It was the first time I was leaving England after my return four years earlier, and I had to admit to myself it seemed somewhat liberating being in the open sea again. The weight of my comeback and the loss that I had suffered in the last few years were incontrovertible. Maybe the king was right, after all, perhaps all I needed to get my humour back was a beautiful French wench, for, at the moment, I felt miserable…
It took us merely five hours to cross the channel and reach Calais, the last English stronghold in France. There, we were greeted by the mayor and other lords, who later guided us to the Church of Saint Nicholas for Mass. Then our great royal party was moved to their lodgings. The king and his queen were to be accommodated in a massive mansion which had two private gardens, a gallery and even a tennis court.
The King’s Court was fully set by midday as if effortlessly. However, I knew too well that hundreds of servants had been sent to Calais in advance of the king’s arrival to prepare the town and the royal houses according to His Majesty’s pleasure.
After attending on the king and changing his clothes, I escorted him to the tennis court where we all watched and gambled as he played with passion with the Duke of Suffolk. Later, in the evening, an extravagant feast was prepared in the great hall of the king’s mansion, with music and dancing, accompanied by an endless amount of wine and ale. I was particularly merry myself, even though I had to stand next to the king almost all the time, he interacted with me more than usual and often made jokes and pointed at beautiful women, even though his mistress was next to him.
Then I realised how Queen Catherine must have had a point when she claimed that the king would eventually get bored with Anne Boleyn. It was evident that he was incapable of being with one woman for too long, as was and still is the majority of men, of course. However, the men who could not be with the same woman for life were merely having mistresses and rarely divorced their wives. The case of King Henry VIII though was different; and if Anne Boleyn would fail to give him a son, then she would be doomed.
‘Sir Edward, why don’t you go have some wine yourself and maybe dance,’ the king said to me, interrupting my contemplation.
‘Your Majesty?’
‘I have others to attend to me. Go and be merry! But be discreet, do not get too drunk, for we are going hunting on the morrow,’ he said laughing. He was particularly kind to me, ever since Eleanor had been executed. Was it possible that he felt a pinch of guilt in his heart for not saving her?
‘Majesty, thank you!’ I said bowing and climbed down the dais and the king’s high table to join the real feast and my friend Belfrigh.
I passed by the dancing floor and a couple of musicians, who were playing the lute and the fiddle respectively. I spotted Belfrigh sitting at a table close to the king’s, with other nobles, but before I had time to reach him I stumbled upon Thomas Boleyn, who was conversing with his son George and almost poured his goblet of wine over his very expensive-looking black velvet doublet.
‘Sir Edward, forgive me!’ he said smiling sardonically. ‘Are you enjoying the feast, my good man?’
‘Certainly, my lord,’ I answered unable to muster a smile. I wondered if he was aware that I knew about his actions against me.
‘The king and the queen look merry,’ he said insolently. The fact that he was calling his daughter queen was such arrogance that indicated how confident he was of the success of his grand plan to make his daughter, Anne the king’s consort; thus, establishing his family as the most powerful in the Kingdom of England.
‘The king certainly does. But I wouldn’t know of the queen, my lord. As you’re aware, she was left back in London,’ I replied courageously.
The grin on Thomas Boleyn’s face was wiped off immediately. ‘Careful, Sir Edward,’ he said to me in a whisper. ‘One might think that you do not approve of the king’s desirable match of a wife.’
‘That was not my intention, my lord!’
‘Then you would do better to change your attitude, or you shall find yourself indisposed.’
Before I had time to answer he walked away, to go and stand beside the king where they conversed in hushed voices for some time. I stared at him for a few seconds in disgust. Cromwell had suggested that we should be patient, but I did not know how much I could last. All I wanted was to get my sword and gut this man here and now.
‘Ed!’ Belfrigh shouted merrily. ‘Come have some wine! Have you met Charlotte?’ he asked and introduced me to the woman sitting next to him.
‘My lady!’ I said courteously and kissed her right hand.
‘This is Sir Edward of York. Charlotte is French!’ Belfrigh added emphatically winking at me.
Edward of York? Belfrigh seemed to be forgetting that my true identity was secret.
‘Mademoiselle!’ I said in accented French. I was never very good with French, although I spoke quite fluent Italian and could read Latin, French with its weird sounds and accents had always eluded me. ‘And what would a French lady be doing in an English occupied town?’
‘King Francis sent me, along with a dozen other girls to entertain the King of England’s Court, sir. The French way!’ Charlotte answered. She had a sweet soft voice. Her hair was black as the night sky, whilst her eyes were dark blue. She was evidently a prostitute, but not a common one; she was a courtesan, a high-class whore in other words.
‘Francis is feeling generous!’ Belfrigh said and kissed Charlotte lightly on the lips. ‘Maybe we can share her later, Ed!’
I smiled politely not wanting to hurt Belfrigh’s feelings, for he was drunk. I sat next to them, poured myself some red wine and emptied the cup immediately, then refilled it. My good mood had disappeared. The music, the noise, the density of the people, were all suffocating me. I needed to get outdoors, breathe fresh air. I grabbed my cup of wine and stood up, ready to go.
‘Oi! Where’re you going, pisspot?’ Belfrigh said forgetting his manners.
‘I’ll see you later, Belfrigh!’ I said quietly, offering no further explanation.
Out in the dark grounds of the mansion, the night was cold. I sat on a bench next to some beautiful trees with golden leaves. Winter was on its way, and I felt wary, for I hated that season. It reminded me of the dark events that had happened. My family had been murdered on a winter’s night; Eleanor had been burned on a winter’s morrow; Aeron had been butchered on a winter’s midday...
As I drank my wine, my misery came crashing on me. How long until I was redeemed? If ever… Year after year, it seemed as if there was extra weight in my heart, with more deaths weighing down my conscience. ‘Oh, Eleanor!’ I whispered to myself.
‘Who is Eleanor?’ a voice said, somewhere on my left.
I turned to look for its source, and there I saw Charlotte emerging from the darkness in her beautiful blue and white dress that was matching her eyes.
‘What are you doing out here?’ I asked.
‘I was looking for you!’ she replied merrily and sat next to me. She too was holding a cup of wine and was having regular sips from it. ‘Is that Eleanor your wife?’
‘She would’ve been if she hadn’t died!’ I answered dramatically.
‘Oh! I am sorry to hear that,’ Charlotte said politely. ‘Is there something I could do to make you feel better?’ she added and touched my thigh with an elegant hand.
I looked at her pretty face, ready to say no but then a shadow came from behind her in a vapour form, like a spectre, transparent. It was Eleanor!
I stood up abruptly, spilling my wine on Charlotte’s dress. When I looked again for Eleanor, she was gone. Only Charlotte was there, who was taken aback by her stained dress.
‘I-I apologise, mademoiselle,’ I said hastily. ‘It would be better if you left. I’m not the best company as you see.’
‘Not to worry, sir. The king pays for our dresses,’ she answered courteously, clearly not wanting to give offence to a gentleman of the King of England. ‘I guess we will see each other again soon. I am staying in Calais for as
long as you and your king is here,’ she added with a smile. Then she approached me and gave me a long-timed kiss on the lips. ‘I hope this will make you feel better.’ Then she departed the scene leaving me alone once more.
I sat on the same bench heavily, hiding my face in my hands, trembling. What had I seen? I stroked my newly grown beard in contemplation, trying to convince myself that it was only my imagination. I looked at my spilt wine in regret. I leaned on the wall of the mansion. My back momentarily relieved from its pain of standing on my feet for so many hours. The music and shouts from the interior of the hall were still audible but were somewhat muffled as if by the darkness of the night itself.
I was exhausted and felt my eyelids dropping, threatening to push me into sleep…
‘Edward!’ a female voice said. ‘Edward, you must not trust anyone!’ It was my mother’s voice again, as ever with her reminder, but I could not see her this time, but barely listen to her voice.
‘Edward, you must avenge me! For the sake of our love!’ said Eleanor’s voice next, again bodiless.
‘What have you done, my child?’ Father Edmund’s voice said. ‘You are a sinner, Edward! And a heretic! You deserve to be consumed by the flames like your whore!’
I woke up with a start. The voices still echoing in my head…
*
We stayed in Calais for ten whole days. King Henry was in an excellent mood and inspired everyone else around him to be the same. We spent our morrows hunting or playing other sports, such as archery and tennis; whilst in the evenings we dined in great splendour and danced. At nights the king always concluded his day playing cards with his dukes and lords and gambling vast amounts of coins, often losing them.
Calais was a tiny town, but beautiful nonetheless. It was associated with the glories of King Edward III and King Henry V, who had both won great battles in France during their own reigns and had used Calais as their gateway to the French Kingdom. Nowadays, it was the sole remnant of English occupation across the channel. However, it was apparently poorly preserved. When the king inspected the defences, he was not satisfied by the decaying ramparts.
‘One day this fortress will serve as our headquarters, my lords,’ King Henry said to the men around him. ‘It will be the place where we would gather all our strength and unleash it upon France, to take back what is rightfully ours.’
‘Majesty, forgive my ignorance. But aren’t you meeting King Francis to make peace?’ asked the mayor, who was a plump middle-aged man, apparently having grown used to quiet times in his little town.
The king chuckled. ‘My dear mayor, do you really believe that this peace treaty with France is going to last indefinitely? I sought out this treaty because King Francis and I have a common enemy: Emperor Charles. But when the emperor is vanquished, and his empire crashed, we will have no need of a French ally, and then we shall redirect our interests upon this soil, which belongs to English hands according to God’s law.’
The mayor bowed his head in respect without saying anything, but judging by his expression, he did not approve of the king’s ambitious plans for war. Everyone at the court who knew King Henry VIII well would have been aware of his plans to win back the lost territories of France, great cities and towns that had been won more than a hundred years ago by his ancestor King Henry V and lost by his son King Henry VI. I had been beaten many times by Father Edmund when he was trying to educate me on important dates and events of the last century…
In the town of Boulogne, we stayed for four days, where we observed the most magnificent court of King Francis, which some claimed surpassed the English one. King Francis was almost as tall as King Henry, with black hair that reached his shoulders, black eyes and a short beard. King Henry was determined to impress his brother monarch and thus presented him with many gifts, including horses, falcons, jewels and even gave the Dauphin, the heir to the throne of France, three hundred thousand gold crowns. King Francis was humbled by these gifts, as he merely had prepared a few horses for our king. In the end, he gave him his own bed as a gesture of good will and everyone applauded enthusiastically. It was a non-stop competition by the two sovereigns, the one trying to outshine the other.
We feasted and drunk as was expected of us, although everyone thought the whole affair was a bit lifeless after a few days, as the lack of women restricted us of dancing and courting. The day before our departure for Calais, King Francis invested the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk with the Order of St Michael, an order of highest chivalry amongst the French nobility.
Back in Calais, we were greeted by the king’s bastard, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond. Fitzroy was a young lad of thirteen but was growing up as an educated prince. He was gallant and always polite, and people were merry around him, as he possessed none of his father’s bad-temper and arrogance. He was a royal bastard, as I was, and for that, I sympathised with him for his struggle to prove himself as his own man.
The very same evening of returning to Calais our turn to impress the French arrived. King Henry had ordered his servants to be extravagant with their food preparations and the banqueting hall to be decorated with the Tudor Royal Arms and twenty silver chandeliers. There was also a seven-tier buffet served on gold plates.
King Henry appeared in a purple doublet that evening and a most splendid collar around his neck which was decorated with several goose-egg-size rubies.
‘You see this, brother?’ I heard King Henry saying to King Francis and pointing to the ruby that was exactly in the middle of his collar and was clearly the largest one. ‘This is Edward the Black Prince’s ruby.’
‘The Black Prince?’ King Francis said unimpressed, for this was undoubtedly a gesture to intimidate him.
As I had learned in my youth, Edward the Black Prince, who was the son of King Edward III, was most famous in England and France almost as much as King Henry V. The Black Prince had won great victories against the French, most notably in the Battle of Crecy, when he was but sixteen years old and then ten years later in the Battle of Poitiers. Everyone expected Edward to surpass his father’s achievement when he came to the throne. However, he died before his father, and thus the crown passed on to his own son, Richard.
‘Past glories!’ King Francis added dismissively.
For the rest of the evening, the two monarchs remained relatively quiet, until after supper when a group of seven beautiful masked ladies, dressed in gold and crimson dresses danced before the two kings, until inviting them to join the dance.
I watched from a distance. It was another stunt to impress the French King. This time it was to present the Lady Anne most unexpectedly. The two kings and their lords danced with the ladies, and at the end, they took out their masks revealing their stunning faces. Amongst them was Anne Boleyn who had paired herself with King Francis, no doubt purposefully.
‘Ah!’ King Francis exclaimed. ‘Magnifique!’ he said and took a deep bow, then kissed her right hand and then clapping hard encouraging everyone to do the same.
‘Francis! May I present you my love, the Lady Anne Boleyn, Marquess of Pembroke and soon-to-be my wife and queen.
‘I’m humbled by your presence, my lady!’ said King Francis smiling. He then embraced and kissed her on both cheeks before leading her away and towards a window seat where they stayed for a long-time conversing in incomprehensible to me French.
When they were done talking they re-joined King Henry at the high table where they spent the rest of the evening drinking, eating and making jokes. At the end of the night, King Henry accompanied his brother monarch to his chamber and then retired to his own, whilst I was dismissed for the night shortly afterwards.
I felt exhausted and wary, it had been a long day, and it was really tough to continually try to impress the French as the king had commanded. I was thus happy to be returning to my own bed and was looking forward to a good night sleep. When I finally reached my dark single-room chamber, I lit up a few candles and started undressing to change to my nightgowns, whilst looking ou
t of my thin window. The sky was moonless and thus particularly dark and eerie. Then I jumped startled as I heard a knock on my door.
Hastily putting my shirt back on, I went to admit whoever it was. Opening the door, I came face to face with a tall young man, dressed in a black doublet, with the blue fleur-de-lis embroidered on his chest. It was one of King Francis’s servants, whom I had seen earlier at the feast.
‘May I help you, messier?’ I asked politely.
‘Greetings, sir!’ said the man. ‘I bring a message from His Majesty, King Francis.’
‘To me? Are you sure you have the right man? Maybe you’re looking for one of the Dukes, Suffolk and Norfolk reside on the other side of the mansion.’ I said to him pointing to my right.
‘Are you Sir Edward, a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber of King Henry?’ the man asked seriously.
‘That’s me, yes!’
‘Then, the message is directed to you, sir. King Francis wishes to speak to you in his apartments,’ he claimed.
‘What would the King of France want with me, I pray you?’
‘I have no knowledge of the king’s intentions, sir. Although, I trust them to be noble. Will you please accompany me immediately? His Majesty awaits.’
Transfixed as I was, I put on my doublet and followed the man into the dim-lit corridors of the mansion, curious to discover the meaning of this unexpected invitation.
‘Ah! Sir Edward, mon cheri!’ King Francis said a few minutes later when we had reached his luxurious apartments. The king had changed into a magnificent dark blue gown, which was shining like it had been fashioned with diamonds.
‘You may leave us,’ he said to his servant, who bowed in respect and departed. ‘I have been meaning to talk to you, Sir Edward. You and I have a lot to discuss. Of course, our matters are not for the ears of my brother Henry, and thus could not be discussed in his presence.’ He spoke casually as though talking about the weather, whilst I was puzzled.
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 26