Delighted to welcome Wendy J Dunn to the blog to talk about her latest release. Henry VIII's True daughter.

 

Hi Wendy, Thank you so much for agreeing to join me on the blog. I cannot wait to read your new book about Catherine Carey. How did you come to write this book and this subject in particular?

 When Pen and Sword Books included that question as part of their promotional materials, I decided I would take up Judith’s lovely offer of writing something for her blog and provide an answer.  

 I confess. Writing Henry VIII’s True Daughter: Catherine Carey, A Tudor Life hadn’t been on my bucket list of things to do in my life. Yes, sometimes, I had thought of writing a nonfiction book about the Tudors, but my writing passion is to write novels. That gave me plenty to do in my writing life. Yet, in 2020, someone unexpectedly approached me on twitter. Of all things, a commissioning editor for Pen & Sword Books. They asked if I was interested in writing a Tudor non-fiction book for this history publisher.

 Before I responded in any way, it was my turn to check out this unknown person. Was I being scammed? I asked myself. ‘Tricked?’ To my surprise, I discovered this person was indeed a commissioning editor. I became curious, and asked them, ‘What kind of project?’ They replied to that question by giving me three projects to choose from. They obviously had done their homework in establishing my Tudor interests. All three projects intrigued me, but one more than simply intrigued me. It called for me to discover more about Catherine Carey, one of my favourite Tudor people, the person I gave voice to in The Light in the Labyrinth, my second Anne Boleyn novel. 

Catherine Carey is yet another woman almost forgotten by history. As a writer of fiction, I welcomed that gap. It both invited and gave me the freedom to imagine her as a teenager witnessing the final year of Anne Boleyn’s life. Now offered with the opportunity to return to investigating her life and find the evidence that would offer strong proof for me to argue that she was what I believed; she was Henry VIII’s true daughter, was too hard to resist. I soon signed a contract to begin my research.

 David Starkey once remarked, ‘We really should stop taking historical novelists seriously as historians. The idea that they have authority is ludicrous. They are very good at imagining character: that’s why the novels sell. They have no authority when it comes to the handling of historical sources. Full stop.’

It strikes me that, by approaching me to write this book, Pen and Sword Books must see things differently to Dr Starkey. They must take historical fiction writers seriously to commission them to write nonfiction works. 

I understand why.  Like I said, I am primarily a writer of historical fiction. I have written historical fiction for decades. One reason I have only published four novels is because of the extensive research put into writing each novel. Even my unpublished novel set in 2010 about a woman writing a Tudor novel – a novel I hope to find a good publisher for, if not self-publish it myself – involved extensive research. Yes, Dr Starkey, I handle historical sources, but I use them in my novels in a far different way than in a work of nonfiction.

 Historical fiction demands a lot from writers. It is not only is a multifaceted genre that uses history for its storytelling, but one involving ethics – simply because we give voice to the dead. I spent many sleepless nights struggling with this. I can only go on with my story knowing I have respected my historical people by all the research I have done to tell my imagined story well. 

 I have never met a fellow writer of historical fiction who has not loved research. We all pride ourselves on the research we do. But research is always for the purpose of writing fiction – and to inspire imagination. Kundera (2003, p. 44) writes, ‘…fidelity to history is a secondary matter as regards the value of the novel. The novelist is neither historian nor prophet: he is an explorer of existence’. In other words, research is the means to write fiction that sets out to create the past and its people. Research illuminates that ‘The past is another country; they do things differently there’ (Hartley 2004, p.5).

 I can now say the same of researching a work of nonfiction set in the past. Each of my novels has been a writing adventure I embarked on and successfully accomplished. I did not expect that my nonfiction book would also become a wonderful writing adventure, too. It deepened my knowledge about Catherine Carey, as well as reassured me that my fictional reconstruction of her was still safe in the realms of possibility. It also increased my knowledge about her Tudor world. I love learning more about the Tudors, and having people step out as vivid and powerful personalities. People like the spellbinding Elisabeth Parr, a woman deserving so much more attention by historians. Because of writing this nonfiction book, I even have a new history crush – Dr John Dee. And that’s despite his beard. I am like Katherine of Aragon. Bearded men are not my thing.  I knew of Dee before, but now I want to know so much more about him. 

 But what really came even more home to me in writing Henry VIII’s True Daughter: Catherine Carey, A Tudor Life was what I see as one of the tragedies of history. History has forgotten far too many women. Women whose lives provide simply footnotes to the lives of their menfolk. History writes of their lives with such brevity that it breathes the appalling nature of our recent past. Being born in the female gender simply resulted in the erasure. If we do not restore the stories of women from the past to recorded history, then half our human story remains hidden in the dark. One reason I signed to new a second nonfiction work on another little-known Tudor woman is that I feel more committed than ever to return women’s stories to where they belong – as an equal part of our shared past.   

 What I hope I have achieved with my first nonfiction work is that readers will see her as I do – a fascinating, intelligent woman with power. True power. Catherine is an important player in the story of Elizabeth I. She helped shape her into the queen England calls Gloriana to this day. Henry VIII’s True Daughter: Catherine Carey, A Tudor Life shows how much Catherine deserves that recognition.  

 

Wendy J. Dunn is an award-winning Australian writer fascinated by Tudor history – so much so she was not surprised to discover a family connection to the Tudors, not long after the publication of her first Anne Boleyn novel, which narrated the Anne Boleyn story through the eyes of Sir Thomas Wyatt, the elder. Her family tree reveals the intriguing fact that one of her ancestral families – possibly over three generations – had purchased land from both the Boleyn and Wyatt families to build up their own holdings. It seems very likely Wendy’s ancestors knew the Wyatts and Boleyns personally. Wendy is married, the mother of three sons and one daughter—named after a certain Tudor queen, surprisingly, not Anne. She is also the grandmother of two amazing small boys. She gained her PhD in 2014 and loves walking in the footsteps of the historical people she gives voice to in her novels. Wendy also tutors at Swinburne University of Technology, Australia.

You can find out more about Wendy and her books HERE

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A Tudor Christmas

If we were to travel back in time to any Christmas during the Tudor period, we’d recognise a few of the traditions but there were others that would certainly surprise us. Religion of course played a huge part in all aspects of Tudor life and at Christmas time fasting and mass took precedence over gift-giving and carousing. 

Alonso Sánchez Coello [Public domain]

Christmas was a time of prayer and feast; the spinning wheel which occupied a corner of most homes, sat idle until the first Monday after epiphany (Plough Monday) when work would be resumed. While we adorn a tree, they decorated the spinning wheel with evergreen boughs, holly and ivy, a remnant of a ritual from pagan times.

medieval singers mary evans picture library

Another tradition that preceded Christianity was the Wassail in which a wooden bowl containing hot ale, spiced apple, sugar and other spices, was carried from door-to-door. Neighbours were invited to drink in exchange for a coin. For the more formal Wassail held at court, a bowl was passed around by royal stewards, the king being served last. 

So now is come our joyful'st feast,

Let every man be jolly.

Each room with ivy leaves is drest,

And every post with holly.

Though some churls at our mirth repine,

Round your foreheads garlands twine,

Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,

And let us all be merry.

George Wither (1588-1667)

The yule log, a huge trunk or bundle of faggots (depending on the size of one’s hearth) was brought in from the forest. It was burned for the entire twelve days of the Christmas celebration, and it was considered lucky to keep charred remnants to start off next year’s yule fire. Aspects of this tradition are still in use today, although our log tends to consist of cake and chocolate and icing sugar.

As part of the festivities in royal houses, a boy or a fool would be ‘crowned’ the Lord of Misrule. Under his command normal order was overturned and the fool became king, and vice versa. 

For the entertainment of the court, the Lord of Misrule could command anybody to do anything. It was a time of total chaos and one that escapes my usually fertile imagination, for I cannot imagine Henry VIII allowing anyone to make a public mockery of him, let alone a fool … but apparently, he did.

In Survey of London, published in the first year of James I rule, John Stow says:

In the feaste of Christmas, there was in the kinges house, wheresoeuer hee was lodged, a Lord of Misrule, or Maister of merry disports, and the like had yee in the house of euery noble man, of honor, or good worshippe, were he spirituall or temporall. Amongst the which the Mayor of London, and eyther of the shiriffes had their seuerall Lordes of Misrule, euer contending without quarrell or offence, who should make the rarest pastimes to delight the Beholders. 

In 1525 Henry VIII appointed not only a Lord of Misrule for his own household but also one for Princess Mary’s – the ensuing chaos must have been considerable and we know from records that things often got out of hand. There was even an ecclesiastic version of misrule when boy bishops were elected, often known as ‘Fool Bishop’ or ‘Fool Abbot’. John Southworth says in his book Fools and Jesters at the English Court:

‘What followed over the next few days is commonly described as burlesque, a turning upside down of the normal liturgy; it is more accurately seen and understood as the literal acting out of the Magnificat, in which the ‘nobodies’ among the clergy, as represented by the fool and his assistants, were exulted as a salutary foretaste and prophetic anticipation of the Last Judgement.’ (Southworth: p.70)

By Elizabeth’s reign, presumably having run out of ideas for inventive mischief, the practice had almost died out. 

Feast of Fools

All this unbridled excitement clearly gave the Tudors an appetite, for the Christmas menu seems more outrageous (to us) than their behaviour.

Poorer folk feasted on umble pie – pastry filled with the chopped and minced heart, liver, lungs and kidneys of a deer, but the affluent gorged on richer fare. Along with the traditional Christmas dishes of swan, peacock and dolphin (yes, I know) Henry VIII was the first monarch to introduce turkey to the royal table, but there were other … stranger things.

Christmas pie – sounds yummy – was rather like a Russian doll but with poultry, and consisted of a turkey stuffed with a goose, stuffed with a chicken, stuffed with a partridge, stuffed with a pigeon. This pie was served in a pastry case, surrounded by joints of hare, small game and wild fowl. May not be as yummy as it sounds then – I think I will be sticking with my nut roast this year.

And if that sounds weird, Cockenthrice was weirder still. Most of us have seen the grotesques in the margins of medieval manuscripts, strange half-beasts comprised of different animals – a rabbit with a man’s head or a lion with a dragon’s head, or a snail with the head of a cat. Well, it didn’t stop at the drawing stage. The Tudor table benefitted from dishes that were constructed in a similar inventive manner. Cockenthrice was comprised of a sucking pig, sewn to the back end of a goose (or something similar) – there are some gruesome pictures on-line - google it, I dare you!

Mince (or minst) pies might sound familiar but these were not made by Mr Kipling (other pies are available) and consisted largely of prunes, raisins, dates, powdered beef, butter, egg yolk, flour, suet or marrow, and minced mutton and seasoned with salt, pepper and saffron – these thirteen ingredients represented Christ and the apostles, all baked in a pie crust shaped like a manger to symbolise the holy birth.

Frans_SNYDERS,_The_Pantry

Like the Christmases of today, everyone celebrated differently. Our Christmas has merged with winter celebrations of other religions, and new ideas and traditions have evolved but the Tudor Christmas is still detectable. While the Tudors brought in greenery to decorate their homes, modern homes are largely in tinsel and plastic and lights that can be seen from space. Tudors fasted until Christmas day, Christmas Eve being especially strict with no meat, cheese or eggs. This meant that come Christmas Day everyone was ready to gorge themselves and records show that royal households consumed as many as twenty four courses! Although we don’t tend to go that far today, lots of us diet desperately to fit into a little black dress and then blow it all by over eating on the big day! 

Now, as it was then, Christmas remains a time to be spent with family and friends, and however you spend yours, traditional or otherwise, celebrating with loved ones or working, make sure it is a good one, and after you’ve toasted the queen, don’t forget to raise a glass to the Tudors.

All of Judith Arnopp's books are available in Paperback, Kindle and some are on Audible. For more information click here: author.to/juditharnoppbooks

The Heretic Wind: the story of Mary Tudor, Queen of England is available for Pre-order NOW! mybook.to/thw

Tomorrow is Tim Hodkinson's turn - click here to go to his blog. http://timhodkinson.blogspot.com/

Katherine - Tudor Duchess

New from Tony Riches, Author of the best-selling Tudor Trilogy

Available in eBook and paperback from Amazon UK and Amazon US

(Audiobook edition coming in 2020)

Attractive, wealthy and influential, Katherine Willoughby is one of the most unusual ladies of the Tudor Court. A favourite of King Henry VIII, Katherine knows all his six wives, his daughters Mary and Elizabeth and his son Edward.

When her father dies, Katherine becomes the ward of Tudor knight, Sir Charles Brandon. Her Spanish mother, Maria de Salinas, is ueen Catherine of Aragon's lady in waiting, so it is a challenging time for them all when King Henry marries the enigmatic Anne Boleyn.

Following Anne's dramatic downfall, Katherine marries Charles Brandon, and becomes Duchess of Suffolk at the age of fourteen.After teh short reign of young Catherine Howard, and the death of Jane Seymour, Katherine and Brandon are chosen to welcome Anna of Cleves as she arrives in England. When the royal marriage is annulled, Katherine's good friend, Catherine Parr becomes the king's sixth wife, and they work to promote religious reform. Katherine's young sons are tutored with the future king, Prince  Edward, and become his friends, but when Edward dies his Catholic sister Mary is crowned queen. Katherine's Protestant faith puts her family in great danger - from which there seems no escape.

Katherine's remarkable true story continues the epic tale of the rise of the Tudors, which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy and concludes with the reign of Queen Elizabeth I.

Author Bio

Tony Riches is a full time UK author of best sellng historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the history of the Wars of the Roses and lives of the early Tudors. Tony's other publishedd historical fiction novels include: Owen -Book one of the Tudor Trilogy, Jasper - Book two of the Tudor Trilogy, Henry - Book Three of the Tudor Trilogy, Mary - Tudor Princess and Brandon - Tudor Knight. For more information about Tony's books please visit his website: tonyriches.com and his blog, The Writing Desk and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches

Sir Thomas Wyatt: Diplomat, Poet, Lover

Thomas Wyatt by Holbein the younger

Thomas Wyatt’s portrait suggests he was a discontented fellow. His eyes are troubled, mentally tortured even, his mouth down-turned, his cheeks sagging, as if he is tired of life and living.

But maybe we are swayed by the stories we’ve all heard of his unhappy marriage, his unrequited love for Anne Boleyn, his lovelorn poetry, his enforced exile, false imprisonment. But what do we really know?

Was Tom Wyatt really the tortured poet and lover that we like to think he was? There are plenty of known facts about him, placing him in a certain place at a certain date, clues we can pick up and learn from. There is the aforementioned portrait by Holbein, various letters and papers, a biography of Anne Boleyn, written by his grandson, George Wyatt…and, closest to his heart of all, there is his poetry.

Born in 1503, Thomas Wyatt was destined for life in the royal court, his father remained in high favour since his support of Henry VII at Bosworth, and Wyatt’s first recorded presence is in the entourage of the christening of Princess Mary. (A future queen, incidentally, who would one day be responsible for the beheading of Wyatt’s son after the Lady Jane Grey affair in 1554.)

In a dynastic power match Wyatt was married to Elizabeth Brooke in 1520, a union that, despite the birth of Thomas Wyatt the younger, proved both unhappy and unsuccessful. In later years Wyatt, after accusing her of adultery, parted company with his wife to live openly with his mistress, Elizabeth Darrell.

Henry VIII - the Chatsworth Portrait

One of Henry VIII’s esquires of the body, he became one of the King’s intimates, entering into the courtly pastimes--jousting, hunting and dancing. Like Henry, Wyatt wrote verses, an important component of the courtly love games that were so popular among the royal household. These poems were often left where a girl could find them, or offered as tokens; sometimes the poems were altered or embellished by another hand before being passed on. They were not published in his lifetime and in all probability never meant for close interpretation. Due to Wyatt’s central role in the story of Anne Boleyn however, history has decided otherwise.

It must have been during this carefree period of Henry VIII’s reign that Wyatt’s romantic interest in Anne Boleyn was first piqued. As part of Queen Katherine’s household Anne would have been fair game for Wyatt’s attention but, when it became clear that Henry had set his sights on the same target, Wyatt either withdrew or was sent by the king on a mission that took him away from court.  

Anne Boleyn: the Hever portrait

Most historians seem to agree that some sort of an attachment existed between Thomas and Anne but we can only guess at the extent of it. Some read a physical involvement into the poems but it seems to me to have been one sided.  Although there seems little doubt in the depth of Wyatt’s involvement, at the time he first began to make reference to Anne, she was engaged in a liason with Henry Percy, an affair that was quickly nipped in the bud by Cardinal Wolsey.

I am not skilled enough to judge the quality of Wyatt’s poetry but his particular choice of words and nuances of meaning can leave no doubt as to his state of mind. This is love if ever I saw it. A riddle, punning on the name ‘Anna’, points to the possible identity of his secret lady.

What word is that that changeth not,

Though it be turned and made in twain?

It is mine answer, God it wot,

And eke the causer of my pain.

It love rewardeth with disdain:

Yet is it loved. What would ye more?

It is my health eke and my sore.

It could, of course, be another Anna, it was a common enough name. It is not until you read all the poems as one unit that the argument for the object of his passion being Anne Boleyn becomes stronger.

The following poem is believed to have been written later, and the lines were altered at some point to make them less dangerous.  The line "Her that did set a country in a roar" was changed to read, "Brunet, that set my wealth in such a roar".  Obviously the initial reference to Anne was far too explicit, after all, what other ‘brunet’ of his acquaintance had ‘set the country in a roar?’

     If waker care, if sudden pale colour,

    If many sighs, with little speech to plain,

    Now Joy, now woe, if they my cheer disdain,

    For hope of small, if much to fear therefore;

    To haste to slack my pace less or more,

    Be sign of love, then do I love again.

    If thou ask whom; sure, since I did refrain

    Her that did set our country in a roar,

    Th'unfeigned cheer of Phyllis hath the place

    That Brunet had; she hath and ever shall.

    She from myself now hath me in her grace:

    She hath in hand my wit, my will, my all.

    My heart alone well worthy she doth stay,

    Without whose help, scant do I live a day.

Taken individually, Wyatt’s poetry could refer to anyone, it is not until you come to the most famous verse of all that arguments against it being Anne  begin to collapse. It could, I suppose, have been poetic licence or wishful thinking but surely, the words are too personal for that.  In my opinion these lines can only have been written by a man who has lived them and it is this poem that endorses all the others. There is no need, I think, to explain the meaning, Wyatt speaks as clearly now as he did then but he also illustrates, quite clearly, that the attachment was one-sided and, at least by the time that this verse was written, Anne belonged to Henry:

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

But as for me, alas, I may no more,

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore.

I am of them that farthest cometh behind;

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the Deer: but as she fleeth afore,

Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,

Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I may spend his time in vain:

And, graven with diamonds, in letters plain

There is written her fair neck round about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Another poem, possibly written after Noli Me Tangere shows Wyatt trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he has lost, trying to convince himself (and others perhaps) that his affection had been nothing but folly. But, all these years later, are we convinced? Or do the words smack of bravado? How many of us have shrugged our shoulders and said, ‘I never loved him anyway’?

Some time I fled the fire that me brent

By sea, by land, by water and by wind;

And now I follow the coals that be quent,

From Dover to Calais against my mind.

Lo how desire is both sprung and spent!

And he may see that whilom was so blind,

And all his labour now he laugh to scorn,

Meshed in the briars that erst was all to-torn.

Wyatt continued to serve the king. He was made High Marshal of Calais and Commissioner of the Peace of Essex.  In 1532 he accompanied the King and Anne, who was by then the King's mistress, on their visit to Calais and when the royal divorce was finally granted Anne Boleyn married the King in January 1533. Wyatt served in her coronation in June and in 1535 he was knighted but a year later, when Anne’s fortune turned, Wyatt’s former attachment for the queen almost dragged him down with her.

 It is said that he witnessed Anne's execution, from the window of his prison in the Bell Tower, writing a lengthy elegy to the men who died alongside her, and making no secret of his broken heart. He also remembered her in another verse, although he still does not dare to mention her name.

These bloody days have broken my heart. 

My lust, my youth did them depart,

And blind desire of estate.

Who hastes to climb seeks to revert.

Of truth, circa Regna tonat. (around the throne it thunders)

The bell tower showed me such sight

That in my head sticks day and night.

There did I learn out of a grate,

For all favour, glory, or might,

That yet circa Regna tonat.

Some say it was thanks to Cromwell that Thomas Wyatt escaped execution, but he may well have suffered the more for surviving. A diplomat as well as a politician, his subsequent career took him back to Europe where he became involved in intrigue and espionage, leading to his capture and ransom by Spain. His involvement in the attempted assassination of Reginald Pole led (somewhat ironically) to an accusation of treasonable contact with the king’s enemies and a second spell in the Tower.

 As a diplomat (some say spy) Wyatt was in constant danger, and wherever he travelled, he will have taken his memories with him. He doesn’t seem to have achieved happiness and some biographers have accused him of revelling in poetic misery. That may be a little harsh. It is easy to sit in our secure, warm environment and judge those who lived in tougher times. I think we can say Thomas Wyatt was a man who, although unfortunate in love, understood love. I think we can say he suffered for his love, and I think we can say he was a victim of the times he lived in – yet another victim of Henry VIII. He died of a fever in 1542, just six years after Anne and in a letter written to his son in 1537 he described his life as "a thousand dangers and hazards, enmities, hatreds, prisonments, despites and indignations"


A full account of Anne Boleyn's life, featuring her relationship with Wyatt can be read here.

Buy Now

I explore the relationship between Anne and Wyatt Here

Judith is the author of eleven historical fiction novels and is currently researching and writing the life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England.

author.to/juditharnoppbooks

Sisters of Arden - New Release

I am very happy to announce the publication of Sisters of Arden. There were times during this particularly trying year that I thought I'd never have it finished in time for Christmas but I have, and here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Back cover blurb

Arden Priory has remained unchanged for almost four hundred years. When a nameless child is abandoned at the gatehouse door, the nuns take her in and raise her as one of their own.

As Henry VIII’s second queen dies on the scaffold, the embittered King strikes out, and unprecedented change sweeps across the country. The bells of the great abbeys fall silent, the church and the very foundation of the realm begins to crack.

Determined to preserve their way of life, novitiate nuns Margery and Grace join a pilgrimage thirty thousand strong to lead the heretic king back to grace.

Sisters of Arden is a story of valour, virtue and veritas.

An excerpt.

1537 - Yorkshire

We run, heads down through the darkness, away from the cries of our dying friends and the sickening thud of their falling bodies.

Ducking through a garden gate, I cast about for a hay store or a tangle of bushes that might conceal us. Grabbing her wrist, I pull Frances into a briar patch, the thorns snagging and tearing at our robes and limbs. As we crouch in the dark, she trembles and wipes her wet cheeks on my sleeve. I can just distinguish her bone-white face and the stark terror in her eyes, and I am sickened with guilt that I have led her to this. Her life is now forfeit to my mistaken conviction that simple folk can make a difference.

I grope for God in the faithless void of my mind, begging that the king’s men grow tired of the hunt and ride away, back to their warm hearths, their laden tables, and their fragrant, sinful wives. Frances’ teeth begin to rattle, her breath faltering as her courage dwindles. I give her a gentle shake and put a warning finger against her lips, beseeching her to be silent, to be brave for just a little longer.

As the stealthy hooves draw closer to our hiding place, we hold our breath, sinking deeper into the undergrowth when he halts just a little way above our heads. The dank aroma of rotting vegetation rises; the tang of frost tickles my nose and pinches my toes. Frances trembles so violently it is indistinguishable from the juddering of my own body. I fumble for prayer, nausea washing over me as I fail to recall a single one.

 A creak of harness as the rider shifts in his saddle. I cannot see him but when the horse snorts, in my mind’s eye his breath mists the darkness, rising wraith-like in the night. I can feel the rake of the man’s gaze as he searches, seeking out our hiding place. My lungs strain fit to burst, my chest is aching, and I am ready to relinquish my freedom for just one blessed breath. The horse stirs, turns and moves away, and we fill our lungs with fresh damp air. We clutch hands as the vague hope of escape returns.

Then noise erupts with a harsh yelp. A hound is loosed and, with a furious growl, it crashes through the hedge. As I fall backward, I glimpse a lolling tongue, and yellow eyes stare briefly into mine; cold, murderous eyes. Frances’ scream shatters the night as the jaws clamp down upon her wrist.

“Let go! Let go!” I strike out with my bare feet, feeling the crack of bony ribs beneath a silken coat. The hound yelps but holds on fast, screaming aloud as I kick out again, hammering his head with my heels. The air fills with a confusion of hooves, screaming women, and triumphant male laughter as they lay hands upon us. As they drag me to my feet, Frances gives a loud unintelligible sound that breaks my heart.

“Please,” I beg, as my hands are wrenched behind me and roughly held. “We are nuns from Arden. My sister has done nothing. Take me, but … let Sister Frances go – she ... she doesn’t understand.”

A white dagger of agony flashes through my skull as my captor clouts me around the ear. My head rings and my vision blurs. Through a fog of pain, I realise they are hauling Frances from the ground, dragging us both rudely forward.

“Hold them,” the man on the horse orders, and their grip tightens as he slides from his saddle, hawks and spits on the ragged skirts of my habit before slowly unfurling a rope from his belt.

 The knots are tight about my wrists; my hands are numb. I cry out as the horse jolts forward and, tethered to the saddle, all we can do is follow him. Agonisingly, we retrace our route back the way we have come, through the hamlets and homesteads that earlier offered us shelter.

Our cause is lost. Our peaceful mission to bring England back to the true church has failed; doomed by the promises of a false king. In the lightening dawn, the slack-limbed, sightless bodies of those who aided us sway as we pass. The voiceless, lifeless men, women and children who dared to share our questioning of the king’s wisdom gape blindly at our passing.

 We will join them soon; our useless lives cut short, our fruitless existence ended in ignominy.

My throat grows tight. How have we come to this?

Sisters of Arden is available for pre-order now and the paperback will follow soon. Click the link for more info: mybook.to/sistersofarden

All novels available in Paperback and Kindle.

The Beaufort Chronicle, A Song of Sixpence and The Kiss of the Concubine are available as audio books.

author.to/juditharnoppbooks

A Queen in Shadow - a look back through time to Anne Boleyn and her daughter, Elizabeth

The Hever Portrait

The subject to Anne Boleyn’s true physical appearance has been discussed time and time again in books, blogs and journals, yet it is a subject that remains endlessly fascinating, the varied opinions and theories almost as intriguing as the woman herself.

Almost instantly recognisable, Anne Boleyn’s portrait graces thousands of book covers, mugs, tea towels, key rings…her face is everywhere. But is it really her face that we are seeing? Do the portraits show us what was Anne really like?

I don’t intend to hold a full debate on the portraits here but none we have are contemporary and the closest  are copies made of likenesses painted in her life time.

 

National Portrait Gallery

After her execution it wasn’t wise to have representations of a fallen queen gracing one’s walls so during the remainder of Henry’s reign and the years of Edward and Mary’s rule, her face and many artefacts belonging to her, slipped away. It wasn’t until her daughter, Elizabeth, ascended the throne that Anne became acceptable again and the demand for her image increased. As a consequence most extant images were worked long after her death – some as late as the 17th century.

The likenesses attributed to be her range from softly pretty to plum ugly as do the textual descriptions. Opinions of Anne Boleyn depended enormously upon the political stance and agenda of the author and as a consequence the documentary evidence is as varied and unreliable as the pictorial.

Due to her efforts for religious reform and the displacement of Catherine of Aragon, Anne was never a favourite of Spain or the Catholic faction and this is clear from some of the descriptions of her. Roman Catholic Nicholas Sander saw her as: ‘…rather tall of stature, with black hair and an oval face of sallow complexion, as if troubled with jaundice. She had a projecting tooth under the upper lip, and on her right hand, six fingers. There was a large wen under her chin, and therefore to hide its ugliness, she wore a high dress covering her throat. In this she was followed by the ladies of the court, who also wore high dresses, having before been in the habit of leaving their necks and the upper portion of their persons uncovered. She was handsome to look at, with a pretty mouth.’

Very nice of him to go to the trouble of saying so. And the Venetian ambassador was scarcely more flattering in his account.

‘Madame Anne is not one of the handsomest women in the world. She is of middling stature, swarthy complexion, long neck, wide mouth, bosom not much raised, and in fact has nothing but the King's great appetite, and her eyes, which are black and beautiful - and take great effect on those who served the Queen when she was on the throne. She lives like a queen, and the King accompanies her to Mass - and everywhere.’

 

The Nidd Hall Portrait

It is quite clear that she was not a ravishing beauty although of course, what is considered beautiful today is vastly different to that favoured in the 16th century. If you look at the line-up of Henry’s wives, the ‘Flanders Mare’ of Henry’s stable, Anne of Cleves, was by today’s standards, rather pretty.  

In a society that favoured delicately complexioned blondes, Anne’s dark hair and olive skin were far from fashionable and neither did her slim, small breasted (‘not much raised’) figure fit the current vogue for voluptuous women.

But most descriptions, even the most unfavourable, agree that Anne possessed expressive eyes and a vivacious wit and it must have been those attributes that captivated the king. Which, for once I think, speaks  rather well of Henry in that he was able to see past contemporary ideals to what lay beneath. Shame it didn’t last.

The only truly contemporary image we have of Anne is a badly damaged portrait medal that nevertheless bears some resemblance to the Anne we see depicted in later portraits.  From this we can deduce that we can come quite close to discovering a likeness to the real woman.

 

Princess Elizabeth (later Queen)

The medal was struck in 1534 with Anne’s motto, ‘The Most Happi’ and the initials ‘A.R’ – Anna Regina, so we can be quite sure that it is her. These medals were usually struck to commemorate a great event, often a coronation but since the date does not tie in with this, Eric Ives believes that it was more likely to have been intended to mark birth of Anne’s second child in the autumn of 1534 that she miscarried. This theory also explains why few copies survive.

 

The Anne Boleyn Medal

Other portraits include the familiar Hever portrait and the one at the National Portrait Gallery as well as some sketches by Holbein which receive varying degrees of certainty from the experts. The Nidd Hall portrait shows an aging Anne which is closer to some of the less favourable documented descriptions discussed previously. Another rather touching artefact is the Chequers Ring, a jewel removed from the finger of Elizabeth I on her death bed and found to contain the image of herself and her mother, Anne.

 

The Drew Portrait of Elizabeth I

Of course, we can never know the extent of Elizabeth’s attachment to her mother but some documented incidents point to a curiosity about her. Although Elizabeth was just two years old when Anne was executed and is not likely to have had strong memories of her, there were those around her who had known Anne and would have been able to keep her memory alive. If Elizabeth was satisfied that the image bore a likeness to her mother then I think we can be fairly confident too.

The recent (and not so recent) discussions of Anne’s appearance have led to the assumption that she and her daughter bore a close resemblance. Apart from Elizabeth’s colouring which was auburn and Tudor in origin, there are likenesses to Anne, especially in the earlier portraits before Royal iconography began to overshadow Elizabeth’s personality. The dark eyes are particularly similar.

 

NPG Margaret Beaufort - Grandmother to Elizabeth I

I spend a lot of time looking at paintings of historical figures and it has always struck me that in later life Elizabeth closely resembled her great grandmother. I suppose it should come as no surprise that there is also a look of Henry VII, Elizabeth’s grandfather.  Perhaps there is more Tudor in Elizabeth than we thought.

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