friends. Since childhood, I have always adored books and learning, finding libraries to be profoundly restful places; the reassuring voices of our ancestors, speaking from the pages of its many books, holding me as if I was a foetus suspended in a silent and protective womb.
Before sitting down to compose the words that I wished to write to the King, I took my time to peruse the shelves; the heavy and musky scent from the many leather bound volumes filled my nostrils. Most of the volumes spoke of history, geography, and of course politics and religion. Every now and then I paused, and with my thumb and forefinger, gently extracted a volume, flicking through the thick parchment, and sometimes vellum, that lay within.
Of course, this was the early 16th century and the printing press had not long been invented. This explained why many of the volumes were handwritten, and some of the religious texts exquisitely adorned with hand-drawn illustrations etched in vivid and beautiful colours. I guessed that many of the books had been written in the 12th and 13th century, when the castle was originally built, and I suspected that much of the information stored there would be subsequently lost in the sands of time. I vowed to spend as much time as I could in my father’s library, before my fate would eventually draw me away from Hever and onwards towards London.
Two large windows allowed the light to stream into the room and illuminate the large, oak desk that was placed at its centre. I sat down in front of it. Looking at the blank piece of parchment before me, I took the quill in my hand. Poised above the parchment, I paused; this was to be the first letter that I would write to Henry, the letter in which I would avow to him my maidenhead and my life. Yet, how to write to a King? For a moment, my mind was blank, and then, as if I were taking dictation from Anne herself, I began to write easily and in fluent French; the words pouring forth from my quill:
Sire ,
It belongs only to the august mind of a great King, to whom Nature has given a heart full of generosity towards the sex, to honour with such extraordinary devotion and commitment a simple maid such as myself. In truth, your Majesty, I do not know what I have done to deserve the inexhaustible treasury of your Majesty’s bounty. I am clear amazed that you should offer your heart and body and soul to a girl such as Anne Boleyn. Yet I give thanks to God for howsoever great may be the bounties I have received, and the great honour that you seek to bestow upon me, it cannot compare with the joy that I feel in being loved by a King whom I adore, and to whom I now pledge to sacrifice my own heart .
As an assurance of my obedience to you in all matters and as a small token of the constancy of my love for your Majesty, I have sent to you a gift which I know will touch your Majesty’s heart in its understanding .
Assuring you by my own lips (which I shall do yet again on the first opportunity) that I am, Your Majesty’s very obliged and very obedient servant, without any reserve ,
Anne Boleyn .
I put down the quill and stared at the letter, reading it over and over. The words had surged through me, and yet I struggled to comprehend what I was experiencing. However, the deed was done. Leaving the library, I gave the letter to my father’s personal secretary, who sealed it and assured me of its delivery. As I made my way back to my bedroom, I was aware that I had just put quill to parchment and written indelibly on the pages of history.
Chapter Five
Allington Castle ,
June 2, 1527
At breakfast the following morning, my father announced that he was due to return to London that very day. There was much that needed to be done on the Privy Council, and he wished to oversee the furthering of our family interests. Clearly, he was always a man with his eye on opportunity, and had sent a messenger to the Duke of Norfolk, my mother’s brother, indicating that events were moving
Before sitting down to compose the words that I wished to write to the King, I took my time to peruse the shelves; the heavy and musky scent from the many leather bound volumes filled my nostrils. Most of the volumes spoke of history, geography, and of course politics and religion. Every now and then I paused, and with my thumb and forefinger, gently extracted a volume, flicking through the thick parchment, and sometimes vellum, that lay within.
Of course, this was the early 16th century and the printing press had not long been invented. This explained why many of the volumes were handwritten, and some of the religious texts exquisitely adorned with hand-drawn illustrations etched in vivid and beautiful colours. I guessed that many of the books had been written in the 12th and 13th century, when the castle was originally built, and I suspected that much of the information stored there would be subsequently lost in the sands of time. I vowed to spend as much time as I could in my father’s library, before my fate would eventually draw me away from Hever and onwards towards London.
Two large windows allowed the light to stream into the room and illuminate the large, oak desk that was placed at its centre. I sat down in front of it. Looking at the blank piece of parchment before me, I took the quill in my hand. Poised above the parchment, I paused; this was to be the first letter that I would write to Henry, the letter in which I would avow to him my maidenhead and my life. Yet, how to write to a King? For a moment, my mind was blank, and then, as if I were taking dictation from Anne herself, I began to write easily and in fluent French; the words pouring forth from my quill:
Sire ,
It belongs only to the august mind of a great King, to whom Nature has given a heart full of generosity towards the sex, to honour with such extraordinary devotion and commitment a simple maid such as myself. In truth, your Majesty, I do not know what I have done to deserve the inexhaustible treasury of your Majesty’s bounty. I am clear amazed that you should offer your heart and body and soul to a girl such as Anne Boleyn. Yet I give thanks to God for howsoever great may be the bounties I have received, and the great honour that you seek to bestow upon me, it cannot compare with the joy that I feel in being loved by a King whom I adore, and to whom I now pledge to sacrifice my own heart .
As an assurance of my obedience to you in all matters and as a small token of the constancy of my love for your Majesty, I have sent to you a gift which I know will touch your Majesty’s heart in its understanding .
Assuring you by my own lips (which I shall do yet again on the first opportunity) that I am, Your Majesty’s very obliged and very obedient servant, without any reserve ,
Anne Boleyn .
I put down the quill and stared at the letter, reading it over and over. The words had surged through me, and yet I struggled to comprehend what I was experiencing. However, the deed was done. Leaving the library, I gave the letter to my father’s personal secretary, who sealed it and assured me of its delivery. As I made my way back to my bedroom, I was aware that I had just put quill to parchment and written indelibly on the pages of history.
Chapter Five
Allington Castle ,
June 2, 1527
At breakfast the following morning, my father announced that he was due to return to London that very day. There was much that needed to be done on the Privy Council, and he wished to oversee the furthering of our family interests. Clearly, he was always a man with his eye on opportunity, and had sent a messenger to the Duke of Norfolk, my mother’s brother, indicating that events were moving
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