Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Read Online Free Page A

building; each inner wall being set with many windows, all of which faced out onto the courtyard. I noticed how the sparkling windowpanes were carved up into small diamonds by the crisscrossing of the lead piping set within them; whilst multi-coloured patches of light were thrown on the floor and walls by the occasional colourful, heraldic design, which had been painted onto them at regular intervals.
    Much to the annoyance of my companion, I stubbornly halted once more, this time drawn to the open window which I had spied just less than an hour ago—or was it 500 years into the future—from the courtyard below. I moved slowly toward the window pane, coming to rest each hand lightly on either side of its leaden frame. I hardly dared see the sight that unfolded beneath me, as I slowly leaned forward to peer out of the opened window.
    In the riot of colour and chaos, I remained unobserved. The noise of chatter, of horses’ hooves striking the cobbled stone and the clinking of metal stirrups, reverberated through the confined space below. Servants rushed around taking sweating horses from lavishly dressed men who were in the process of dismounting their rides. One youngish lad wove his way through the mêlée, delivering flagons of what must have been ale to those who had already dismounted and were dusting off their fine clothing from their apparently long and strenuous ride. I watched the men throw back their heads, downing the liquid voraciously in between their talking and laughing with one another; clearly they were in high spirits. Elevated high above the crowd, my attention was drawn next to a banner of vibrant red, the background to three golden lions with blue claws and tongues which were emblazoned proudly across it. I noticed how the gold thread caught the light, causing the flag to glisten in the sun; it was the Royal Arms of England.
    My gaze then fell upon a larger than life figure clothed in rich fabrics and wearing soft leather riding boots that were adorned with golden spurs. A gold-linked collar hung around the man’s shoulders, whilst a silken sash was tied about his waist, from which was hung a sheathed dagger, its handle made of intricately worked silver. Everything about this man declared his exalted status and wealth. I longed to see his face. However, the man’s broad back remained frustratingly turned toward me, with his head and face obscured by a bejewelled velvet cap, the rim edged with soft, white feathers that danced lightly in the gentle afternoon breeze.
    As he exchanged words with another man, who had been standing close by him, a second figure emerged from the main entrance—the one I passed through not too long ago. He was a tall but slim man, elegantly dressed, who greeted his visitor with one arm extended in a sweeping open gesture, whilst the other was folded in front of him as he made a deep and courteous bow. I was unable to hear his words above the general hubbub below, but from his actions, I took this man to be the head of the household. I would later find out that this was indeed Thomas Boleyn, Anne’s father.
    I was riveted, but before I had a chance to see any more, I was pulled away from the window and on down the corridor past a huge oak sideboard covered in silver plate. Keeping hold of my hand, the woman swirled around and started speaking to someone who was clearly following us. However, I was transfixed by the face of my English rose. It began to dawn on me that if indeed I was in the body of Anne Boleyn, then the woman who had awoken me in the Long Gallery must surely be Anne’s sister, Mary; everything about her dress and her easy familiarity with me told me it was so.
    ‘Bess, can you come and assist me? Mistress Anne needs to be made ready . . . and quickly!’ My English rose kept moving, stepping backwards as she spoke to Bess, whilst steering me toward a large, dark, oak door that had been left slightly ajar. I glanced behind me, looking over my shoulder to