The Lady in the Tower

by Jean Plaidy

  I was impatiently awaiting their return. Then the all-important ceremony would take place, and my fears would be at an end. I should go back to England as Queen.

  The meeting of the two Kings had been, I heard, a glittering occasion. I wondered if they had both been reminded of that other meeting at Guines and Ardres. They embraced warmly, as though there had never been any enmity between them. François had arranged entertainments for Henry at Boulogne; but I knew he would be impatient to return to me, and I thought it was a pity the ladies of the French Court had not come, for then I could have been present. I tried to convince myself that it was really due to the fact that the Queen of France was so closely related to Katharine, and the last person she would want to see was Henry, who had just cast off her aunt.

  So I supposed it was a wise decision, although a little galling, and it would give them the impression that they had not come because I was not Henry's wife.

  I consoled myself that that would soon be remedied.

  In due course the two Kings arrived in Calais.

  I was received with the utmost graciousness by François. He soon dispensed with ceremony and told me that I had become even more beautiful than he remembered. I could hardly say the same of him with truth. A great deal had happened to François since those days of his early kingship. Those years of imprisonment in Madrid, where he had almost lost his life, had taken their toll on him. He looked debauched, which was not surprising after the life he had led; but François had an innate charm, and his graceful manners and general elegance could not fail to please.

  There was to be a banquet in the splendidly decorated hall, but before that I had an opportunity of being with Henry alone.

  He kissed me with passion and said the separation had seemed long, but I noticed that he was deeply concerned about something. As our wedding was to take place so soon, I felt a tremor of alarm.

  And well I might.

  It was not long before he was telling me all about it.

  The wedding ceremony which we had planned could not take place. François, who had urged us to marry in France and return home with the deed already done, was now of a different opinion.

  The Emperor Charles had defeated the Turks, so they were no longer a threat to him. This meant he would be free to turn his attention elsewhere. We could guess that that could mean France.

  In the circumstances, François could not appear to give his public approval to our marriage, although he hoped we would continue to regard him as our very good friend.

  “So,” I gasped, “there is to be no marriage.”

  “Not here. We shall have to postpone it… but only for a short while.”

  I was angry. Once more I was faced with frustration. I had been so certain that all would be well, and I should have security within a few days, and now to have it snatched away from me, just as I was about to reach out and take it, was more than I could bear.

  “How dare he!” I cried.

  “Sweetheart, he has good reason. It is true that, if he gave his outward blessing to us, the Emperor would take his revenge. We must see his side, my dearest.”

  “He has tricked us.”

  “No…no. It is the King of France of whom you speak.”

  “I care not for kings.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked grave. He said, slightly coolly: “I trust there is one King you care about…”

  I threw myself into his arms. He was very patient with me. I often marveled at that afterward. He stroked my hair. “You must not be distressed,” he said. “It is a bitter disappointment… but it is not the first we have had, eh? We'll get over it. Mayhap it would be better to be married at home. Doubtless there would be some to question its legality… if it took place here.”

  There was some truth in that and I allowed myself to be subdued.

  I had to forget my rancor and prepare for the entertainment we were to offer.

  I had arranged, with the help of Wyatt and a few others, a splendid masque; and Henry was right, I must not show my animosity toward François. Henry gently reminded me that I was now dealing with a powerful man. I should have to be particularly gracious to him. So I must subdue my irritation—which he felt no less than I did, for by God and all his saints I could not long for my marriage more than he did.

  So there was the grand banquet in that splendidly decorated hall. The food was served in a unique manner—in the French fashion for François and in the English for Henry. There were three courses; in the first, forty dishes were served, in the second sixty and in the third seventy. François declared himself to be amazed.

  I and my ladies were not present at the dinner. This was because the ladies of the French Court had not accompanied François. Perhaps this should have made me doubt his sincerity, for he could have commanded them to come. I had thought that Marguerite might have been with him. She was now Queen of Navarre, having married again; she had always been so forward-thinking that I was surprised she should have found it impossible to meet me just because I was not yet married to the King. I tried to convince myself that it was for some other reason that she had not joined the expedition.

  We came into the hall when the meal was over. We were all masked and our dresses were of a strange exotic style meant to imply that we had come from some far-off land. The gowns were made of cloth of gold slashed with crimson tinsel thread and laced with gold. They were very effective, I had made sure of that. Each of us was to select one of the French guests for the dance; and, of course, I was to choose François.

  We would then dance together, and it would be assumed that the French did not know with whom they danced until that moment when Henry came to the ladies in turn and removed their masks. They would all express surprise—a gambit which had delighted Henry from those long-ago days when he had just come to the throne and had turned the somber Court of his father into one of merriment and laughter.

  Through my mask I watched the King of France. He was not as handsome as Henry, for Henry was still a very good-looking man and had been particularly so in his youth. Some ten years ago the Venetian ambassador had described him as “more handsome than any sovereign in Christendom—much more handsome than the King of France—very fair and admirably proportioned. His beard looks like gold and he is an accomplished musician, good horseman, speaks French, Latin and Spanish, is very religious and hears Mass three times daily when he hunts and five on other days.”

  That had been said before his obsession with me. I wondered what the Venetian ambassador's opinion would be now.

  Still, if time had wrought some havoc on his looks, he was still a fine figure of a man—so tall and commanding, and above all he carried that aura of royalty which set him above other men.

  François though had an incomparable charm of manner; he was highly intellectual; he had an air of almost weary worldliness, but his mind was alert; he was cynical, whereas Henry could at times be almost childishly simple.

  One could scarcely imagine two men more different; and I decided that I was fortunate to have Henry.

  François was studying me lasciviously.

  “How fortunate I am to be chosen by you,” he said. “As soon as I saw you enter the hall, I thought, though I may not know the lady's name until unmasking time, I see she stands high above all others in charm and beauty. I was praying that she would select me.”

  “The King of France would be the choice any lady would hope for.”

  I spoke in French which I could do with as much ease as I spoke English.

  “Then let us rejoice that you chose me, and if the choice had been with me, I should have chosen you.” He then complimented me on my rendering of his language. “You might be one of us,” he added, “but for the so slight difference which makes your speech entirely delightful.”

  In spite of my anger against him, I could not be unaware of his charm. My mind went back to the days of my youth when those lascivious eyes of his were turned on me. I had heard stories of his conquests. He wa
s ruthless in his pursuit. No matter whom he sought, he would employ any methods to satisfy his desire. There had been whisperings of girls who had been kidnapped and brought to him because he had seen them in the streets…in church… anywhere. I had heard that the daughter of an innkeeper had thrown acid into her own beautiful face because she feared that her soul would be damned if he forced her to be his mistress.

  We continued with that light banter which was completely false.

  “Would not Your Grace have been a little rash in choosing a woman whose face he could not see?”

  “Some instinct tells me that her face will be as beautiful as that which I can perceive and which so delights me.”

  “And the King of France, as all know, is a connoisseur of beauty.”

  “I would hope that is so.”

  “It amazes me that, with all the beauties of France ready to fall at his feet, he should be so ecstatic about one masked Englishwoman.”

  “But such an Englishwoman! The Lady Anne is here tonight. I'll swear she could not match with the lady who had the goodness to select me for her partner.”

  “She would not be pleased to hear you talk thus.”

  “I had the pleasure of being acquainted with the lady… once.”

  “That must have been a long time ago. And still you remember her?”

  “She is making history now.”

  “That surprises you?”

  “It is not given to all to do that. She was an entrancing creature in those days. Such eyes! I remember them well. Black eyes…a witch's eyes.”

  “You think she has bewitched the King?”

  “Not I alone. The whole world knows she has bewitched the King. I long to see this face which has so enchanted my brother of England.” He leaned toward me, smiling that lazy, sensual smile which I remembered from the past, his eyes boring through me, through my mask, through my gold and tinsel.

  “Do you know, mysterious lady, I'd wager that the Lady Anne is no more beautiful than you.”

  “The King of England might be hurt to hear you say that.”

  “The King of England would never deny the truth.” I heard the irony in his voice, I imagined how he must have laughed—probably with Marguerite—at Henry's declarations concerning the gnawing of his conscience.

  “I see none of the ladies of your Court here tonight, Your Grace. That is unusual is it not?

  “Oh, they dared not face the competition of the English ladies… particularly the Lady Anne.”

  “Are they so lacking in confidence then?”

  “They have heard so much of her charms. The jealousy of your sex! It seems they would rather remain in ignorance than be so out-classed.”

  “So you did not command them to come?”

  “Oh, it is not my practice to command ladies.”

  I was amazed that he could indulge in such frivolous conversation. Of course, it was all part of the masque that he should pretend not to know who I was. He would, of course, understand that in the traditional manner I would choose the King of France. I wondered what he remembered of me from the past; although he had aged considerably, I should have known him in any guise.

  Henry was watching us, and I could see that he was beginning to be irritated. François's manner was distinctly flirtatious and he knew that the King of France could not be in the company of any attractive woman without attempting to seduce her.

  Henry decided that it was time the deception ended, so he started to remove the visors, coming to me first. His face was a little flushed. It reminded me of that long-ago occasion when the rivalry between the two Kings could not be disguised for all the cloth of gold settings and protestations of friendship. Henry, a brilliant figure in velvet cloth of gold, about his neck a collar of rubies, diamonds and pearls as large as any I have seen, as usual looked a trifle flamboyant beside the elegant, more soberly clad François about whose person diamonds discreetly sparkled as he moved.

  “Your Grace has been dancing with the Marquess of Pembroke,” he announced to François.

  François, in the approved manner, declared himself astonished, gratified and delighted, his sly smile indicating to me that of course he had known all the time.

  Henry passed on to unmask the other ladies.

  François looked at me, still smiling.

  “Of course,” I said, speaking to him now as one on equal terms, for though he was King of France, very soon I must be Queen of England, “you knew all the time.”

  “How could I fail to know that one so full of grace and charm must be the incomparable Lady Anne? I will tell you something: I should have known you anywhere… masked or otherwise. I could see those black sparkling eyes through the slits in your mask. There is only one pair of eyes like that in the whole world.”

  “You were teasing me.”

  “Forgive,” he said pleadingly.

  “The King of France asks forgiveness of a mere Marquess!”

  “So soon to be the Queen…as she already is in the heart of the King of England and that of the King of France.”

  I had had enough of this frivolous talk, and I asked about Marguerite.

  “You and my dear sister were good friends, I remember. She follows your fortunes with great interest. She sends her good wishes to you. She says that she always knew you were meant for a distinguished career.”

  “I am sorry not to see her.”

  “She is now the Queen of Navarre.”

  “I see that the King of Navarre is of your company.”

  “He leaves Marguerite in charge of his kingdom.”

  I did not believe that. I knew very well that the ladies had not come because I was not married to Henry. It was hurtful to my pride but understandable to my logic.

  “She has a daughter—Jeanne—a bright child.”

  “That must give her much pleasure. And her writing?”

  “She will always have time for that.”

  “I remember the stories of the Heptameron so well. My happiest times in France were with her.”

  “I will convey your kind words to her.”

  The King had called a halt to the dancing and François conducted me to Henry.

  Whether François was genuinely sorry that he had not been able to give us his support and consequently we were still not married, I was not sure. One could never be entirely sure with François. But he seemed to be sincerely eager to do something to help.

  Henry and I talked with him alone. He was very attentive to me and treated me with the utmost respect. He had sent me a gift of some magnificent diamonds and, apart from the fact that he had not brought the female members of his Court with him, he had behaved as though I were already Queen of England.

  Frankly we discussed the divorce with him. The Pope was on the point of giving his verdict and we knew, in view of the relationship now existing between him and the Emperor, that it must be in Katharine's favor. Once that decision had been given, it would be difficult to act against it. It could only result in excommunication for Henry and myself if we went ahead with the marriage after that.

  “I suggest that I send two of our Cardinals to Clement,” said François. “I will tell him that I have seen you in person and that you have agreed that the court shall be held here in France and when the verdict is given you will accept it.”

  “But I will not accept it,” cried Henry hotly.

  “Ah, but the whole point is the delay this will entail. It will give you time to conclude the measures you need to get the divorce declared in England, and for you to marry in the meantime. Then, whatever the decision of the court here, it will not affect you. You will already have obtained the divorce and married.”

  “It seems feasible,” agreed Henry.

  “We know Clement. He will seize on anything that will enable him to delay. He trembles because he fears that whatever decision is come to, he will suffer. He is afraid of you…but the Emperor is nearer at hand. He dare not offend Charles—but at the same time he does not want to offend you
. You should be thankful that you have such a man to deal with.”

  “There could be something in that,” Henry admitted.

  We sat for a long time discussing the plan and we were both of the opinion that—for whatever reasons—François wanted to help us.

  The following day there were tournaments and wrestling matches, but this time the two Kings did not attempt to wrestle with each other. They were not as agile as they had been thirteen years ago.

  On the 30th of the month Henry left Calais with François. He escorted him to that point where the English dominions ended and they dismounted on French soil. They embraced like brothers—Henry told me afterward—and they vowed eternal friendship before they parted, François for Paris, Henry to join me in Calais.

  We were not altogether displeased, although we had hoped to be married by now. But there was a good deal in Henry's point that the people would not have liked a marriage which had taken place in Calais. It was not fitting for a King of England to marry there. And this plan which François had put forward seemed feasible. So it had not been a wasted journey.

  We now turned our faces toward home but the weather was against us. The gales had started and each day when we expected to sail we were advised not to.

  We were nothing loath. We were together and there was plenty to do in Calais. In the evenings we played cards and dice. Henry lost a great deal of money to me, which seemed to amuse him. He liked me to win— and I liked winning, so we were both satisfied.

  We played Pope Julius, a game which was now very fashionable at home. It was topical because of the divorce; and the various points in the game were matrimony, intrigue and pope—so it was significant and caused a great deal of amusement.

  They were very pleasant days which we spent at Calais waiting for the weather to improve; and although I had not yet the legal right to call myself Queen, I felt I was in every other way.

  I had rarely seen Henry so happy.

  It was not until 14th of November, about a fortnight after we had said goodbye to François, that we landed at Dover.

  Christmas, which had been celebrated with the customary festivities, had passed and January had come. I had made a momentous discovery. I was pregnant.