Behind Boleyn

XIV - Queen Catherine of Aragon

The queen gazed upon the bowed head before her. Any number of emotions rushed through her body and she felt each one with blinding intensity. And so she sat silent as she willed her body to come back under her own command. Deep sadness that her husband would have this Boleyn girl join her court. Anger. Jealousy. Anger again. Her body could not have appeared more rigid if she had been facing death in the eyes of a wild animal.

Her dark eyes had taken in the essentially bland face of this Anne as she had walked into her sitting room. The young woman had ignored all of the eyes staring at her as she had entered the room and immediately fallen to the ground before the queen and bowed her head, waiting to be accepted into this prestigious inner circle.

Could she accept her? The girl's mother and sister had both dallied with her husband, she knew well enough. But they had been prettier than this one. Surely, Henry's eyes would not be tempted by one so plain as Anne Boleyn. Still, Catherine's stare bore into the top of Anne's head. While beauty was no risk, there was a different air about her.

For a moment, Catherine's eyes scanned the room around her. The women lined the walls, at least two deep. It seemed every one of her maids had come today, crowding her rooms, to see what their queen would do. She sat in her place of honour, raised slightly above the other women, and she could see how their eyes darted from the girl to herself.

Catherine's mouth had gone dry and she worked her tongue to gain some moisture, making a grimace that she imagined showed her emotions quite plainly to those in attendance. Catherine could usually mask her broken heart and raging anger quite well, but in this moment she couldn't hide it.

"Another Boleyn girl among us?" she whispered to the room.

A few titters escaped the women who stood with open fascination to see how this meeting would progress.

Catherine sat quietly for a few moments longer. Anne had still not raised her eyes. Perhaps she knew, then. Perhaps she knew her place.

"And you, Anne Boleyn. Have you anything to say to your queen?"

"My queen, I am but your servant," Anne replied still looking at the floor.

"And your loyalty?"

"I am of the firm belief that we women must be loyal to one another, my queen."

Catherine's eyes softened ever so slightly. These words were a salve to her soul. Perhaps, then, this one would be different. It wasn't as if she didn't expect Henry to have mistresses. She did. But it hurt nonetheless since she did love him and had been a faithful wife and servant for almost twenty years.

"You come highly recommended from my dear friend Queen Claude. She mentioned that you can sing beautifully." Claude had said a great many wonderful this about the girl before her. Somehow she had gained a high regard and although Catherine felt confident in her mind about her friend's judgment, her heart still held some hesitation.

"I can sing, my queen."

"What other skills do you have?"

More giggles from those standing nearby. Catherine silenced them with a hard look. Such innuendo was not something that impressed her.

"I can play the lute and the harp, in addition to chess and checkers. Sewing, of course and writing."

"That is quite enough. I suppose, then, you might play a song for me?"

"I would love to," Anne smiled at the floor.

"Very well, then, Anne. You may rise."

Anne finally looked up and met the eyes of the formidable queen before her. She took in her light reddish hair and sky-blue eyes. She had been a princess of Spain, originally married, though briefly, to the King's own older brother. Shortly after his death, Henry had married her as well, quoting the bible as justification for the action. But truly, everyone knew, that he had loved her from their first meeting.