December 7

Thank you to historical novelist, Natalia Richards, author of The Falcon's Rise: A Novel of Anne Boleyn and the forthcoming The Falcon’s Flight: A Novel of Anne Boleyn, for this excerpt from The Falcon’s Rise.

Anne Boleyn performs at the Epiphany revels, 1513,
at the court of the Regent, Margaret of Austria.

We rose early and dressed carefully in our new, burgundy, damask gowns. When ready, we placed pretty wreaths of red silk berries and green ivy on our heads and chattered excitedly as we walked along the gallery. Reaching the Festive Hall, I saw that the regent had already taken her place on the dais with her family, dogs seated at her feet, and that the benches before her were filled with guests. I watched as the royal children toyed with their star-shaped pastries, and noticed that even the pale prince looked vaguely animated as he licked his sticky treat.

At that moment, a blast of trumpets heralded the start of the play entitled ‘The Triumph of the Three King’s’. Beatrix lent forward.

‘I watched the rehearsal for this,’ she whispered, helping herself to a spiced cake. ‘I hope it goes better this time.’ As jugs of mulled apples were poured into our goblets I stared as four men wheeled a stage into the centre of the Hall. I was startled by the sudden sound of a horn accompanied by a banging of drums and the curtains around the stage dropped away. Before me in a striped tent, a great crescent moon hanging above him, sat a king swathed in exotic eastern clothes. He appeared dark and swarthy, with gold, flashing teeth and a long, curly black beard. This was King Herod and he sat with three richly dressed men, one with a visage as black as the night.

‘You are wise, indeed,’ said King Herod, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ‘but I, too, must give this new king gifts. I order you to ride out into the dessert and, when you find him, return to me and inform me where he is, for I wish to honour him’. The curtains closed together and there came a hissing and stamping from the audience as a second stage was wheeled in. Within moments a back-drop unfurled, painted to look like the dessert, with enormous palm trees on either side. People stood up to get a better look and I grabbed hold of Anne Brandon in anticipation. Then from behind the stage they appeared – the most enormous, shapeless, hairy camels that could be imagined. On their backs perched the three wise men of the Orient, magnificently dressed in purple, red, and black with gold tassels, their gold crowns studded with jewels. They each carried a gift in an ornate casket. One of them then pointed to the star – my star, that I had help to paint – that was now being hoisted and cranked across the Hall, and I watched as it rose to a hill painted on another backdrop in the opposite corner. Then, to the audience’s great amusement, the star fell with a clang, and dangled half on and half off its wire. There was a roar of laughter as two men ran out with a long pole and tried to poke the star along the wire to where it should be. But to no avail. My beautiful star wobbled unceremoniously for all to see and then dropped to the floor.

The camels lumbered forth amidst the laughter, the kings sitting precariously on top ignoring the muffled swearing beneath them. Two men were obviously inside each camel, forming the humps, and from the grunting and groaning, it sounded like hot work. Although amusing, I did wonder what the emperor might think of the foolery. However, when I glanced over he was smiling and raising his goblet to the players.

‘Look!’ cried Anne, ‘look at the camel!’ We squealed in delight as one of the beasts tried to kneel so that the king could alight. However, each time it bent down, it seemed unbalanced and the wise man was left desperately clinging onto the camel’s hump. The other camels also tried to kneel elegantly, but the two men inside could not co-ordinate the intricate move. Then, as one of the camels dropped heavily to the floor, the wise man sitting on top lost his balance, grabbed frantically at the beast’s head – which came off – and exposed the man inside. He stood there sweating, scratching his ginger hair and staring at the audience. Meanwhile, as the wise man fell, the contents of his casket flew into the audience, who only clapped wildly. In fact, the box was full of sugared almonds, so all the children ran forward to steal one, delighting in their good fortune. The sweating man replaced his battered camel’s head, but as it was back to front he could not see. He crashed into the other camels and in the sheer chaos they all tripped and fell. The three wise men quickly re-arranged their now crooked false beards and spoke.

‘We have travelled far to see this king,
Our precious gifts for him to bring,
King Herod’s word will hold no sway,
We shall return another way’.

As they bowed low trumpets blasted out and the wise men, leading their motley camels, left the stage to cheers and stamping feet. When the noise finally abated and the torches were extinguished, the Hall lay in eerie darkness. What would happen next? I then heard a slow rumbling sound and with a great flash of light, an angry King Herod appeared standing on a large box. As the torches were relit, eerie shadows danced upon the walls of the Hall.

‘Why have these men not returned to me with the whereabouts of this new king?’ he cried at the audience, brandishing a fierce, curved sword in the air and snarling like a madman. ‘Where have they gone, you must tell me!’ Everyone started booing and before long, began pelting bread and fruit at the angry figure.

‘Away, Herod! Away to the fires of Hell!’ came the cry from the Hall, and on hearing the response, the man playing King Herod began to warm to his part and started taunting the audience back. He jumped down from his box and then up onto the trestle tables, growling, and hissing, and there was much squealing from the younger children as he threatened to eat them. He cavorted about, his gold cloak swirling, and with dogs running about barking the Hall descended into mayhem. Then, a crew of motley dressed shepherds entered, herding their sheep. The flock, in reality, was little boys dressed in lambskins, who hopped about on all fours and hid beneath the tables. The shepherds tried to pull them out, and there was much giggling from the ladies as they held their gowns modestly about their legs. One of the sheep appeared to bite Herod and although he tried to fight it off, he decided to give in and flee from the Hall. The Master of the Revels then came forward and raised his voice.

‘Masters all, you have seen our play
And blessed the triumph of the day,
For light has overcome the dark
And a new year enters with the lark!’

Applause filled the Hall as the three wise men ran onto the stage looking hot and exhausted. The men who had operated the camels stood holding their battered animal heads, and Herod ran back in with a flourish. As they left the stage, jugglers, a fire-eater, men on stilts, a fire-breathing dragon, and a performing dog entered. At one point, one of the regent’s little dogs ran out and started barking at the dancing dog. By the time a lady-in-waiting had grabbed hold of it, the performing dog had lost its multi-coloured coat and the poor fool in charge of it ran about in embarrassment, cap in hand, appearing mortified.

It was then that the countess rose and told us to make our way to the back of the Hall. I squeezed Anne’s hand, for here was my moment, and I was determined that everyone would look only at me, dark amongst the fair, Flemish girls. I knew I was not conventionally pretty, but I had grace and the slenderest of forms. With my long, auburn hair reaching to my waist, I would make an unforgettable impression, of that I was sure.

Behind the door our dancing master waited, stick and notes in his hand.

‘Quick, quick, ladies, mind the camel costumes’, he said counting each head as we passed him. We followed the countess and several maidservants to a small antechamber to change our garments. Chatting and laughing with excitement, we stepped carefully into the gowns of silver tissue and the maids laced them tightly with ribbon. Each of us wore a silver coronet with a thin wire halo attached at the back, but the biggest problem was trying to fix the white, feathered wings.

‘They will not tie properly!’ cried Arielle in dismay, tugging at the tapes. One of the maids handed her the correct wings and gave the offending ones to Edda.

The countess turned to look at me.

‘What do you think, Monsieur?’ she asked in a worried tone, head tipped to one side.

‘It is too late, Madame,’ sighed Monsieur le Brun, sulkily, ‘They will have to droop. Mademoiselle has no breasts and the wings are too heavy. Let us continue’. I gazed down at my flat chest with a sigh.

‘This gown is too tight’, moaned Gabriella with a frown, as the countess tugged it sharply at the front.

‘Really, child, it fitted perfectly well before you stuffed yourself. I told you not to overeat before the performance, foolish girl. Now, stand straight’.

When we were finally ready, Monsieur le Brun stepped forward.

‘Now – let me look at you all. Good. Shoulders back, please. I want grace, I want beauty – I want angels’. He threw his arms dramatically into the air. I lifted my own wings out to the side and he smiled.

‘Delightful,’ he purred, his eyes narrowing in appreciation.

Outside in the Hall we heard the Master of the Revels bang his ceremonial stick on the ground, and then – apart from some coughing – silence.

‘Most illustrious emperor, Madame Regent, prince and princesses, gentle lords and ladies of the court,’ he said. ‘I now have the pleasure in presenting to you our young maids of honour, in a new novelty devised by Monsieur le Brun, entitled ‘The Dance of the Heavenly Host’.

The drapes parted and, as the musicians struck up a tune on their rebecs, lutes, and recorders, we swept into the Hall. I felt the heat from the crowd as we entered and heard murmurs of appreciation as the girls formed a circle. I took my place in the middle – a small, winsome creature – my slender arms raised above my head, and my dark eyes lowered, and began my graceful movements of hopping and turning.

I glanced up and spied the regent smiling encouragingly, and wished that my mother and father could see me. How proud they would have been! I also thought of my elder sister, Mary, at the English court at Windsor and wondered if she, too, could be having such a wonderful time as I.

I tossed my beautiful hair and danced my steps without a fault, coping as best I could with my unsteady wings, which had now begun to swivel round to my sides. In two’s we danced, making arches, our arms entwined. Finally, we nimbly stepped onto a mountain constructed of wood and papier-mâché, and all around me great clouds of smoke – formed by men secretly working bellows – billowed forth. The audience gasped as I was lifted onto the shoulders of two men dressed as archangels, and we ascended further up the steps towards Heaven. Cries rang out as silver stars rained down from a net in the rafters and fire-crackers spewed sparks into the air. When a curtain dropped down in front of our mountain, the dance was over and we scrambled off the scaffolding, helped by the waiting servants. My moment of glory had ended.

That night in my bed, I watched as the last of the torches spluttered in its sconce. I knew I would not be able to sleep, and warm and content, I relived again every moment of the dance. I smiled, my eyes closed with delight. My first public performance had been a triumph and I had not wanted it to end… I loved dancing and being the centre of attention, for I knew I possessed a grace that the other girls did not. I felt different. I was different, as dark and mysterious as the cool night. Humming to myself I turned over. All in all, it had been the most wonderful Christmas season and I thanked God for my good fortune…

Originally from Derbyshire, Natalia trained as a graphic designer and illustrator, before deciding to become a museum curator and fulfil a passion for all things historical. Working with collections ranging from toys and military objects, to Royal Crown Derby China, she is now retired and divides her time between London and Derbyshire.

In her spare time, Natalia likes to walk in the Derbyshire countryside, research the Tudors, and travel abroad.

Her second novel, The Falcon’s Flight, covers Anne’s time at the French court.