settled into his seat with Catherine beside him, leaning forward eagerly as the bear shuffled round the post, shaking the chain which tethered him. He was a good bear, he had been starved to make him fierce and the King looked forward to a good afternoon’s sport. Part of his enjoyment was the presence of his wife’s new lady in waiting, Anne Boleyn.
    She had been at court a week, but he had only spoken to her twice, and then in the presence of the Queen. Catherine did not like her, he could tell by the way she looked at her and turned away to talk to someone else whenever Anne was near. He had heard that Catherine had reproved her angrily for laughing in the maids of honor’s rooms.
    But she came to the bear-baiting that afternoon, brilliant in a scarlet dress and a tiny scarlet cap that framed her dark hair and enhanced her olive skin; and like him, she was excited, smiling and commenting to the other ladies in a whisper which he strained to hear.
    When the dogs were released into the pit, he forgot about her in his enthusiasm, and shouted his approval when the first of them crouched and then sprang like an arrow at the bear’s throat. The second and third followed, and the pit became a bedlam of snarls and the yelps of a wounded dog, its chest scored open by the bear’s claws, and the deep, furious growls of defiance and pain from the bear as it plunged on the end of the chain, fighting off its attackers. One of the dogs hung from its leg, its teeth clamped into the fur and flesh, its eyes red with hate. They were a magnificent breed, Henry remarked joyfully, the best in England. Look, the wounded dog had jumped like a stag to the attack again...It was bleeding profusely, spattering great crimson stains on the floor of the pit, but it fought on. Now the bear was bleeding too from several savage bites; maddened by pain, it slashed and snapped and staggered like a drunken man. The King and most of the court roared with laughter at the spectacle.
    One of the dogs was dead, its skull crushed by a bite; only two were left, and the second was weakening from loss of blood. Quickly he signaled, and two more dogs were released into the pit and leaped onto the bear’s back and chest, encouraged by roars from the