The Kiss of the Concubine – Guest Post & Extract

I’d like to share with you a guest post and extract by novelist Judith Arnopp, who kindly donated a copy of her book, ‘The Kiss of the Concubine’ to our 25 Days of Christmas Giveaways. Enter here!

Over to Judith!

“People are sick and tired of Henry VIII and his wives, especially Anne Boleyn.”

I have heard that phrase time and time again but I didn’t believe it. Since the time I was able to read a grown up novel I’ve been enthralled with Henry and Anne. There are so many questions, so many avenues to follow, so many flaws in the accepted history. How can we ever grow tired of her?

As I grew older I grabbed at every novel and every non-fiction book on her I could lay my hands on, and at first it was satisfying. Gradually, over the years, I came to realise that the negative perspective of her that first emerged shortly after her execution was still being perpetuated.

By this time I had written several books and was just beginning to be noticed, my sales beginning to pick up. I badly wanted to write a book about Anne, but I wanted to write about the Anne I imagined, a woman of complex needs, troubled with doubt.

Throughout history Anne has been demonised; her character manipulated and mangled out of recognition by chroniclers, historians and now, more recently, novelists. There is no way we can ever know the real woman, not now so many records have been lost. Her letters are lost and even the extant portraits are not contemporary. So I wanted to provide another angle; show Anne in a more probable light. I don’t believe in witchcraft, or monsters, or evil. I believe that human beings are made up of a complex chemistry of positive and negative. I wanted to present an ordinary woman swept up in extraordinary times, with an almighty powerful suitor who could not be ignored. The Anne you will find in The Kiss of the Concubine does not come plastered with jewels and grandeur; she is just like you, only her obstacles are far greater. The reader has access to her inner thoughts and feelings, the sort of private moments that we all have but prefer to keep to ourselves.

Below is an excerpt from The Kiss of the Concubine.  Anne has recently been seriously ill with the sweating sickness and the king has ridden to Hever to see her.

I miss Henry more than I had ever dreamed possible. It is weeks since I saw him last, and distance and the debilitation of the Sweat makes our romance seem like a lingering dream. “He writes to me often but I wish he would visit. I have a need to see him … in the flesh.”

“He will come,” says George. “Just as soon as he is sure all risk of contagion has passed. You know what he is like when it comes to sickness.”

I know only too well how Henry fears illness. He has shown me his stillroom, where he likes to concoct remedies and unguents. And should any of his household suffer a cold, he likes to minister to them himself, ordering them to keep to their chambers until the malady has passed.

When Henry does come he is full of concern, raining kisses on my face and on my hands. “You are thinner,” he says. “Are you eating properly? Did you get the stag I sent you?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer but continues to speak, holding tight to my hand as he greets my father and brother and nods reservedly to my mother.

We walk ceremoniously about the gardens, my hand on the king’s sleeve while Father talks expansively of his plans for improvements to the house. Henry places his hot hand over mine, tracing my fingers, every so often giving me a little squeeze to show he is glad I am there. It is some time before we are alone. He pretends he wants me to show him the fish ponds and politely extricates himself from my family’s company, bearing me off toward the meadow.

As soon as we are out of sight of the house he stops and draws me into his arms, swamping me with the scent of rosewater and underlying horse sweat. My smile is wide when I pull away a little and look up into his face. There, in his eyes, I see all the love and concern I had feared he had forgotten.

“Anne,” he says, pulling off my peaked cap to let my hair fall loose. He buries his hands in it, his fingers digging into my skull, his lips hot and searching on mine. A sensation erupts deep in my belly like a scattering of red hot cinders. My breath grows short, the hammering of my heart loud in my ears. When his mouth slides from mine and I feel his tongue lick like a flame along my neck, his hands sliding down my bodice, I grow dizzy with desire, remembering just in time to be chaste and a little frightened. I pull away and drop my head, willing my lustful blood to cool. “Henry, My Lord, please.”

With a hand to my mouth I pretend to be overcome by his demands, and he is instantly contrite. “Anne, forgive me. I could not help …”

“No matter,” I say with what I hope is great compassion. “I understand.” Then I shake myself, smile into his eyes and lead him to a fallen bough. “Let us sit here and enjoy the view to the house while you tell me how the divorce is going. When can I come back to court?”

He rubs his kerchief across his face, and the bough creaks and bends beneath his great weight as he settles beside me. “Before too long, Sweetheart. Cardinal Campeggio is on his way from Rome but he is an old man and, so Wolsey tells me, suffers from the gout which forces him to make more stops than are desirable. We must concentrate on the future, on our marriage and the sons we will have.”

“Sometimes I dream of the son we shall have, Henry. I imagine him as a tiny babe, a cap of red hair like yours, and I see him older too, dressed like a little man, forceful and strong like his father.”

I do not confide in Henry that I also see him years from now, taking his place on the English throne. Sprung from the loins of a Boleyn, he will be the best, most powerful king the world has ever seen. It is a happy dream and one that I cling to as I drift unhappily in the limbo that is my present.

“A happy dream indeed, and one that is too long in coming to pass.” Henry shifts uncomfortably on the branch, his thigh pressed against mine. He takes off his hat and mops his head with his kerchief. “Are you not too hot, Anne?” he asks, and with a short laugh I shake my head.

“Since I was ill it is all I can do to keep warm. I crave the sunshine for it is so much warmer outside than indoors.”

My eyes follow his as he examines my hands, the tracery of veins beneath the skin, the bones of my wrist standing out. I have never been plump and the sickness has left me thinner than ever. He turns his gaze back to my face. “You must put some meat on your bones; a plump woman is healthier, more fertile, so they tell me, than a thin one.”

A pulse of fear beats in my throat. I swallow it and feign nonchalance. “Don’t worry, My Lord. I am eating like a horse at the moment and my strength grows from day to day. By the time I return to court I will be as fat as a cook.”

His big laugh fills the sky, sending up a crowd of rooks from their roost. “Don’t overdo it, Sweetheart. I want you plump, not portly. If I wanted to bed a pig I’d look in the royal pigsty.”

Our laughter merges, trickles away until we are solemn again. We stare at one another for a long time. “Can you stay the night, Henry?”

He flushes, hesitates, shakes his head. “Nay, Sweetheart. Think what the court gossips would say about that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that we should …”

His hand covers mine again, drawing me closer. “I know what you meant,” he says, and I lay my head against his padded coat. For a long time we sit in silence, watching the light change as the day dwindles into dusk.

The Kiss of the Concubine, and all Judith’s books are available on Kindle and in paperback.

Webpage: www.juditharnopp.com

Amazon page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Judith-Arnopp/e/B003CGLWLA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1417532065&sr=8-1

Blog: http://juditharnoppnovelist.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/margaret-beaufort-kings-mother.html