The Other Boleyn Girl [Paperback]

Everyone knows the fate of Anne Boleyn, but not many know the story of her rise to majesty and the part played by her rival and sister, Mary, who was Henry's mistress and mother to two of his bastard children before the dazzling older Boleyn girl even caught his eye. Philippa Gregory, whose own role as the Queen of historical romance grows more secure with each new novel, has surpassed her self with this epic tale of lust, jealousy and betrayal. The Other Boleyn Girl charts the lives of both Boleyns--each in their turn "the other Boleyn Girl"--and their fiercely ambitious, conniving family who used the girls as pawns to advance their own positions at the court of Henry VIII. At 13, Mary is little more than a child when she is presented to Henry, ordered by her scheming family to serve her King and country by opening her legs whenever commanded, or doing anything else the great monarch desires. And while his loins are satisfied, life at court is sweet for the unofficial Queen and her pushy coterie. Inevitably though, the King's eyes soon begin to wander and Mary is overlooked, helpless to do anything but aid her family's plot to advance their fortunes, replace her with Anne and give Henry the greatest gift of all: a son and heir.

So good a job has Ms Gregory done at portraying the Boleyns and Howards as selfish, scheming, treacherous manipulators however, that it becomes increasingly hard to feel empathy for any of them. While Mary is merely hapless, Anne is the most ruthless of them all, so that instead of feeling cheated by knowing the outcome of her story, it only serves to help digest her unpalatable rise. Such a gruesome destiny was never more deserved. Ms Gregory has worked hard at researching her historical references. Daily life at court is described in fascinating detail--from the relentless leisure pursuits, masques and banquets laid on for the easily bored King to the complex hierarchies and machinations of the courtiers. However, the fall of Queen Katherine of Aragon and her only child, the Princess Mary, and the politics of the competing European courts and the break with Rome are seen only as a backdrop to the bawdy goings-on of the Boleyns and their fateful race for the crown. --Carey Green

Praise for Philppa Gregory:

‘Gregory's research is impeccable which makes her imaginative fiction all the more convincing’ Daily Mail

‘Gregory is great at conjuring a Tudor film-set of gorgeous gowns and golden-lattered dining. She invokes some swoonsome images…while the politics are personal enough to remain pertinent’ DailyTelegraph

‘Subtle and exciting’ Daily Express

‘Written from instinct, not out of calculation, and it shows’
Peter Ackroyd, The Times

‘For sheer pace and percussive drama it will take a lot of beating’ Sunday Times

Praise for EARTHLY JOYS 'When it comes to writers of historical fiction, Philippa Gregory is in the very top league' Daily Mail 'Brilliantly true to the period I was entranced' Lisa Jardine, Times Praise for VIRGIN EARTH 'A gripping story' Mail on Sunday 'Exciting and fascinating' Sunday Telegraph --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Fabulous historical by No.1 bestseller Philippa Gregory, the queen of Tudor novels.

Set in the court of King Henry VIII, Mary Boleyn attracts the attention of the young king and becomes his mistress; when he tires of her, she sets out to school her sister, Anne, as a replacement.

Politics and passion are inextricably bound together in this compelling drama. The Boleyn family is keen to rise through the ranks of society, and what better way to attract the attention of the most powerful in the land than to place their most beautiful young woman at court? But Mary becomes the king’s mistress at a time of change. He needs his personal pleasures, but he also needs an heir.

The unthinkable happens and the course of English history is irrevocably changed. For the women at the heart of the storm, they have only one weapon; and when it’s no longer enough to be the mistress, Mary must groom her younger sister in the ways of the king. What happens next is common knowledge – but here it is told in a way we’ve never heard it before, with all of Philippa Gregory’s characteristic perceptiveness, backed by meticulous research and superb storytelling skills.

From the author PHILIPA GREGORY I knew I wanted to write a novel set in the Tudor period and I was reading around in various history books when I came across a reference to Henry VIII launching a ship called the Mary Boleyn. I first thought the author must have made a mistake, I knew of the ship the Mary Rose, of course, and I knew the name Anne Boleyn, but I had not remembered her sister Mary, and I could not think why a girl from a relatively minor family at court should be so honoured. I started a programme of research which slowly pieced together one of the most compelling and complicated stories of love and betrayal, sex and family. Mary Boleyn was the youngest daughter of the Boleyn family, her older sister was Anne and her brother was the family's only son and heir. The Boleyns, like all the Tudor families were making their way upward in the world by the King's patronage and favour. Therefore their son was groomed to be his friend and was one of the young King's companions at court. When Mary was 14 years old she was brought to court as lady in waiting to Katherine of Aragon, and married to another of the King's friends, William Stafford. However she soon took the eye of the King and became his mistress. Her sister Anne joined her at court, and the entire family managed and encouraged Mary's relationship with the King which immediately brought them grants of lands, wealth, and position. Mary had two children by the King, the first a girl she named Catherine, and the second the son and heir that Henry would want so desperately later in life. They called him Henry and he took the surname of Mary's husband Stafford. However, while Mary was in the long six weeks of childbed it was always the King's habit to take another mistress and this time he took a liking to Anne. Unlike her sister, and unlike any woman before, Anne refused to become his mistress but retained his interest. For an unbelievable six long years Anne kept the most powerful man in England in love with her but did not become his lover. As we all know, she thus forced him to propose marriage, to put aside a faultless and loyal Queen, to destroy the unity of the Roman Catholic Church, and to make a martyr of one of England's greatest philosophers: Sir Thomas More. In my novel I show the Boleyns supporting Anne through this long waiting period and Mary, once the informal Queen of the court pushed back into the role of Anne's lady in waiting. In my novel Mary and George come to serve their sister and tolerate her bad moods and sweeten her as best they can while the King is slowly more and more entrapped.

Mary's own life changes. She has two children to bring up and her husband dies of sweating fever. She falls in love, simply and without calculation, with a poor man in her uncle's service. She becomes his wife in secret, against all common sense and worldly ambition, and it is this passion of hers which really gave me a key to her character. She must have been a woman of extraordinary determination and desire, to turn her back on her family's ambition and pride and marry instead for love. Of all the letters she must have written in her life, by luck, the only one we have is her defending her decision to the king's Secretary Cromwell. She writes: "Well might I have had a greater man of birth and higher, but I ensure you I could never have had one that should a loved me so well nor a more honest man." (and in a powerful dig at her sister) "I had rather beg my bread with him than be the greatest Queen crowned."

Extraordinarily, though the Anne Boleyn story ends in accusations of witchcraft, incest, treason and execution for Anne and for her brother George who was accused of incest with her, Mary's story ends happily and the girl who married for love inherits the entire Boleyn fortune and goes on to be a beloved wife and a great landowner whose children would be powerful politicians and courtiers at the court of their cousin, another unlikely lucky girl - Elizabeth.

When i first came across the story of Mary it was in footnotes and asides in history books. Historians knew of her, but no-one had considered what a remarkable woman she must have been and what an extraordinary life she led. I remember keeping her very much to myself, absolutely determined not to talk of her before I had the full story and was able to write a novel to do her justice. Her story is an absolute gift to an historical novelist and I am still incredibly thankful to have found it and to have had a chance to look back through time and get an idea of a woman who lived at the heart of the most exciting and glamorous court in Europe, and made her own way.

A magnificent new novel from one of England's finest historical writers, this is a story of rival sisters at the heart of the Tudor court, and their double seduction of the king himself.

Mary Boleyn catches the eye of Henry VIII when she comes to court as a girl of fourteen. Dazzled by the golden prince, Mary revels in her role as unofficial queen of the sumptuous court, but soon discovers that she is a pawn in the dynastic plots of her family. When the capricious king's interest wanes, Mary is ordered to pass on her knowledge of how to please him to her friend and rival: her sister, Anne.

With Mary's training and her own brittle charm Anne becomes irresistible to Henry. Mary can do nothing but watch her sister's rise. Anne stops at nothing: corruption, adultery and murder. The court, church and country are divided between the neglected queen and the brilliant new Boleyn girl. Above all, Henry must have an heir, and when Anne becomes pregnant, he marries her. From now on Mary will forever be nothing more than the other Boleyn girl. But beyond the court is a man who dares to challenge the power of her family and the envy of the new queen to offer Mary a life of freedom and passion, if only she has the courage to break away – before the Boleyn enemies turn on the Boleyn girls…

Based on three years of research into the true but almost unknown story of Anne Boleyn's younger sister, this is a novel which redefines England's most famous king and the women who loved and feared him.

--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Philippa Gregory is an internationally renowned author of historical novels. She holds a PhD in eighteenth-century literature from the University of Edinburgh. Works that have been adapted for television include A Respectable Trade, The Other Boleyn Girl and The Queen's Fool. The Other Boleyn Girl is now a major film, starring Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman and Eric Bana. Philippa Gregory lives in the North of England with her family.

I could hear a roll of muffled drums. But I could see nothing but the
lacing on the bodice of the lady standing in front of me, blocking my
view of the scaffold. I had been at this court for more than a year and
attended hundreds of festivities; but never before one like this.

By stepping to one side a little and craning my neck, I could see the
condemned man, accompanied by his priest, walk slowly from the Tower
towards the green where the wooden platform was waiting, the block of
wood placed centre stage, the executioner dressed all ready for work in
his shirtsleeves with a black hood over his head. It looked more like a
masque than a real event, and I watched it as if it were a court entertain-ment.
The king, seated on his throne, looked distracted, as if he was
running through his speech of forgiveness in his head. Behind him stood
my husband of one year, William Carey, my brother, George, and my
father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, all looking grave. I wriggled my toes inside
my silk slippers and wished the king would hurry up and grant clemency
so that we could all go to breakfast. I was only thirteen years old, I was
always hungry.

The Duke of Buckinghamshire, far away on the scaffold, put off his
thick coat. He was close enough kin for me to call him uncle. He had
come to my wedding and given me a gilt bracelet. My father told me that
he had offended the king a dozen ways: he had royal blood in his veins
and he kept too large a retinue of armed men for the comfort of a king
not yet wholly secure on his throne; worst of all he was supposed to have
said that the king had no son and heir now, could get no son and heir,
and that he would likely die without a son to succeed him to the throne.
Such a thought must not be said out loud. The king, the court, the
whole country knew that a boy must be born to the queen, and born
soon. To suggest otherwise was to take the first step on the path that led
to the wooden steps of the scaffold which the duke, my uncle, now
climbed, firmly and without fear. A good courtier never refers to any
unpalatable truths. The life of a court should always be merry.

Uncle Stafford came to the front of the stage to say his final words. I
was too far from him to hear, and in any case I was watching the king,
waiting for his cue to step forward and offer the royal pardon. This man
standing on the scaffold, in the sunlight of the early morning, had been
the king’s partner at tennis, his rival on the jousting field, his friend at a
hundred bouts of drinking and gambling, they had been comrades since
the king was a boy. The king was teaching him a lesson, a powerful public
lesson, and then he would forgive him and we could all go to breakfast.
The little faraway figure turned to his confessor. He bowed his head
for a blessing and kissed the rosary. He knelt before the block and clasped
it in both hands. I wondered what it must be like, to put one’s cheek to
the smooth waxed wood, to smell the warm wind coming off the river,
to hear, overhead, the cry of seagulls. Even knowing as he did that this
was a masque and not the real thing, it must be odd for Uncle to put his
head down and know that the executioner was standing behind.

The executioner raised his axe. I looked towards the king. He was
leaving his intervention very late. I glanced back at the stage. My uncle,
head down, flung wide his arms, a sign of his consent, the signal that the
axe could fall. I looked back to the king, he must rise to his feet now.
But he still sat, his handsome face grim. And while I was still looking
towards him there was another roll of drums, suddenly silenced, and then
the thud of the axe, first once, then again and a third time: a sound as
domestic as chopping wood. Disbelievingly, I saw the head of my uncle
bounce into the straw and a scarlet gush of blood from the strangely
stumpy neck. The black-hooded axeman put the great stained axe to one
side and lifted the head by the thick curly hair, so that we could all see
the strange mask-like thing: black with the blindfold from forehead to
nose, and the teeth bared in a last defiant grin.

The king rose slowly from his seat and I thought, childishly, ‘Dear God,
how awfully embarrassing this is going to be. He has left it too late. It
has all gone wrong. He forgot to speak in time.’
But I was wrong. He did not leave it too late, he did not forget. He
wanted my uncle to die before the court so that everybody might know
that there was only one king, and that was Henry. There could be only
one king, and that was Henry. And there would be a son born to this
king – and even to suggest otherwise meant a shameful death.

The court returned quietly to Westminster Palace in three barges, rowed
up the river. The men on the riverbank pulled off their hats and kneeled
as the royal barge went swiftly past with a flurry of pennants and a glimpse
of rich cloth. I was in the second barge with the ladies of the court, the
queen’s barge. My mother was seated near me. In a rare moment of
interest she glanced at me and remarked, ‘You’re very pale, Mary, are
you feeling sick?’
‘I didn’t think he would be executed,’ I said. ‘I thought the king would
forgive him.’
My mother leaned forward so that her mouth was at my ear and no-one
could have heard us over the creaking of the boat and the beat of the
rowers’ drum. ‘Then you are a fool,’ she said shortly. ‘And a fool to

remark it. Watch and learn, Mary. There is no room for mistakes at
court.’