Louis was very merry and attentive. He kissed and touched her till she felt clammy all over. Mary talked about she knew not what, though she seemed, later, to remember expressing a wish to visit Venice and Louis promising that they would go together.
The heat of the room with its crowds and banked mass of candles was almost unbearable, and Mary put aside her earlier resolution to drink little. Besides, she told her clamoring conscience as she drained another glass of the rich Gascon wine, coupling with Louis in the marriage bed was not something to be approached with sobriety.
Louis was trying hard to please her and insisted on helping her to each dish as it was placed before them, though Mary again ate little. Her wine glass, though, was no sooner empty that it was refilled. Tonight, Mary knew the wine would have little likelihood of making her behave foolishly. But she needed its help to dull her senses.
The evening passed all too swiftly. It was still early, no more than eight o’clock, when Mary felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned to see Claude beckoning her. It was time for the bedding ceremony. Mary’s stomach lurched and threatened revolt. She swallowed hastily and tried to ignore the sly, knowing leers and the odd sympathetic glances from the courtiers.
Claude, her expression anxious and concerned, asked her if she was all right. Quickly, lest the unlooked for concern should reduce her still shaky queenly dignity, Mary assured her that she was fine and followed Claude to the bedchamber. Louis, she knew, was being escorted by the men of his household; Mary could hear their ribald comments echo up the corridor behind her.
Once again, Mary was undressed by her ladies. White-faced, she climbed into the big bed and waited for Louis. He entered the chamber ahead of his gentlemen, clearly keen to hasten matters along.
Louis, too, had been divested of his garments. The spindly legs that had chased Mary in her nightmare were visible beneath his night attire.
After much mirth and ribaldry, the chamber gradually emptied. Soon, only Lady Guildford lingered near the door. She spared Mary a compassionate glance and came back to give her a kiss and a few whispered words of encouragement along the lines of ‘it’ll soon be over.’ Mary hoped she was right.
Still Lady Guildford lingered, as though reluctant to depart and allow the night’s proceedings to commence. After Louis’ pointed throat-clearings had no effect, he had eventually to order the lady from the room. Even then she looked likely to defy him. Mayhap, she too, whilst dining in the great hall, had been told of Louis’ great desire that Mary provide him with a son.
Mary intervened. Now she only wanted the deed over and done with and she bid her mother a firm goodnight. This shifted the lady and the door at last closed behind her. The soon-to-be-lovers were left alone in the now softly-lit bedchamber.
Louis, all husbandly solicitude for his virgin bride, reached over to a side table and poured wine. He handed her a glass with the suggestion, ‘Drink this, my lovely Mary. Wedding days can be traumatic, as I ought to know having now enjoyed three.’
Mary knew he was trying to be kind. She forced a tremulous smile. But his smile in return only served to repulse her as it revealed the blackened and decaying teeth she had till now forgotten about. She closed her eyes to blank them out.
Louis seemed to take this for his signal to begin, for Mary’s eyes fluttered open as she felt the wine glass removed from the tight clasp of her fingers. She watched, mesmerised as Louis replaced it on the table, then quickly shut her eyes again before he turned back. Beside her, she sensed Louis’ fumbling movements and guessed he was removing his nightshift. A brief glance from beneath lowered lashes had revealed a thin and wrinkled body. His manhood was limp. Perhaps, after all—
But before she could continue the thought, Louis climbed on top of her and set to with determination. As Mary squirmed in revulsion beneath him, he redoubled his efforts. Mary couldn’t help but wonder if he hoped will-power alone would stir his reluctant organ.
His hands, now clammier than ever, clutched at her legs, her breasts, her belly. He exclaimed at her beauty and rained kisses from her forehead to her feet Mary could only squirm still more while these indignities continued. Although Louis might be scrawny, his body pressed Mary down till she felt unable to breathe. She moved underneath him, wanting only to gasp some air that wasn’t tainted with his foul breath. But Louis seemed to have mistaken her movement for the stirrings of desire, for now he strove even harder to excite his manhood.
Even Mary was moved to pity when Louis’ disobedient manhood refused to do its duty. After what seemed an age, Louis finally groaned and rolled off her. Mary didn’t dare to move in case he decided to try again to impress her with the ardor of French manhood of which Francis had so unwisely boasted.
But it seemed such a thought was far from his mind. It was clear his hateful fumblings had merely served to leave him feeling humiliated, too. He mumbled apologies to Mary for his failure and turned away.
Apart from that one brief glance, Mary’s eyes had remained tight shut through Louis’ exertions. She only opened them when she felt him roll away. She turned her head on the pillow and gazed at his naked back. It looked surprisingly vulnerable and she felt another stirring of pity for him. But he should never have sought to marry again. If he hadn’t, they would both have been spared this miserable charade of wedded bliss. What had been the point after all? Louis must have realised when he had asked for her hand that he would never get sons from her or any other woman. His two daughters would have to suffice.
Mary, too, now turned over. She pulled the covers to her chin. Fat tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the pillow. She had lost her love, perhaps for ever, because her brother had insisted on marrying her to an old and impotent man. This night should have been shared with Charles, she thought, as more tears flowed, not with Louis and his shameful fumbling. Would she be expected to endure this night after night, she wondered, till, by some miracle, he managed to make her pregnant? The thought appalled her. It would surely be a lifetime’s task.
Snores from beside her told Mary that, at last, Louis slept. But she lay awake far into the night, listening to the sounds of revelry from the hall, Louis’ ever-increasing snorts and the plop of her tears on the pillow. Through the watery curtain of her tears, Mary stared into the room’s shadows as if hoping to see revealed the glimmerings of a happier future. Sadly, none were revealed to her that night.
CHAPTER SIX
Despite her troubled night, Mary woke early. Beside her, Louis snored on. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, their bodies had come together and now Mary edged gingerly away. Although her movement was gentle it disturbed Louis. He opened his sleep-coated eyes and gazed at Mary in astonishment. Then he frowned, reached for the wine he had left on the side table and downed the glass in one.
Mary feared the wine would encourage him to test his manhood again. She breathed out on a sigh when he retrieved his abandoned nightgown and put it on. Confidence restored with the covering of his scrawny limbs, he turned to her and gave her a hearty kiss.
‘What it is to have a young bride in my bed once again,’ he said, a twinkle in his rheumy eyes. ‘I feel rejuvenated, my dear. Better than I’ve felt in years.’
Mary, still anxious that Louis might yet find the strength to set about his husbandly duties, suggested they rise, a suggestion Louis agreed to with what might be construed an insulting alacrity. Worried, perhaps, in case she should demand her bridal dues from him, thought Mary, amused in spite of their tragic situation.
Louise called for breakfast. Lady Guildford followed the meal in, much to Louis’ obvious annoyance, and began fussing round Mary, clucking at her dark-shadowed eyes till Louis told her to leave her fussing till he had gone. Lady Guildford cast him a look of dislike and left the room muttering.
Louis didn’t linger long abed after that. Nor did Mary. She rose as Lady Guildford bustled in for a second time, this time with Mary’s Maids of Honour trailing behind her, all eager to see Mary for themselves and lea
rn how she had taken to being a wife. They peeked at the sheets, looking for the tell-tale red stains that would reveal Mary was no longer a virgin.
Hot colour flushed Mary’s cheeks at the remembered indignities she had endured the night before. But the Maids didn’t find the stains they were looking for. The sheets were still as pure and white as Mary’s virginity. And after much eyebrow raising and furtive glances between themselves, the Maids gazed at Mary with a prurient curiosity until Lady Guildford intervened and sharply rebuked them.
‘I’d like to bathe, Mother,’ Mary told her quietly.
‘Of course you would, child. A natural enough desire, I’ll vow,’ she remarked. While her meaning was clear enough, even Lady Guildford didn’t quite dare to insult Louis to Mary’s face, especially with the indiscreet Maids of Honour hovering.
At last, lying in the warm, scented water, Mary began to relax. She scrubbed vigorously, trying to wash away the imprint of her husband’s clammy, clutching hands. Bathed and gowned, Mary and her ladies went down to the hall. There, to her embarrassment, Mary found Louis loudly boasting of his previous night’s exploits with no trace of a blush for their falsehood. His companions’ sly sniggers aroused Lady Guildford’s ire.
She turned to Mary. ‘Come, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘You should not stand here and listen to such talk. Is this how Queens are treated in France?’
Lady Guildford had a carrying voice. This time, as she had no doubt intended, it reach Louis. He scowled and came over to greet Mary. Ignoring Lady Guildford, he took Mary’s arm and kissed her hand with genuine affection.
‘Ma Cherie,’ he told Mary. ‘You look lovelier than ever this morning. Forgive us men our rude talk. I hope we didn’t embarrass you.’
‘A little, your Grace,’ she admitted. ‘But ‘tis only that so many of the faces are strange to me. The men speak in like manner at my brother’s court after all. It is common enough.’
Louis gave a rueful smile that he, an anointed king, should be found out coarsely boasting like some peasant bridegroom. Perhaps to make amends, he took from inside his doublet a marvellous table-cut diamond with a great, round pearl hanging from it. ‘For my exquisite Mary, an exquisite jewel,’ he said as he presented her with it, amidst gasps from her ladies. ‘This, my dear, is our wondrous ‘Miroir de Naples’. Is it not fine?’
Mary could only nod as the diamond flashed white fire as it caught the light.
‘It is the custom for each Queen of France to own the ‘Miroir’,’ Louis told her. ‘So now, my Queen, the jewel is yours.’
Mary was touched. But then she reminded herself that Louis, as her purchaser, was only fulfilling his side of the bargain he had made with Henry. Still, she must say something. Louis would expect some return for his gift. Mary felt obliged to kiss him as a loving wife should before the assembled courtiers. She repressed an involuntary shudder as he began fondling her neck under its hood. His touch made her think of the night ahead and the night after that when the previous night’s indignities would no doubt have to be endured again.
To her surprise, Louis took her arm and suggested they go into dinner. It was not much after eight in the morning. Mary knew that Louis generally kept early hours, but she had assumed that would only mean he retired early, after supper, not that the usual ten in the morning dinner would be taken the best part of two hours earlier. Seeing her expression, Louis confessed to his early habits. But then he added that she was making him feel young again and that he would perhaps start to take up a young man’s customs. Mary hoped, if so, that it was only his customary meal time he altered.
The dishes were plentiful, though, following the custom of the king, most were on the plain side. Louis ate little, only some boiled fowl. He was equally abstemious with his wine, though he helped Mary with a generous hand to everything that was laid before her, chatting to her all the while, regaling her with tales of his court as though he wished to demonstrate that his son-in-law, Francis, wasn’t the only one able to entertain her.
Later that day, Mary was sewing in her chamber, when Lady Guildford entered, her face a mask of anger, her lips thinned to a vexatious line.
Alarmed, Mary asked her what was the matter. ‘Has the Duc de Valois been upsetting you again, Mother?’ Francis seemed to have taken it as his chosen task in life to tease her at every opportunity. And as Lady Guildford’s sense of humour was never her strong suit, he would have found it a satisfying task.
‘Would that it were something so trivial, Madam. I wouldn’t trouble you with it.’
Thoroughly unnerved now, Mary threw aside her sewing and stood up. ‘What is it, then, Mother? What has happened?’
‘Proud Norfolk, my lady, has just told me I’m to pack my bags and make ready to depart. It seems I’m not wanted here.’
‘Surely not, Mother? King Louis rules here, not Norfolk.’
‘Aye. That’s been made right plain. It seems the king, your husband, did give the order. Norfolk was but his messenger. Still, he made it clear enough I wasn’t wanted here and great delight he took in the telling. What King Henry will say about their treatment of us, my lady, the Lord alone knows. I nearly boxed Norfolk’s ears, such a smirk he wore.’
‘Where’s Norfolk now, Mother?’
‘Closeted with the king. Doubtless hatching more plans. King Louis’ a sly one. It’s my belief he doesn’t want you subject to any wise and experienced English counsel. Norfolk said I wouldn’t be the only member of your train dismissed.’
Mary clutched at Lady Guildford’s arm. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It seems your husband has taken a fit of pique about the number of your English attendants. Norfolk told me that only those named on the marriage contract are to stay. The rest are to be dismissed and replaced with ladies of the French court.. They’ve summoned a meeting of the Council to discuss it.’
Stunned, Mary wondered how it was that the husband who could act so loving in the morning could act with such unwarranted cruelty but a few hours later. He had said nothing of this to her at dinner. Mary was aware that Lady Guildford had annoyed him, but she had thought Louis had put his annoyance aside and forgotten it, regarding it as but a natural adjustment to his newly-married state as had Mary. Now she realised her mistake. ‘How could he do such a thing?’ she demanded as she touched the diamond and pearl jewel. ‘He only gave me this wonderful gift this morning. He said nothing to me then to indicate what was on his mind. He was attentive all through dinner and couldn’t do enough for me.’ Mary frowned. She must have displeased him, she thought as she recalled their marriage night and Louis’ failure. Was she being punished for witnessing his shame?
‘Calm yourself, child. You must see the king and demand he changes his mind. You said yourself he wants to please you. You are his wife and his Queen, surely you have some rights? This is a fine way for him to start his marriage. You must make him understand how distressed you are. Shed a few tears. He will surely not be so adamant if, with a delicate sorrow, you make a pretty plea.’
Mary wasn’t convinced that Louis would be so easily persuaded. He was a practised king, used to obstructing the desires of people far more skilled than she. Like her brother, he had also had years of practice of getting his own way. Hadn’t he dismissed his first wife because she didn’t please him? Dismissing Lady Guildford and the others in her train, would be small beer in comparison. Still, Mary knew she must try. She dismissed her doubts, assumed a confidence she was far from feeling, and said, ‘You are right, Mother.’ Mary turned to the Maids of Honour who had been sewing and gossiping before Lady Guildford brought her shocking news and said, ‘Come, ladies. Help me look pleading pretty enough to persuade the king to change his mind. I’ve been told he be a kind-hearted man. Maybe he’ll be of different mind when he realises how much it means to me.’ Mary took comfort from this thought and once she had changed into her most becoming gown, she went in search of her husband. The Council meeting had just finished; its members bowed low in order to avoid her ey
e, then made themselves scarce.
Although Louis agreed readily enough when she asked for a private word, he wore a cornered look that told Mary plainer than words that she would be unsuccessful in her mission. ‘Lady Guildford has it from my Duke of Norfolk that you have ordered her dismissal and that of most of my train. How can this be? I thought-’ Mary faltered. She had thought Louis wanted to please her. His generous gifts of expensive jewellery, his attentive manner, had all told her this. Yet it was clear she must be wrong.
Louis tried to soothe her. He led her to a chair in the Council chamber and bade her sit down. ‘I must confess it is true, though I had wished to tell you myself.’
‘But why, Louis?’ Mary thought again of their disastrous wedding night and forced herself to ask, ‘Have I upset you in some way? Please tell me.’
Louis had the grace to look uncomfortable. But it was clear from the way he avoided her eyes and blustered his defence that he wasn’t about to change his mind. ‘You are very young and inexperienced, Mary,’ he told her. ‘You should be guided by me, your husband. You do not need all these people around you.’ Louis waved his arms as though to describe vast hordes of English. ‘I’m sure Lady Guildford is very dear to you, but you are a wife now.’ With a furtive embarrassment, he added, ‘And who knows but we may have children.’
It was clear his failure in their marital bed had rankled. But his reference to children indicated that Louis didn’t intend to let one failure put him off.
‘You are now Queen of France, my dear. Surely in such an exalted position you have no need of this ‘Mother’ Guildford?’
Mary thought she had more need of her now than ever. ‘But my Mother Guildford has always been there for me,’ she protested. ‘I need her.’ Mary’s eyes filled with tears.
Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII Page 8