by G Lawrence
“I am overjoyed to hear that, Majesty,” I said. “We did wonder, when the ladies of court pulled out of this trip, whether I was looked down upon.”
“Never by me,” he said. “Nor by my sister, I assure you. Marguerite wanted to see you. It was her greatest wish. It is my fault she is not here. When my Queen refused to see you, it was pointed out that should my sister greet you it could put the treaty I am securing with the Pope in jeopardy. I could meet with you unofficially and not cause offence, but to have the ladies, any ladies, present, would make it an official visit. I asked Marguerite to stay away, and she was most angered at me for asking her to do so, but I hope you will understand my concerns. Were it up to me alone, you would have been welcomed as England’s Queen.”
“This is what you meant when you said you hoped we would still be friends, despite diplomacy and politics?”
“That was indeed my point. And I have much to be thankful to you for. It is no coincidence, I think, that as soon as Cardinal Wolsey was removed, and you became the premier person in the King’s life, English relations towards France became markedly warmer. The Cardinal was a friend to France when it suited him, but I have reason to believe you are a friend come fair weather or foul. My ambassadors tell me you speak for France at all times. To have a friend, one so loyal to France and her interests, without even having to bribe or offer a pension, is a remarkable boon. I can only think you remember France with fondness.”
“I have always thought myself more French than English,” I said. “France was my home, Majesty. I learnt so much here. I made good friends and I found who I was. In some ways, part of my spirit will always live in your realm.” I glanced at Henry. “But, as it transpired, England was where my heart was.”
The dance came to an end and François leaned in. “Will you speak with me for a while, my lady?” he asked, nodding to a window seat. “I am too hot to continue dancing, but I do not want to end our conversation.”
“I would be honoured.” François led me from the floor and, with a glance at Henry, who nodded, took me to the seat.
“I wanted to make sure my good brother would not attack me for stealing you away,” he explained with a naughty twinkle in his eye. “For I have heard he will not let you out of his sight.”
I laughed. “The King is most protective,” I said. “But I assure you there are times when we live apart.”
“You have been forced to do that much, I think, ever since his Great Matter began. I have followed the case. You know in some ways, my lady, you are now more famous than your beloved King.”
“More notorious, I think you mean, my lord.” I smiled. “I have learned not to care what people think of me. As long as the King loves me, I have all I require.”
François waggled a long finger at me. His rings caught the light of the candles, reflecting gold into my face. “And that is perhaps one area in which I might advise you,” he said. “You are soon to become royalty, my lady, do you know what that means?”
“I have a feeling you are about to tell me, Majesty.”
François sat back. “To those born royal, it is almost something that does not have to be said, except in cases of kings who are born with no wit, and believe me, such men do exist. But to you, who were not born royal, this perhaps needs explaining.” He paused, rubbing his finger against his shaven cheek. A musky scent of sage and orange peel came from his hair, and his skin smelt of expensive rose perfume and the scent of his fresh sweat. “You were brought up, I suspect, with the teachings of your father in mind,” he continued. “You were taught to be refined, learned and elegant, in order that you might catch the interest of a rich, well-placed husband, and elevate your family and your progeny. I suspect that even when my brother first noticed you, you did not think he would ever offer you a crown, am I right?”
I inclined my head.
“And you refused him, as once you refused me. Where I would have courted you and tried to make you surrender, my brother saw that you were, in spirit, a different kind of lady. And that excited him. I admit I found your reluctance and pride enticing, so I understand. But I would imagine your surprise was genuine. I knew you well, I think, when you lived at my court. You aimed high, and had a great opinion of your worth, which was not misplaced, but I suspect that you never thought you would become a queen. I suspect, even now, when the time comes so close, you are thinking more of your marriage to a fine man, than of the crown.”
I nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Of course I had thought about being Queen, but François was correct in saying I had not thought of that state in detail.
“This is because of your upbringing,” he went on. “You still think of yourself as a lady of court, do you not? One about to make a grand, great marriage, and fulfil your father’s ambitions. You think marriage is the end of your journey… but marriage is not all that is about to happen, my lady, nor is it, anymore, the most important thing about to happen.”
François sighed. “You have got to where you stand now by being strong, courageous, even brutal when you had to be. In some ways, this will have prepared you. Royalty must be callous, at times. They have to show strength, but you have taken on the role of a king as you fought for love, and a queen is a different creature. I understand why you had to become a king. You needed to strengthen the resolve of my good brother. You became his courage when his own failed him, but in doing so, you have missed something. The Queen is there to temper the iron will of her King with a cord of silk. The King and Queen are two parts of one whole… She is the gentle, calm, godly and peaceful soul who mollifies any actions he takes that his people dislike. She is sweetness, charity and mercy… a mother to her people. The people look to her in times of trouble. Whilst the King forges ahead, and people come to admire and fear him, the Queen offers hope and love unconditionally. He is the hardness of the glaring sun, she the softness of twilight. They command the loyalty of their people, for together they are hope and fear, suspicion and trust, and love and horror bound in one form upon the throne. That is the role you take on, my lady.”
François stared intently at me. “You say that you care not for what anyone but the King thinks of you. I would instruct you to think again. When you become Queen, what the people think of you will matter. When you become Queen, you will surrender a part of your soul, and give it up to them. Care about what people think of you, my lady. When a king or queen is in danger, their people can either break them or save them. Ignore that at your peril.”
“The people adore Katherine,” I said. “I do not believe they will ever look on me with eyes of love.”
François grinned. “They say love cannot be bought,” he said. “And they are right… but it can be won. Love is a flower that grows in time and trust. I do not say that this will be easy, for you must set aside much that has kept you safe. But when you show mercy, pity and compassion, the people will see you can be trusted.” He paused. “Most queens come to their thrones already adored,” he said. “Some of them become only more beloved, like my sweet Claude, and some fall from grace, disappointing their people. Think of your present position, perhaps, as an advantage. You say the people love Katherine, so where could you fall now, that would see you in a lower place in their affections? You cannot fall. All you can do is rise.”
“You give me hope, even as you make me sad, Majesty.”
“Royalty are often sad and lonely people,” he said with a smile. “Do you find that surprising? We are the most privileged of all souls in this world, but we are never free. We act a part, as you yourself noted as we danced, and so few come to know us well. We are surrounded by people, and yet we are completely alone. To be alone in crowds of people only makes loneliness starker. This, you will come to understand. You must make strangers love you. You must kindle hearts to warm to you, even when yours feels cold. This is your task as Queen.”
“You are kind to advise me.”
“You and I were always good friends.” François waved a hand to a wa
ndering servant to bring wine. “And now for other matters.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a letter. “This is from my sister,” he said. “Read it after the dance, for she has penned many, many pages.” He brought the goblet to his lips. “My sister was never one to skimp on words. She adores them too much to leave any one word lonely.”
“I shall enjoy all of them, Majesty,” I said, tucking the letter into a fold in my dress. “I understand why she did not come, but still it pains me. My greatest wish, aside from to bear a son for my lord when we are married, is to see your sister again.”
“And I am the devil who kept you apart. I am sorry for that, but I hope you will always understand that even if hard things are done for the sake of policy, or politics, in my heart you are my good friend.”
“You fear that if I should come to doubt this, English policy would change towards France?” I asked with an impish look.
He chuckled. “You know how to threaten whilst charming your opponent,” he noted. “A fine skill, worthy of the great Queen you will become.”
“I battled the Cardinal, Majesty. There was much I learned in that war.” I paused and took a goblet of wine. “But do not be uneasy. France will always remain my first preference for friendship. Do any of us have reason to be grateful to the Emperor? He threatens England on behalf of his aunt. He keeps the Pope prisoner so Clement cannot fulfil his duty to God, and you, Majesty, have perhaps more reason to distrust and despise him than anyone.”
“I loathe the long-chinned bastard,” said François, making me laugh. “I can never be easy with a man who kept me prisoner,” he agreed. “Nor look with happiness on the sinner who took my sons from me.”
“Henry loves your sons. He said spending time with them was the best part of the visit.”
“They are fine boys,” François said. “Henri is a little morose. He seems more Spanish than French since he returned. But François and Charles are good boys. I have high hopes for them.”
“You are fortunate to have so many sons.”
“I am… but I understand that you will help my brother with his sadness. When you bear his heirs, my lady, you will be utterly secure.”
I shivered. The fear that I was too old… that I might not bear sons, or even any children, was in my mind.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I am well.”
“I have invited the King’s son, Fitzroy, and his friend, your cousin, Surrey, to stay at my court,” François went on. “I am impressed with young Henry, but I cannot hide that I believe your sons, my lady, will be great kings rather than impressive bastards.”
“As my daughters will be queens,” I said. “You have many sons, my lord. I would love to see my daughters married to them, in the hope that one day a queen of English blood might sit upon the throne of France, and be loved by the people I have always considered my own, as well as those of her native land.”
“No child yet born, but already you negotiate for their marriages?” He chuckled. “Perhaps you do not need my advice at all, my lady.”
“No. I am grateful. You have made me think on much I had not considered.”
“You are about to become my sister,” he said. “Family must look after their own.” He looked about. Henry was dancing with my sister. A most unusual occurrence, seeing as most of the time he attempted to ignore her existence. “He is watching us, your King,” said François. “He is a jealous man, I think.”
“Henry knows that I am his.”
“Does he? Does any man in love rest sure in the knowledge that the one he loves will never be stolen from him? Never discount jealousy, my lady. It is a dangerous beast. We think we are secure, yet envy shows us we are not. A little jealousy can be valuable. It reminds us of the depths of our love, of the ties that bind us to another heart. Too much, however, and love can turn to hate.” He looked at me. “Never give him reason to distrust your love.”
“I never have, and never will.”
“Then all is well. Enough of these dark thoughts and words!” François put his goblet down and took my hand. “We will dance, my lady. Let us take to the floor and play a little trick. I shall filch your charming sister from my good brother, and you will steal your King back.”
“Do not remind my gentle sister of the dreadful name you gave her when she was at your court,” I said. “She was hurt beyond measure, Majesty.”
“Because I called her my pretty English mare?” François laughed. “What better compliment could a woman have than to be compared to a fine horse? Men spend more time with horses than with their women. I never meant it as an insult. I greatly enjoyed my time with my delightful English mistress.”
“Then make amends now, but do not say it again,” I whispered as we approached the dance. “She was not flattered.”
François laughed boldly as he spun me onto the floor. As he did so, I entered the centre of Henry and Mary’s dance, and took Henry’s hand. At the same time, François grasped Mary’s waist, spinning her to dance with him. Laughter erupted as people watching saw what had happened. It was not usual to act in such a way, but the King of France was an unusual man. My admiration for him had only deepened. Although he had told me much that was hard to hear, he had offered me a great deal that was worth thinking about.
“I am glad to have you back,” Henry said, his blue eyes snapping with pleasure. “I thought my brother would steal you away for good.”
“I would escape any man who tried to steal me, Henry. No prison, no tower, no castle set in the centre of the wide, open seas could keep me from you.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Calais
Autumn 1532
On the 29th of October, Henry escorted François home to French soil. With jests and happy declarations of friendship, the kings said their goodbyes. At the Field of the Cloth of Gold there had been nothing but bragging and competition, and I think then, Henry had been glad to escape. This time it was different. There would always be competition between them, and they would never cease trying to outdo each other, but they were older now and appreciated that the ways of the world are not altered by the boasts of men. They had good reason to be friends. Neither had any cause to love the Emperor, and with France and England so interlinked in terms of trade, and such close neighbours, they had every motive to maintain their alliance. Henry returned to the palace just as the wind was rising. The skies were churning. Grey clouds loomed over the sea and rain started to pelt the windows of the palace. We were supposed to leave the next day, but I had already had a visit from the Mayor.
“It is too dangerous, my Lady Marquess,” he had said, his eyes darting nervously between my face and his shoes. What do these people hear of me to look on me with eyes so wary? I wondered. No doubt he had been told I was a demon when displeased.
“I understand perfectly, my lord,” I said politely. “It does you credit to think of the King’s welfare, and does not go unnoticed. I will inform His Majesty upon his return, and we will wait for you to tell us the seas are safe enough to travel on.”
The Mayor looked quite astonished by my calm acceptance and thanked me humbly before departing. When Henry joined me, I told him the news. “I had hoped to be on our way by morning,” he said, disgruntled. “But it is true the wind is growing wild. We may have a few days yet in Calais.”
“A few more days of privacy… free of England and all our cares,” I said. “I cannot think of anything I would like more.” I played with a golden brooch on his chest. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a special supper. We will dine alone tonight, with just two servants. I have told my ladies they are to entertain themselves, as I want to be alone with you.”
He sighed with contentment. “Although it has been a marvellous visit, the thought of a quiet night with just you, Anne, is something I would relish.”
I had to restrain my smile. A quiet night was not what I had in mind.
Our dinner was comprised of many dishes, laced with foods known to be ap
hrodisiacs, such as oysters, honey and figs. I had also ordered several of Henry’s favourite dishes; lampreys, apricot tarts, sliced apples fried in sugar and dipped in cinnamon, aleberry pudding, and haggis, which I had shipped from England especially for this night. I wanted him to be suffused in pleasure, ready to enjoy his final treat of the night.
When we finished, I whispered in Henry’s ear that I had a surprise, and, with a nod to Norris and Weston, who made themselves scarce, I slipped into my adjoining chamber, where Mary and Jane helped me into the stunning black nightgown.
When I returned, Henry was by the fire, his eyes lost in the flames. He glanced up as the door softly closed to see me arrayed in black taffeta and satin, my white skin glowing against the midnight fabric. I walked forwards and he sat still, frozen.
“You are so beautiful,” he said eventually. “When I held that gown I never imagined how magnificent you would look.” He managed to smile. “But then, you always do surpass even my wildest dreams.”