As she had leaned against the wall, breathless and shaking with both fear and excitement, a French Duke to whom she had only once been introduced, emerged from the shadows and insisted that she accompany him to his chamber where she might take some wine and recover from her ordeal. He had heard all, he told her, and admired her spirit.
As he escorted her slowly along the passageway, arm solicitously around her waist, he complimented her constantly and told her how he had always admired her. When they finally reached his chamber door, Mary looked up into his eyes and read there exactly why he had waylaid her. She did not hesitate; she needed consolation after what she saw as Francis’s betrayal and this man obviously desired the King’s ex-mistress. She pressed her body against his and smiled invitingly then together they entered the chamber and barred the door.
However, once day dawned, Mary found that her French Duke’s ardour had cooled somewhat and when another of Francis’s friends tried to claim her for his own, she did not resist.
So began the pattern. She went from courtier to courtier, saying no to few and yes to many. If she hoped that she was hurting Francis by her blatant betrayal then she would have been immensely shocked and hurt had she known that her lovers frequently compared notes with their royal master.
If Anne knew what her sister was about, she made no comment. She had decided that she had finished with Mary, for Mary had dragged their family name through the dirt and had earned the nickname the ‘English Mare’. Anne feared that if she continued to associate closely with Mary then she could be tarred with the same brush. Already a number of gentlemen had tried their luck with her, thinking that she would be as easy as her sister.
Eventually, when their father paid a brief visit to the French court, Francis summoned him and spoke with him at great length. When Thomas Boleyn emerged from that meeting he called Mary to him and ordered her to pack her possessions immediately and make ready to leave for England.
So when Anne, returning to their chamber one afternoon to fetch fresh ribbons for her lute, came upon Mary weeping on their bed, instead of leaving her to it, forgot her hurt pride and put her arms around her sister.
When eventually Mary controlled herself sufficiently to gulp out the news of her dismissal, Anne held her even more tightly and whispered “It had to come, Mary. Even here in France there is a certain moral code and you have overstepped it”.
For answer Mary raised her tear stained face, still lovely even in distress and murmured “They needed me Anne, all of them, but I am guilty also for needing them”.
Looking round at Mary’s clothes scattered all over the bed, some thrust untidily into a trunk, Anne said “You will be able to make a clean start in England; your reputation will not have reached the English court”.
Mary nodded mutely and set about brushing her blonde hair with its beautiful auburn highlights that Anne had always so admired. Already she was more cheerful, her tears drying and a soft smile curving her generous mouth.
Watching her, Anne thought, she is but fifteen years old and has been mistress to half the French court. She is greatly cheered now by the thought of returning to England but is it because she truly wants a fresh start or is she dreaming of the conquests yet to be made? She may say she wants to change her ways but can any of us truly alter our basic nature? It is said that the English court is more moralistic, but will that help or hinder her? There can be no doubt that a soft, gentle female creature with beauty such as hers will always attract men and I fear that she will not be able to resist temptation.
A sixth sense told Mary something of Anne’s unspoken thoughts which prompted her to say softly, without spite “Are you sure that your disapproval of me does not stem from jealousy Anne?” Anne opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but Mary continued “After all, you may be very young, but already the gentlemen buzz around you like bees around a honeypot. Take very great care little one for it is all very well for a man to need you, but once he sees that you maybe need him more, it is over before it barely begins”.
“My pride would never let me be used as you have”. Then in an attempt to change the subject “Come let us pack these gowns carefully. You will surely stun the English court with these wonderful Parisian creations. I will want to hear all about it so be sure to write often!”
It was with some regret that Anne Boleyn watched her sister and father ride away from Amboise a few days later. She was alone now; the sole representative of her family and it was up to her to restore some respect to that family name. She made up her mind that any man who wished to bed her would have to wait a very long time before he attained his desire, and even then, she would demand constant proof of his undying devotion. She had learned a very valuable lesson from her sister; that which men can attain with ease, they rapidly come to despise. It was not a mistake which Anne Boleyn ever planned to make.
Even without Mary Boleyn to keep the gentlemen amused, life at the French court went on much as before. At those court functions she was allowed to attend, Anne found herself repeatedly singled out by Francis, both as his dancing partner and for prominent roles in plays and masques. She flirted with him outrageously and just when the French courtiers were laying wagers on the imminent capitulation of Mademoiselle Boleyn, she would reject him and turn her attentions to another.
Francis, alternately exasperated and enthralled by her, took vast numbers of mistresses in an effort to make her jealous. He delighted in sending his friends to her with the most intimate details of his latest conquests. However she would merely laugh scornfully and turn her sparkling conversation and devastating wit to another, whirling with him in the dance and leaving the frustrated French King in her wake.
Chapter 7 – The Field of Cloth of Gold
Shortly after her thirteenth birthday Anne heard that the long proposed meeting between Francis and Henry of England was finally to take place during the following month of June.
The whole French court was thrown into a whirl of excited preparations; Francis quite determined to show his English counterpart just how lavishly the French could celebrate, given cause.
Anne found herself in something of a quandary; she was not quite sure whose side she should be on. She was English by birth and yet had spent almost half her life in France speaking the language as well as any native. Indeed amongst her many friends she was not thought of as an English outsider, but French like themselves.
Anne was in attendance on Queen Claude when Francis broke the news to his Queen that she too would be expected to be present during the festivities. Claude was for once sufficiently roused to protest that as a Frenchwoman she had no love for Henry’s Spanish Queen. Her husband retaliated by saying that Queen Catherine, being Spanish, would have no love for her either so that made them even! Having made his point, Francis retired, throwing a wicked wink in Anne’s direction as he did so.
Once the arrangements were completed, the French court removed itself to Ardres, camping just outside the town boundaries in fabulously luxurious tents.
Meanwhile the English landed in France on schedule and made their way to Guisnes where a similarly constructed camp awaited them. Messengers rode feverishly back and forth between the two camps and at last, one warm June evening, the two Kings accompanied by their courts left their respective camps and drew up four hundred yards apart, face to face either side of a specially constructed valley.
Anne, seated on her palfrey amongst Queen Claude’s maids, anxiously craned her neck and strained her eyes, futilely trying to locate members of her family in King Henry’s retinue.
They made a gorgeous sight, those two courts. Their Kings were dressed in their finest; Francis mounted on a white charger, Henry on a black. The silence as they faced each other was broken only by the stamping of hooves and the jingling of harness. A gentle breeze shifted the cloaks and veils of the ladies, their sparkling jewels catching the fading sunlight and blazing like a kaleidoscope of fire.
The gentlemen, both French and English, s
at tensely with their hands gripping the reins as though they expected to ride into battle. They too were elegantly attired, their doublets and hose as colourful as the silks and velvets of the ladies; lavishly embellished with costly jewels and their gold chains of rank.
All eyes were fixed on the two main characters in what was a virtual confrontation. Each slowly raised his hand in silent salute to the other before they eased their horses into a walk down the sides of the valley and towards the centre.
Henry, Anne noticed, sat his horse well. The beast was spirited but went kindly for him, recognising the hand of a master. On the other hand Francis, she noted indulgently, was capitalising on the opportunity to display his equally fine horsemanship, making his stallion prance and jig across the intervening space.
At last the two Kings drew alongside one another and embraced. They then dismounted, threw their reins to the pages who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders, together entered the great tent made from cloth of gold which all but covered the bottom of the valley. It was this very tent which caused onlookers to dub the occasion ‘The Field of Cloth of Gold’. Solemnly the two Queens performed a similar but more dignified ritual before they too entered the great tent.
That was the signal for the festivities to commence. Seventeen long, long days with activities beginning shortly after dawn and continuing by torchlight far into the night.
The two Kings spent most of their time trying to outdo each other in the athletic events, wrestling matches and jousts. They even held impromptu eating contests during the banquets. Whilst the first nights celebrations took place, the French and English servants had the mammoth task of moving each camp closer to the valley so that no time would be wasted travelling to and from the great golden tent.
It took Anne three days to track down her family amongst the English. Eventually she located their tent and burst joyfully in. Decorously she curtsied to her parents and then made haste to embrace the mother she could barely remember. “My little Anne” murmured Elizabeth Howard-Boleyn tenderly. “But you are no longer my little girl; you are an elegant lady of the French court!”
“I shall always be your little girl” replied Anne, revelling in the first maternal embrace she had experienced for six long years.
Finally releasing her mother, Anne looked around the tent and asked anxiously “Where is Mary and where is my brother? They did travel with you?”
“Yes, yes” soothed her father. “You will be reunited soon. At present they are with the King”.
At once Anne’s face hardened, casual remarks she had heard over the past few days finally falling into place. “So it is true then? Mary is the mistress of the English King?”
Her father drew her aside and looking surreptitiously about him said quietly “Hush Anne. What if she is? It is a great honour to be the King’s favourite and already she is working to advance our family”.
Angrily shaking off the paternal arm she snapped “So you would sell your daughter’s honour for titles?”
Elizabeth butted in “She had precious little honour left when she came out of France, Anne. You know that”.
Close to tears Anne retorted “She swore to me that she would turn over a new leaf; give up her loose ways and live modestly until she found a husband”.
Whilst she spoke she had been unaware that another was listening closely. The stranger spoke “At least she has fulfilled one part of her promise to you. Let me introduce myself, I am Mary’s husband William Carey”. He moved into the torchlight from his seat in the shadows.
Not troubling to acknowledge his greeting, Anne at once turned on him “It does not bother you then, that your wife shares another’s bed?”
Evenly, without meeting her eyes, he replied “In order to secure her hand in marriage I gave my undertaking to the King that I would not object to their union”. Coming closer to Anne he sought her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it, saying “I loved her you see and it was the only way I could get her”.
Anne snatched her hand away and hissed “Then you are a fool, like all men!”
The hostile silence which followed was unwittingly interrupted by George Boleyn, who not noticing Anne at first, had entered the tent and announced to his father “I have left Mary with the King”. Then he turned towards Carey, saw her and exclaimed “Anne!”
She flew into his arms. Since she had last laid eyes on him her brother had grown from a sturdy engaging little boy into a tall handsome young man.
Extricating herself she looked him up and down and exclaimed “I scarcely recognised you brother, you have grown so tall. No doubt you have been setting all the female hearts a flutter since you went to court?”
“Maybe” he replied mysteriously, his face bearing a wide grin “But rest assured sweet Nan, I was but passing time until I could again converse with she whom I love best in the world. And you, I hear, are capturing as many French hearts as you can lay your pretty hands upon!”
Merely passing time brother” she retorted cheekily. “All men are but shadows in comparison with you!”
She exuded such coquetry through her last words that their mother angrily stepped between them. “Such words would be better coming from the lips of lovers!” she snapped.
“Tis but a game mother” George stooped to lovingly kiss his mother’s cheek. “You must remember that even as a child Anne loved to try out her charms on any available male. She but practices on me!”
The expression on Elizabeth’s face was unfathomable. “I am sure it is as you say George” she said carefully. “But take care not to display such affections in public or little Anne may find herself causing more scandal than she fears her sister does as the King’s mistress”. Satisfied with her parting shot, Elizabeth swept regally from the tent.
“We must behave ourselves George” Anne waggled her finger at him in mock reprimand. “Else the world will believe we commit incest. Is that not an inane assumption?”
“Quite ridiculous sister; you’re far too ugly for my tastes” he replied lightly as arm in arm they too left the tent, leaving their father and Carey staring after them dumbfounded.
Later, when Mary and Anne were reunited, Anne was so mellowed by the company of her brother that she had no heart to berate Mary for what she believed was her light behaviour. She saw by the hunted look in Mary’s eyes that being the King’s favourite was not as simple as many liked to think. Sensing that her sister needed to talk to one of her own, Anne waited for the opportunity to catch her alone.
Her intuition was correct, Mary desperately needed someone to confide in, for although she had many acquaintances she could not pour out her troubles to them, lest seeking to discredit or replace her, they went to the King.
“It is so hard to keep his interest, Anne” Mary complained. “Every moment I am with him I must think of new ways to amuse him, different ways to rouse his interest in me. I am not witty and clever like you and it takes brains as well as beauty to engage a King’s affections”. She sighed deeply.
“Could you not just be content with your husband?” Anne suggested. “Give up the King”.
“But I love him” Mary protested. “So how can I leave him? Poor William, he tries so hard to be a good husband to me but compared to Henry he is a mere mortal against a god. Being loved by a King is like no other earthly experience”.
Anne took her sister’s hand. “Whatever happens” she said “And you know that he will not love you forever; but remember that I will always be ready to help you if I can. Perhaps as we grow older we can be closer than we have been of late years. I would like that”.
“I value your friendship deeply” Mary replied gravely. “So you forgive my transgressions? You do not condemn my behaviour as you once did?”
After a pause, “No, Mary, I cannot pretend that I relish your current position, unlike our parents! But you are what you are, it is in your nature and I realise that now. I have grown up enough to understand th
at none of us can help being what we are”.
Chapter 8 – A Lady of Fashion
On 20th June 1520, Henry and Francis embraced for the last time with a great show of affection. Henry even managed to conjure up a few crocodile tears; for effect, Francis guessed.
The two Queens also took an affectionate leave of each other; each having displayed such dignity through the proceedings that the other could not fail to be impressed. It was said by many that a genuine friendship had sprung up between the two, far surpassing the show of faux amity staged by their husbands.
Yet again the young Anne Boleyn said her farewells to her family and watched as they set sail for England.
As the French court resumed its normality, on taking stock of her situation, Anne realised that there were in fact two courts operating simultaneously under the same roof. The first was that of her royal mistress Queen Claude, where life was still rigorously dictated by religious pomp. The other was that of Marguerite, Francis’s sister; it was to Marguerite’s circle that the younger courtiers were attracted and it was there that Francis preferred to spend his time.
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