by Jean Plaidy
Henry was disappointed, and grumbled to his friends—Charles, Compton, Thomas Boleyn.
“Why,” he growled, “I had thought to go on to Paris, but it seems the Emperor does not advise it.”
Compton suggested that the French might put up more resistance for Paris than they had for those two border towns, and they had to remember that the autumn was almost upon them, and that the Emperor had warned them of the discomfort of Flanders’s mud.
Charles was overcome with a desire to see the boy who was betrothed to Mary and was not eager to continue with the war because, unlike Henry, he was beginning to see that Maximilian was not the friend the King so artlessly believed him to be; and it seemed that those two wily adventurers, Maximilian and Ferdinand, were of a kind, and their plan was to use Henry’s wealth to get what they wanted.
So he joined his voice to Compton’s, and Henry was not loath to be persuaded.
“I hear,” said Henry, “that the Lady Margaret is comely and eager to entertain us.”
The matter was settled. They would abandon war for the time being and give themselves up to pleasure in the Court at Lille.
The company was in high spirits. News had come from England that the Scots had been defeated at Flodden by what was left at home of the English army, and that James IV of Scotland had been slain.
Henry was jubilant even though James had become his brother-in-law by marrying his sister, Margaret Tudor.
“Never did trust a Scotsman,” he had often commented; and he was not displeased to have his doubts of them confirmed. For as soon as he had left England they had started to march against England. Well, they had learned their lesson. Conquests abroad; conquests at home; what better time for revelry?
And Margaret of Savoy had determined that there should be revels.
Margaret, twice widowed, was still young; being devoted to her nephew, the fourteen-year-old Prince Charles, who had spent much of his childhood with her, she was eager to learn something of the boy’s bride-to-be; and in any case it was always a pleasure to have an excuse for revelry.
When her father with his guests rode to the Palace she was waiting to greet them, her somewhat plump figure attired in regal velvet, her smile kindly; and with her was her nephew and the Emperor’s grandson, Prince Charles.
The boy was embraced with affection by his grandfather, then presented to Henry. Charles Brandon, standing behind his master, wondered if Henry was thinking the same as he was: Poor, brilliant, lovely Mary, to be given to such a weakling!
The boy’s picture, which Mary had come to loathe, had not lied; and he had changed little since it was painted. There were the prominent eyes and the heavy jaw, the mouth which did not close easily; there was the lank yellow hair, and the boy certainly seemed to have to concentrate with effort in order to follow the conversation.
And this was the greatest heir in Europe, the boy who would inherit the dominions of his Imperial grandfather Maximilian and his Spanish grandfather Ferdinand! The son of mad Juana!
Brandon’s indignation rose at the thought of Mary’s marriage.
Then he noticed that their hostess was smiling at him.
“My lord, Lisle,” she was saying in a soft and gentle voice, “it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to my Court.”
He took her hand and kissed it, and he fancied she lingered at his side just a little longer than was consistent with etiquette.
In the private apartment allotted to the King, Charles, with Compton, Parr and Boleyn, assisted at his toilet.
“The lady is not without charm,” commented Henry. “But the boy … ! It’s past my understanding how Max can feel so pleased with him.”
“He looks to be an oaf, Sire,” said Compton.
“Looks, man! He is. Did you notice how he stammered?”
“He has a great affection for his aunt and a respect for his grandfather,” added Thomas Boleyn.
“The boy’s in fear of his future, I’ll warrant,” said Henry. “He clings to auntie’s skirts, wanting to stay the baby forever. Ah! Has it occurred to you that Max won’t last long? He’s getting old. Ferdinand’s getting old. Then that boy will be one of the greatest rulers in Europe. Louis is no longer young; I hear he suffers from the gout and diverse ailments. But he’ll be of no account because France will be ours. That’ll put the long nose of that Dauphin of his out of joint. Dauphin! I tell you this, Francis of Angoulême will never mount the throne of France. There’ll be two monarchs standing astride the continent. The oaf and myself. I tell you, my friends, that gives me cause for great pleasure.”
“Your Highness will do with him what you will,” cooed Compton.
“So this is a happy day for me to see that young fellow with no more brains than an ass.”
“I am sorry for the Princess Mary.” Charles realized that he should not have spoken.
He had broken in on Henry’s pleasant reverie because he had reminded him of the Princess’s passionate pleas; and as Henry was fond of Mary, his pleasure in the apparent stupidity of Charles was spoiled by the reminder that his sister must marry the boy.
He frowned. “’Tis the fate of princesses to marry for reasons of State.” Then his jaw jutted out and he continued coldly: “Methinks, my lord Lisle, you concern yourself overmuch with this matter.”
It was a warning.
Margaret of Savoy having been twice widowed was no coy virgin and she was young enough to think now and then of another marriage, although her experiences of matrimony had scarcely been comforting. When she was three she had been betrothed to Charles VIII and sent to Amboise to be brought up to be Queen of France. But in order to link France with Brittany the marriage had been repudiated and Margaret sent back to Maximilian while Charles made a match with Anne of Brittany.
Later she had married the Infante of Spain, only to lose him and their child within a short time of their wedding. And after that she had married the Duke of Savoy, uncle of François, who was now Dauphin of France.
Her marriages seemed doomed not to last, for he too was dead and she once more a widow.
But she assured herself that did not mean that one day she might not find a husband with whom she could live in peace and pleasure. I have married for political reasons, she told herself; why should I not now marry to please myself?
When had this thought come to her? Was it when she had welcomed the King of England to her Court and found that his close friend was one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes on? Before his coming she had been eager to meet him because her agent at the camp of Thérouanne, Philippe de Brégilles, had written to her of Charles Brandon. “Lord Lisle,” he had written, “is a man who should interest Your Grace, for he is at the right hand of the King; and it is clear that Henry listens to what he has to say.”
And now he had come to her Court she found him the most interesting member of the party.
It was not difficult to arrange that she should be next to him at table or in the dance; she began by pretending that she wanted to question him about the Princess Mary.
“I ask you, my lord Lisle,” she said, as he sat beside her while the minstrels played and the food was served, “because I see how fond the King is of his sister and I feel his account of her might be affectionately prejudiced.”
“The Princess Mary is deemed to be the loveliest lady at the English Court, and reports do not lie,” Brandon told her.
“Then I am glad. But tell me, is she gentle and kind? You have seen my Charles? He will be gentle and a little shy at first. I hope the Princess will be ready to discover his excellent qualities which are not apparent to all at first.”
“I am sure the Princess will be patient.”
“Tell me, is she eager to come to him?”
Charles hesitated. “She is young … she is uncertain. She loves her home and her brother.”
“Poor child! Life is difficult for royal princesses. I remember my own fate.”
“It has made Your Highness tolerant?”
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“I try to be. I am so anxious for the boy to be happy. He is a good boy and he will be a great prince. You do not believe me? Why, Lord Lisle, I had thought you would be a man to look below the surface. Charles is slow of speech because he does not speak without thought. Have you noticed that when he does say something it is worth saying? Do not underestimate Charles, Lord Lisle. And you should warn the King of England not to.”
“I will do so, Your Highness.”
“I am sure you will. Tell me of England. I long to hear what the Court is like. I have heard it is quite brilliant since the young King came to power.”
He talked to her of the jousts and entertainments while she listened avidly.
And when he and the King’s gentlemen were in Henry’s bedchamber that night the King said: “Did you notice that the Archduchess seems mightily taken with our friend Charles Brandon?”
Compton had noticed it; he tittered, while Henry’s laughter burst out.
“Well, well, he’s a handsome fellow, our Charles. A little different from theirs. The lady noticed it, I’ll swear. Why, my lord Lisle, ’twould be a goodly match for you if you could marry Margaret of Savoy!”
“Your Grace is joking. The lady was asking me about your Court.”
“She had her eyes on me, but she said to herself ‘He’s well and truly married.’ So she turns to you. You know you are a little like me, Charles.”
“I have heard that said, Your Grace, and it has given me great pleasure. I fear I grow a little more vain every time it is repeated.”
Henry smiled affectionately at his friend. “Well, ’tis true enough. We might well be brothers, and I’d suspect we might be, but for the fact that my father was a man who never strayed from the marriage bed.”
“As was meet and fitting in so great a king,” murmured Charles.
Henry’s lip jutted out; he had found some of the women of this country tempting and, because he had assured himself that what he called a little gallantry was an essential part of a soldier’s life, he had succumbed to temptation. He did not like to be reminded of this.
“ ’Tis true,” he murmured, “that my father was a great King … in some ways.”
“He never had the people with him as Your Grace has,” Charles said quickly, realizing his mistake a few seconds before, and Henry’s expression was sunny again.
“The people like a king who is a man also,” he said. “They have a fancy for you, Charles … particularly the women. So ’tis small wonder that Margaret looks on you with favor.”
Henry changed the subject then, but he was thoughtful. His friends did not take Margaret of Savoy’s interest in Charles Brandon very seriously. The daughter of the mighty Emperor could scarcely marry an English nobleman whose only title was that which he had taken from his ward whom he had contracted to marry.
But why not? Henry asked himself. He could with the aid of a pen give his friend a title which would make him worthy … or almost. An Earldom? A Dukedom?
Henry was uneasy now that he had cast his eyes on the young Prince Charles, for reports would be quickly carried back to Mary of his unattractive looks; she might even rebel. He did not want trouble there. He loved that girl; she was like himself in so many ways and she had always been his favorite sister. She and he had stood together against Margaret, that elder sister who had often been critical of her bombastic brother. Mary had never been critical. She had always been the adoring child looking up to one who seemed all that a big brother should be. No, if Mary shed tears and pleaded with him, she’d unnerve him. He liked to see her merry. He had noticed the looks she had cast at Brandon. Why did the fellow have to have this attraction for women? Even Margaret of Savoy was not unmoved.
If he himself were not known as such a virtuous husband it would be the same with him. Charles had not that reputation. It was well known that he had been married twice already and was on the way to marrying again; and only he knew how many women there had been between, and doubtless he had lost count. It was a pity Elizabeth Grey was only a child. He would like to see Charles married, because he believed that if he were, Mary might come to her senses. While he remained free she could be capable of anything.
Why should not Margaret of Savoy marry a man who was well known as the King’s best friend and right hand man?
He sought an opportunity of speaking to Charles when they were alone together. As they strolled in the gardens he made it clear that he wished to be alone with Brandon, and putting his arm about Charles’s shoulders affectionately, said to him: “I did not joke when I spoke of you and Margaret, Charles. If you could persuade the lady, I’d put nothing in your way.”
“Your Grace!”
“I see no reason why there should not be a match between you. I have a fancy that when she marries again it will be to please herself. Max can’t dictate to a woman of her stature; and she has married for political reasons already. By God, she has an eye for you. Methought she could scarce keep her hands off you.” The King burst into loud laughter. “Why Charles, it would suit us well to have an Englishman like yourself become the son-in-law of his Imperial Highness.”
“What thinks Your Grace His Imperial Highness would say to such a match?”
“Let the lady win his approval, Charles. I tell you you have mine.”
Henry slackened his pace and others joined them. Charles felt bemused. Ambitious as he was he had never looked as high as this.
Those were weeks of feverish excitement. He had no doubt that Margaret was in love with him. And he? Margaret was a comfortable woman, genial, friendly, worldly-wise; she had much to attract him. He knew though that he would never cease to think of Mary. If he were a simple country gentleman and Mary his neighbor’s daughter, there would be no hesitation at all; they would be married by now. If she were a village girl, a serving maid, she would be his and he hers, for his passion, although not matching hers because he held it in check so much more easily than she could hers, was for her. But she was a princess and to love her could mean death to ambition, perhaps death itself.
On the other hand Margaret was personable, charming, eager to be loved.
So they danced together and much conversation passed between them; and he told himself, If I can win her hand I shall be almost a king. He would take his stand beside her in the governing of the Netherlands; and he would work wholeheartedly for the advancement of English affairs.
“Have you ever thought of marriage?” he asked Margaret as they danced together.
“Often.”
“And would you marry again?”
“I married twice and I was singularly unlucky. Such misfortunes make a woman think a great deal before taking the step again.”
“Perhaps it should make her very hopeful. No one continues in such ill luck.”
He took her hand then and drew off one of her rings.
“See,” he said, “it fits my finger.”
She laughed and then said: “You must give it back to me.”
He did so at once and he thought: That is her answer. She enjoys playing this game of flirtation but she is not seriously contemplating marriage with me.
His manner was a little aloof and noticing this, she said: “My lord Lisle, I could not allow you to have a ring which many people would recognize as mine … not yet.”
He looked at her quickly: “Then I may hope?”
“It is never harmful to hope,” she answered. “For even if one’s desires are not realized one has had the pleasure of imagining that they will be.”
“It is not easy to live on imaginings.”
“In some matters patience is a necessity.”
He was very hopeful that night.
Henry wanted to know how his courtship was progressing and when he told him everything, he was delighted. “When we return to England,” he said, “which we must do ere long, I shall bestow a title on you; then you can return to the Low Countries and continue with your courtship of the lady in a manner commensurate with your rank.�
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“Your Grace is good to me.”
“When you share the Regency of the Netherlands, my friend, I shall look to you to be good to me.”
When next Charles was with Margaret he talked of his marriage to Anne Browne and his two little daughters.
“I should like to see them,” Margaret told him. “I greatly desire children of my own.”
“I would I might send my eldest daughter to be brought up in your excellent Court.”
“I pray you send her, for I should have great pleasure in receiving her.”
He told her then about the child whom he had rescued from the river, and she said: “Poor mite. Send her to me with your daughter. I promise you that I shall myself make certain that they are brought up in a fitting manner. You see, soon I shall be losing Charles and I shall miss him greatly.”
It was a bond between them. While she had his daughter and his protégée at her Court she would not forget him, Charles was sure.
Henry was making preparations to return to England. He had completed a treaty, before leaving Lille, in which it was arranged that the following May he should bring his sister Mary to Calais where they would be met by the Emperor, Margaret and Prince Charles; then the nuptials should be solemnized, because the boy was fourteen and the Princess would be eighteen, and there was no need to delay longer. The Emperor was eager for heirs, and an early marriage should solve this problem.
Margaret asked then that, if the King should fail to have heirs, the crown of England should go to Mary.
Henry scarcely considered this. Not have heirs! Of course he would have heirs. Katharine was pregnant now. Simply because they had lost their first, that was no reason to suppose they would not have a large and healthy family.
One of his favorite reveries was to see himself, a little older than he was now, but as strong and vigorous, with his children round him—pink-cheeked boys bursting with vitality, excelling in all sports, idolizing their father; beautiful girl children, looking rather like Mary, twining their arms about his neck. Of course there would be children.