In the Shadow of Lions: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Chronicles of the Scribe #1)(14)

The morning sun was appearing over the white palace walls.

“Ladies!” the queen shouted. “Cast them across every threshold, secure them above the doorposts! And pray the Lord to cast the witch out!”

A page ran into the courtyard. “Anne Boleyn?” he called.

Everyone froze, looking at her, their mouths upturned with a hunger for more gossip.

The page followed their gaze and spoke to her directly. “Do not return to your quarters. You are commanded to submit yourself to Cardinal Wolsey. Forgive me, my queen, but she will not return.”

“That’s why she didn’t collect any mountain ash,” a girl told another as Anne walked past. “She’s the witch.”

“I belong to God!” Anne cried. With this, she touched the cross at her neck, still buried in the peeping layers of her bodice.

Catherine walked to her, an eyebrow raised, and jerked the necklace off Anne’s neck. She lifted it so all the girls could see. “It is Henry’s!” she cried out, and the girls screamed.



Cardinal Wolsey’s study was a sunlit room on a floor above the women’s quarters. Spread with braided rushes, the floor was littered over again with herbs, including fat fresh buds of cloves that crushed under her footfall, spreading a warm fragrance around her as she entered. The room smelled like a French perfumery and was decorated with so much gold and paint that it would rival any French woman. It comforted Anne to be in a room so familiar, even if she knew the man only by reputation.

Everyone in the French court knew of Cardinal Wolsey, who was the scorn of Martin Luther and the salvation of Henry’s reign. Wolsey taught Henry to rule England and restrained Henry’s appetites but then stamped Henry’s thick wax seal on his own secret pleasures. Wolsey was one step away from becoming the Pope. Anne wondered what he would do with his mistresses and children when the appointment was announced. Men could forgive other men so easily. She sighed. Power was its own righteousness.

Cardinal Wolsey was working on his papers as she entered and did not look up until she stood before him. He rose and she knelt, biting her lip and pressing her eyes closed for one last prayer for mercy. Had he found the forbidden Hutchins book? It was outlawed here, but surely these laws did not apply to the court. She had not meant to offend these men. She had hoped she would be the friend whose company was sought after midnight, when girls with candles told stories and read aloud from books kept under mattresses. She had not known what powers it had, so she was afraid to throw it away, lest it mark her for vengeance and return. Her brother, George, was afraid of it. She should have listened.

“Anne Boleyn.” He spoke it plainly, without question or accusation.

She felt it safe to reply and agree to it. “Yes.”

“You have been in our court only a few weeks, returned from several years at court in France, is it?”

Anne nodded. So far there was no hint of her fate.

“Yet you have made a distinct impression on everyone you have met.” His words were sour.

Anne could not help it. She tried to keep her face down so he would not see her cry, but her shoulders were shaking.

His heavy hand rested on her shoulder. He was a portly man, with jowls that began back behind his ears and fulminated in a point just under his chin that wobbled as he gestured. She looked up into his eyes, deeply etched with wrinkles and sagging skin, and saw they had a luminous, sweet quality she did not expect.

“My child.” He patted her. “There is still time to repent.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down.”

She sat in the chair pushed closest to his desk, and he paced as he continued. How could she repent? Anne thought to herself. Even her innocence must stink to God for Him to continually punish her for it. She wanted to unburden everything to the cardinal, to take confession and know forgiveness. She trusted his kind face. He was a man who could make anything right.

“I know your father. He has supported the church in every hour of need and has suffered under the indifferent treatment of this king.”

Anne understood him to mean her sister, unworthy of a good match and financially dependent on a king who had grown completely tired of her after the first few nights.

“Anne, use your wits. Your family will be ruined by this.” His voice was tender.

She started to declare a vow of repentance, but a page entered.

Wolsey rested his face in his hands before he spoke, rubbing his eyes before assuming a cold demeanor. “You are to inform Lord Percy that his betrothal to Anne Boleyn will not be recognized by King Henry. Percy must return the dowry. Next time, he should consult his monarch before making a match that would affect the alliances of the nobles.”

The page nodded and scampered to his errand.

Before Anne could utter more than a strangled protest, Wolsey continued, to her, “You will no longer be housed with Catherine’s ladies. You can thank me for this, for though Henry desires you, he does not consider how you must live. I have arranged private apartments on these grounds where you will be comfortable. Henry will allow you no visitors. Still, this is better than what the women will do to you when they find out.”

“Find out what?” Anne asked.

“That you’re Henry’s mistress.”



I ground my teeth in frustration. Two-thousand dollars for retainers and hypnosis treatments had not cured me of that. “What an arrogant man! Claiming her like that and ruining her reputation. I’m glad I didn’t live back then.”