I'm always suspect when a figure in history is consistently portrayed either too scathingly or too well, which makes me want to do deep research and learn the other side of the story. Once I became aware of Anne Boleyn, I found her utterly fascinating, but so much of what was written about her was downright hostile. Even the best biographies had a faintly disapproving edge to them, and almost all of them described her as shrill, ambitious and scheming.

But I persisted, reading every word I could lay my hands on, and then trying to read between the lines. When studying history, you must always consider the sources, as virtually all of them are biased, especially the ones alive during the period written about. You have to understand what benefit or trouble they would derive from speaking well or ill or a certain person. Who they worked for. Who was paying their salary. In those days, "getting axed" from your job had far graver implications than it does today.

During the early years of her relationship with King Henry in England, and around the subject of Anne Boleyn's much-requited love for Henry Percy, the only contemporary source who spoke of them was a person named George Cavendish. He was extremely disdainful about both Anne and Percy, and didn't think much of Henry's passion for "that foolish girl yonder in the court." It didn't take much digging to discover that Cavendish was a loyal manservant to the monstrously powerful Cardinal Wolsey, who had every reason to oppose that young love affair. Neither he nor Cavendish could ever have imagined that "that foolish girl" would, less than ten years later, bring about the Cardinal's downfall.

So it was necessary for me, when reading the words of this source, to go inside Cavendish's head and look for his motives for saying them. And many times I would decide that if he said "black," I would be well-served to think "white." That he was almost certainly saying what he knew his master would want him to say. It was a kind of "job security" we still see in politics and business today.

Then there were the small passages and anecdotes about Anne within the histories that were seemingly innocuous, but spoke volumes to me about a woman who was always characterized as a cold and unfeeling woman and a rotten mother to Princess Elizabeth as well. Elizabeth had, after all, refused even to utter Anne's name for the first twenty-five years of her life. One day during my reading I came upon a passage in a very respectable biography saying that when Elizabeth was a tiny infant, Queen Anne insisted upon keeping her on a silken pillow by her side whenever possible. That was the first eye-opener for me. I thought, Are those the actions of a cold, unfeeling mother?

I read on, and there was an account from the same period, on the occasion of Henry deciding to send the tiny princess far away from court to her own household. Anne, who had already fallen far out of favor with King Henry and was in deep trouble for not giving him male children, argued passionately with the king about sending the baby away. There were even quotes from Henry who was furious with Anne, he shouting that the decisions about sending his children to distant palaces was ". . .the prerogative of kings, the prerogative of kings!" And still Anne persisted. Again I thought, Why would Anne further antagonize Henry and jeopardize her already dangerous position in order to keep Elizabeth near her, if she were such a heartless mother?

But there were more clues about Anne's true character that I turned up while doing research for my first novel, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn and, in fact, gave me the premise for that book. I learned that in the first year of Elizabeth Tudor's reign, something turned her mind around about her mother. Completely around. Whereas Elizabeth originally believed all the horrible rumors about Anne—her infidelities, the charges of incest with her brother George, her deadly ambition— suddenly she was viewed by Elizabeth, who was as hard-headed a woman as ever lived, with extreme favor.

Indeed, Elizabeth began wearing a silver locket with Anne's miniature inside it. Within a couple of years she had heaped honors, titles and fortunes on the few and badly-thought-of Boleyn relatives at court that Henry had left alive. Here was proof from her own daughter that Anne was a person deserving respect, and not scorn.

These were all excellent lessons for me to learn early in my career as an author of historical fiction.

As for the claims that Anne was wildly ambitious and would stop at nothing to attain her goals, I always kept in mind that she began as an innocent, if highly intelligent girl, a romantic idealist who had the backbone to defy her father, her king, and Cardinal Wolsey, in order to pursue a marriage for love with Henry Percy. It was not until after she'd had that love taken away and been virtually forced into a relationship with Henry that she seized her destiny and began watching out for her own interests, pushing her own agendas.

It is true that she was audacious and had the temerity to refuse being taken advantage of. Almost unbelievably, she held out as a virgin with Henry for six years, so that any child she had with him would be born legitimate. For these qualities I do not judge her harshly. I admire and applaud her.

One learns much about a person by studying their friends and their enemies. In her youth, during the years at Margaret of Burgundy's and Francois' courts, she had only admirers, and they were individuals of distinction. It wasn't until she returned to England and, as a woman, dared to assert herself in a world of domineering men, that she gained a host of powerful enemies. These were among the cruelest and most grasping men and women at the English court.

I've always believed it was her steady hold over Henry's affections for so many years, and her insistence on treating him like an equal and not her better while everyone else groveled at his feet, that caused her so much trouble. They were jealous of Anne Boleyn. The jealousy engendered hatred. And the hatred inspired the conspiracy that led to her downfall and execution.

There have been novels about Anne and her sister Mary Boleyn that have not only kept the slanderous rumors and unsavory reputation alive, but have gone several steps further in character assassination. One book actually claimed that a male child born to Mary, fathered by Henry while she was his mistress, was stolen by Anne and brought up by her at court as her own.

That Anne brought up her sister's son at court, claiming it as Henry's and hers is, as far as I know, entirely fictitious. There would surely have been a great deal said about it in history books, as the king was desperate for his lawful wife, Anne, to give him a male heir. Too, if that had been the case, Anne's many enemies would have had a heyday with such information. There is not a whisper of it anywhere.

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