Her tears seemed to unman Louis even more than his failure to take her maidenhead. ‘Come, my love, mine own little wife,’ he pleaded. ‘Dry your eyes. It is not such a terrible thing.’ He put his arm about her. ‘I’m paying you a great compliment, Mary, if you did but realise it.’
Mary failed to see how he could construe the dismissal of her attendants as a compliment. But Louis explained it to her.
‘I will set no one over you, to order your days. I am making you your own woman, without guardians to interfere and run your life. Does that not please you?’
‘Put in such a way, yes, of course it does. But–’
Louis broke in before she could voice her doubts. ‘You don’t realise as yet what you have gained. Look back on your life in England, little wife. Was there not always someone to tell you ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’?’
Reluctantly, Mary nodded.
‘You were a child then, now you are a woman.’
The conversation was going Louis’ way. Mary tried again. ‘But Louis, we were only married yesterday. My life has altered so much in such a short time. I-I had expected to keep my ladies about me, some familiar faces at least for a time. To be separated from them so suddenly, ‘tis a hard blow.’ Mary became tearful again and was unable to go on. But she knew she had lost.
Louis seemed to sense her capitulation for he kissed her and said softly, ‘I’m persuaded you will settle here more happily without all these familiar faces, my love. You are Queen of France and, as such, should have French lords and ladies about you. You will never be totally at ease with our language if you spend a great part of each day chatting with your English train. It is best for all the changes to come at one time than to have them spread over months. It would be very unsettling for you.’
Louis took Mary’s small chin in his age-mottled hand and gazed at her tear-stained face. ‘Please believe me, Mary, when I tell you I’m doing this for your own good. The Lord knows I hate to see you so distressed. It is for the best. In a few short weeks you will thank me for giving you such freedom.’
Freedom to be insulted by Anne of France with no one of her own to speak up for her? Mary thought. Freedom to have Francis continue his pursuit of her, with no one to help her keep him at arms’ length? Such ‘freedom’ was more constraining than a dozen guardians. But, Louis wasn’t about to change his mind. He had taken a dislike to Lady Guildford. Because of it, he felt obliged to dismiss all not on the marriage contract in order to conceal his desire to be rid of her.
Chastened, Mary returned to her apartments to reveal her failure. The news had spread and her ladies and gentlemen who crowded the chamber rushed towards her, all asking questions at once. The Duke of Norfolk wasn’t amongst them, Mary noticed. She would speak to him later. She turned to find an expectant Lady Guildford at her elbow and rushed to break the news before hope took hold, ‘The king is adamant. And although I pleaded with him he will not change his mind. Apart from a few of the younger Maids and others named on the marriage contract, you are all to go.’ Mary’s eyes shadowed as she added quietly, for Lady Guildford’s ears only, ‘He means to have me to himself, I think.’
Uproar broke out. Mary understood their disappointment. It was customary for those accompanying a royal bride to receive rich gifts as a reward for their service. Her women, especially, must be worried that they would return home un-dowered. It was yet another thing with which Mary must concern herself and she made a mental note to order costly gifts to soothe their disappointment But, for now, all she wanted to do was escape from their clamor and questioning.
She retired to her bedchamber. She did not wish to give way to tears in front of them all. Lady Guildford followed her and shut the door firmly behind her.
Mary turned to her. ‘Mother, what shall I do? I’ll be left with no one to advise me, but chits of girls no older than me.’
‘We will write to your brother, child.’ Lady Guildford tried her best to reassure her. ‘King Henry and Wolsey will sort this out, you’ll see.’
‘Would that Wolsey were here now in place of the Duke of Norfolk,’ said Mary. ‘He would never have accepted this matter as easily as my lord Duke seems to have done. Surely Norfolk tried to remonstrate with Louis?’
‘If he did, I doubt he tried very hard. He was over-pleased at the news and didn’t attempt to hide it, knowing Wolsey would be annoyed. Norfolk was never in favour of this French alliance, anyway, especially since Wolsey arranged it.’
The proud and aristocratic Norfolk took the rise of Wolsey, the low-born son of an Ipswich butcher, as an insult to himself and rarely troubled to hide his hatred. Mary could well believe that Norfolk had swiftly agreed to Louis’ demands just to spite Wolsey with scarcely a thought given to her predicament. Norfolk had earned a right, royal tongue-lashing and he would have it as soon as he dared to show his face again. ‘I will also write plainly to my brother of Norfolk’s lack of zeal on my behalf. Let Norfolk make what excuses he can to the king.’
Lady Guildford nodded. ‘A humble apology would do his soul good.’
Mary sat at the pretty little desk in front of the window and picked up a quill. ‘I will write to England straight away. But should Louis dismiss you before we hear from Henry, don’t cross to England, but wait at Boulogne. That way you will be close at hand when I am able to recall you. With luck, the separation should not be for long - Wolsey has a marvellous gift for persuasion. If anyone can change Louis’ mind, it is him.’
‘I trust you are right. I feel troubled at the thought of leaving you here amongst strangers, with an old and sickly husband. Should he manage to get you with child I should be here to tend you, not some over-perfumed Frenchwoman.’
Mary’s heart gave a lurch at the thought. Unlikely as pregnancy might seem at the moment, who knew but that Louis would succeed in recovering his manhood?
The thought was repugnant and Mary refused to dwell on it. She must place her confidence in Wolsey. He would sort the matter out in a few weeks, she could depend on it. She must depend on it. But first, she must write the letters home. Mary turned back to the desk and, with Lady Guildford at her elbow, suggesting a different word here and a different phrase there, the letters were written. But not before they received a fair sprinkling of her tears. Mary sat back. ‘Now we wait.’
Someone knocked at the door. At Mary’s response, the door opened and Francis came in. He must have learned of the threatened removal of Mary’s English attendants, for when he saw Mary’s tear-stained face, he was immediately all solicitude. He went down on his knee in front of her as if seeking her absolution. ‘My beautiful Mary wears such a sorrowful face and I fear I am the bearer of more sad news.’ He kissed Mary’s hand. ‘A messenger’s duties are hard indeed.’
‘What now, my lord?’ Mary asked bitterly. ‘Am I, too, to be dismissed?’
‘The king wouldn’t be so cruel, Mother. He knows how we love you. Indeed, how could he part with his delightful Tudor rose? He calls for you now, Mary. He is sickly again and wants you by his side. Only the sight of your lovely face, he says, can cure him of his pain.’
‘What ails him, my lord?’ Mary asked. ‘He was hearty enough last ni-’ Mary bit off the rest. Embarrassed, she gave a quick glance at Francis. His upturned lips and twinkling eyes told her he had understood her meaning only too well.
Mary lowered her gaze and asked again, ‘What ails the king, my lord?’
‘Tis his old trouble, the gout again. Only the presence of his beautiful bride, he feels, will tease away the pain. May I escort you to the king, Mother?’
After she caught sight of her tear-stained face in the glass, Mary bade him wait outside, while she quickly removed the marks of her sorrow.
Behind her, Lady Guildford muttered, ‘So, after treating you so badly, he now expects you to nurse him. Mayhap your nursing of His Christian Majesty should not be too gentle,’ she suggested tartly.
‘Nay, Mother,’ Mary chided. ‘I will nurse him tenderly, as a wif
e should. He has already decreed that I am to be left practically alone here. Who knows what he might decide to do if I displease him?’
Louis looked dreadful. Suffering had made his homely face even plainer. His eyes were sunk back in his head and deeply shadowed, The lines of his cheeks seemed doubly-etched. Touched at the pitiful sight of him, even though he was the cause of her present distress, Mary excused him. No doubt he had been helped in his decision by self-interested courtiers. With her English ladies gone, there would be vacancies in plenty about her. Now they would be jostling for position and fighting for the right of their own wife or daughter to replace her English ladies. Each would be only too willing to spy on her and report her words and actions.
As she sat by the bed and took Louis’ hand, Mary wondered if she was to have nothing left that was truly her own. Louis had the right to her body, and soon the ladies of his court would have the right to her mind and every thought that sprang from it. She forced back a sigh and said, ‘The Duc de Valois tells me you suffer from the gout, Louis. Can nothing be done for you?’
‘The physicians do all they can, my dear,’ Louis told her. Ruefully, he added, ‘sometimes, it seems they cause more pain than they cure.’ He tried to smile at her, but the smile turned to a grimace as the pain caught him again and he lay quiet till it eased. ‘I feel better for the sight of you, Mary. You are a greater tonic than any physician’s foul remedy.’ He glanced apologetically at her. ‘I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for sending your ladies home. But, truly, they couldn’t stay, Mary, you must realise that. The clamor for posts about a new Queen has ever caused problems. ‘Tis better to sort the matter out swiftly than to let it fester on, causing resentment and bad feeling.’
It was as she had thought. But at least he no longer spouted about the ‘freedom’ she had gained. ‘Let us not talk of such matters now. You should rest.’
Louis told her the pain gave him little peace for sleeping. Instead, he suggested she play him something soothing on her lute.
So she sat by him and played all the gentle airs she could remember; mostly those from her brother’s court and one or two that she had picked up whilst in France. At the end, she was pleased to see that Louis had dozed off, his face relaxed as the pain loosened its grip. A fondling hand touched her shoulder and she jumped. She turned to see Francis standing close behind her.
‘Has the king told you the good news, Mother?’ he asked.
‘What good news, Francis? I have had little good news today, as you know.’
‘Some of us would think otherwise, Ma Mère. Now you will be more in the company of French nobles like myself. A thoroughly delightful prospect for us all. And with no Lady Guildford’s rebukes to warm my ears I feel doubly fortunate.’ He stroked her neck, fingers lingering, caressing her nape.
She moved aside. ‘Pray don’t jest with me, Francis. I feel desolate enough. I don’t know how I will bear to lose all my friends so quickly.’
‘But you have many other friends, Ma Mère,’ Francis’ caressing voice replaced the spurned caresses of his hand. ‘And now they will be able to get to know you properly.’
Francis’ honeyed words betrayed his intentions towards her. More than ever Mary regretted her foolish behaviour towards him on the night before her wedding. It seemed it was all the encouragement Francis needed, for he went on.
‘Your Lady Guildford has tended to ward off friendly overtures with her over-protective ways. Even the king feels he must first ask her permission before he sees his own wife.’
‘You exaggerate, Francis. You make her sound like some kind of ogre, which I can assure you, she is not.’
Francis conceded that he might have exaggerated slightly. ‘But I promise you, he feels a certain awe of the lady. Anyway, enough of Lady Guildford. See, she dominates even when not in the room. The king earlier asked what he could do to cheer you. His remorse was quite touching. I confess, I felt tears start to my own eye at the sight of it. We French have very tender hearts.’
Mary glanced down at the bed where Louis was still sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by their whispered exchanges. ‘And what did you suggest, Francis?’
‘Something exciting, I thought. What better than a joust? Colour, crowds, spectacle. And not just an ordinary joust, Ma Mère. We have instructed a herald to go across to England for the finest combatants to come to fight the best in France. You can look forward to seeing many of your old friends as well as many new ones. The king has instructed me to organise it in your honour. We do our best to make our Queen happy, you see.’
Mary felt a thrill course through her. Charles was a magnificent jouster and would surely come. She could scarcely believe she might soon see him again. Surely Henry, who loved to beat the French, whether at real wars as at Tournai or at the scarcely less violent play-acting of the jousts, wouldn’t be able to resist sending him?
Francis begged her help with his costumes for the joust. ‘I want to earn your admiration for my elegance as well as my valour,’ he breathed in her ear. ‘You will be proud of your son-in-law, Ma Mère. I intend to be the victor.’
‘You may find the English lords intend the same, Francis,’ Mary told him lightly, adding, as she remembered Charles’s skill in the lists. ‘Perhaps you’ll find the elegance easier to achieve.’
‘I will take that as a compliment, Mary. I know you intended it as such. As yet, you have no knowledge of my prowess.’ His tone of voice implied that the prowess to which he was referring was not the prowess of the lists, but another sort entirely, so his passionate promise of, ‘that lack shall soon be remedied’, filled her with foreboding.
But she kept her voice steady as Francis’ hand again strayed to her neck and recommenced its fondling, and asked, ‘When shall the joust be held?’
‘In November. After you have made your entry into Paris. You will forget your sadness when you see me triumphant.’
Francis’ confidence amused her. She asked him if he had not heard of the valour of the English lords.
‘But you are French now, Mary You must cheer the French lords on to victory, not the English. This French lord, in particular, will be grateful for it. I hope you will honour me by giving me your sleeve to wear in the lists.’
Mary decided it would be wise to rebuff him. ‘But I may favour another’s victory and would perhaps prefer to promise my sleeve elsewhere.’
Francis drew back in mock astonishment at her rejection. ‘Tell me who is this scoundrel who expects your favour?’
When Mary refused to tell him, he became thoughtful. ‘Is it San Severino? I know his elegance must have impressed you. Or perhaps it is de Longueville? He was in England for many months.’ Francis went down on his knees before her, apparently determined not to give up on his ardent wooing, in spite of Mary’s equally determined rebuffs. ‘Tell me it is not de Longueville, Ma Mère, I beg you.’
‘Please get off your knees, Francis. You will hole your elegant hose.’
Francis gave a Gallic shrug for his hose. ‘If you don’t tell me who will wear your favour, I will discover his name for myself, by whatever means necessary.’
His gallantries were becoming more impassioned and noisy and Mary told him to be quiet or he would waken the king.
Francis lowered his voice, but was no less importunate. ‘Please, Mary. Tell me his name.’
Exasperated, Mary asked, ‘Why should it mean so much to you, Francis? You have a wife, after all. Surely you should wear Claude’s sleeve, not mine?’
Francis gave another shrug that said his marriage and his wife were no more important to him than his elegant hose. ‘Naturally, I will wear my wife’s sleeve. That is duty and is expected of me. But I may also wear your sleeve. That would not be a duty, but a delight.’
Mary reminded him she was now his mother. Did he not call her ‘Ma Mère’ in every other sentence? ‘If you must wear another sleeve it should be that of a lady you admire, not your mother’s,’ she told him. From the gossip her
ladies had recounted, Francis didn’t lack for female company; his many amours were an open scandal at the French court. Mary, brought up, first in her father’s chaste and serious court and then in her brother’s, felt shocked at the number of liaisons that abounded. Now, it seemed Francis was eager to add her name to the list of his conquests.
He was persistent. ‘There is no one here I admire more than you. For beside your golden beauty all other ladies look like dark crows. Promise me your favour, Madam,’ he repeated. Still on his knees beside her, face inches from hers, he took her hands and kissed them fervently.
Mary rescued her hands from his kisses. She felt out of her depth and didn’t know how best to rebuff him. She still refused to give him her favour and he had to be satisfied with her promise that she wouldn’t give it to de Longueville, either.
Francis’ dark countenance was hung with sorrow. But with a true gallant’s grace, he smiled and kissed her hand again. His, ‘Alors, Madam, I confess I will be satisfied with whatever you choose to give me,’ should have reassured her. But the way his smouldering glances continued to devour her made a lie of his pretty speech.
To her relief, before Francis could attempt more gallantries, Louis woke up. Mary fetched the drink he asked for and held the goblet to his lips as he took a few mouthfuls. ‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked. ‘Has the pain eased?’
Louis assured her that he was much improved. ‘I told the physicians the sight of your face would make me better.’
Mary smiled. Louis was as keen on gallantries as his son-in-law. Somehow, she couldn’t find it in her heart to hate him for his behaviour. His poor health would make him less able to stand out against the demands of his quarrelsome courtiers.
Behind her, Francis still hovered. And when Louis spoke to him he stepped out of the shadows.
‘Your Grace. May I help you sit up?’
‘No, no.’ Francis was waved away. ‘I want you to inform the court they must get ready for our departure. I feel well enough now to go on to St Denis.’
Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII Page 9