Jane the Confidant

by Leigh Jenkins

  “We will pray for a recovery for you, my brother,” I said solemnly, wary of Francis’ easy intimacy. But he had been like this when we had met before, affable and with a tendency to overshare personal information, a trait I found in most Frenchmen.

  “Ah, I fear there is no recovery,” he continued. “The love of too many women.”

  I felt a smile coming to my face as I answered back.

  “I thought you once told me that there could be no such thing.”

  Francis laughed outright at this and nodded his head. Turning his horse about, we rode towards the tent alongside one another. After a moment’s hesitation Charles Brandon motioned for my men to follow Francis and soon the French nobles began to trot after me.

  “That is very true,” Francis continued. “But then we French never had the desire to marry our mistresses, as you English so often do.”

  I bristled at the barb but forced a laugh out of me.

  “Yes, but it seems to get us into less trouble,” I said with an inclination of my head.

  “I am not so sure about that,” Francis answered, his voice suddenly serious. I said nothing, which is to concede the point. There had been much trouble for me in recent years.

  We rode until reaching the tent, and simultaneously pages stepped forward to help both Francis and I down from our horses. It is only then that the rest of the men dismounted and we waited until the horses had been led away before Francis stepped forward to embrace me.

  “Brother!” he said with a confident shout as his arms came around my shoulders. Francis was one of the few men who were the same height as me, so as we came towards one another my nose was crushed into one of the furs that lined his shoulders. They smelled of sauce and the dirt from the road, making me anxious to part, but Francis held me in place for a long moment. As we broke apart, two boys stepped in front of us to pull aside the flaps to the tent and, arm in arm, we stepped inside.

  Together we walked to the dais and sat on the two identical thrones simultaneously. A smattering of applause broke out from those that had followed us in and Francis motioned for some of his musicians to begin a lively tune. It was only then that the French and English nobles moved towards each other and a general hum of conversation filled the vast space.

  “I am pleased that you were able to leave your country and travel to see me,” Francis said, leaning in towards me, our words masked by the growing conversation around us. “I feared it would be too dangerous for you to do so.”

  I peered at him and his concerned face, thinking of how best to respond. It was due to this man that my country was in an uproar; he had fueled what had been a small fire. Without him, I surely could have defeated the rebels long before.

  But he could not be offended. As we had when we had met so before, Francis had extended his hand and called me brother; we had to show each other the greatest courtesy. And in a peculiar way, this man was my brother, one of only two fellow monarchs who knew what my position in life was like, what it was to be balanced on a throne between man and God.

  “I thank you for your concern,” I answered. “But the rebels in my country are finding it harder to fight. And though we have lost some good men, we have gained much experience in battle. Once the rebels have been beaten, we will have a fine army to turn towards other pursuits.”

  Francis twitched at this threat but does not respond. Perhaps I had pushed too far, but I doubted it; Francis did not seem to want anything but peace from us.

  “Shall we have supper served?” I asked, as I leaned towards my brother monarch. Francis took a look at my increased girth and smiled.

  “I believe we should before you wither away.”

  ******

  “How was your time with Queen Eleanor?” I asked Jane that evening as we laid together in the large bed that had journeyed with us from England. I had already dismissed the pages from my room for the evening, and though Jane seemed hesitant to become intimate with me, I was glad for her company.

  “Very sad,” she responded with a sigh, leaning back into her pillows, her blonde hair spilling about her. Throughout our married years Jane had never lost the glow her loosened hair gave her, that look of an angel. I reached out to stroke her hair and she smiled at me.

  “King Francis openly prefers his mistress, Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, and Queen Eleanor has little to do,” Jane continued. “She is not well loved, as I am.”

  “It saddens me to hear so,” I said sincerely. And it is true; at no point in my life had I ever flaunted a mistress. I knew how sensitive women could be to such matters. Francis, it seemed, had little tact when it came to his wife’s feelings.

  “It gladdens me that you trust me,” Jane said, turning towards me in the candlelight. “I could not imagine being only half a queen, given the title with no ability to help my people.”

  “I am glad you see it as your duty to help the people of England,” I responded. “You are quite the Queen they deserve.”

  “I hope so Henry,” Jane said, reaching out to take my hands. “And I wanted to tell you. I believe I am with child again.”

  “Truly?” I asked, suddenly more awake, turning towards my wife. “How far along?”

  “I believe the child will be here in March,” she answered.

  “You should not have traveled here with me,” I said, immediately thinking of the child’s health. “It could have been dangerous. I wish you would have stayed in England.”

  “I do not believe it dangerous,” Jane responded. “And I was not sure before we left. I am sure now. I pray it will be another prince for your majesty.”

  I sighed, leaning back into the pillows. It was inconceivable to me that Jane would not tell me before we traveled to France; the crossing across the channel could have been dangerous for her. But of course, after a moment, I realized that she knew before we left England. Like most women, she could not bear the thought of being left behind when I was to meet with the French court. Both Anne and Catherine had been intrigued by Francis and the Frenchmen who accompanied him, Anne even sneaking in to meet the king before she had been officially accepted as my wife. Naturally, Jane would not have told me before we sailed to France, anxious to not be left behind in war-ravaged England.

  I reached out to pat my wife’s hand. She leaned over to blow out the final candle in the room and I pulled her close to me, holding on to her and the life growing inside of her, perhaps another precious prince for the nursery.

  “We will take the utmost care in our return to England,” I tell her as we settle into sleep. “And we will sail home as quickly as possible.”

  ******

  “Francis is requesting that England revert Calais to France and abandon all of England’s hopes for a presence on the continent.”

  “He is requesting what?” I roared, throwing the dispatch I had been reading across the room. Some of the newer page boys flinched. Charles Brandon, who had brought me the horrible request, did not react from my outburst at all.

  “Your Majesty, it is merely a request,” Charles repeated. “And I do not believe he expects us to comply with it. Possibly it is merely for show; perhaps one of his advisors talked him into it. He should know that we could never give up Calais.”

  “We could never abandon it,” I agreed. “If we did so, it would be the first time in three hundred years that England did not have a presence on the continent. Trade in England would come to a standstill. It is bad enough there already.”

  I leaned against my desk, my flat palms pushing into the heavy wooden service. The day had turned colder, what had been merely a chilly breeze from the water now felt like a bitter wind. The French, who were housed nearby, had all manner of furs to wrap around themselves, but we English had only brought what could be transported by ship. With a laugh Francis had offered us heavier coats, but I had declined. “Imagine the English being ill prepared for cold weather,” he had said, and his nobles openly laughed.

  “You must tell him no,” I finally said. “T
here must be another alternative. We know he is not prepared to fight again this year. He knows Lord Lisle will never surrender Calais and that the garrisons there are well fortified. If he waits another year, we will have the rebels under control and can turn our attentions to France if he does not desist.”

  “Your Majesty!” A messenger from Cromwell suddenly broke into the room, stepping into a deep bow. “An urgent message from Lord Cromwell,” he explained, handing me a slightly muddied letter.

  I opened it immediately, my heart rising by the joyful look on the lad’s face. I scanned the letter quickly, aware of the smile growing on my face.

  “Ah, you will see here!” I said, bolstered by the news in the letter. “Edward Seymour has won another decisive battle.” I threw the letter down, allowing for Charles to step forward and take it, his eyes scanning over it as a small smile comes to his face as well. I watched him as he read it, looking for any sign of betrayal. I saw nothing but a weariness that came to his eyes.

  “Take that to Francis,” I order, “and make him see that we are no longer a country to be taken advantage of.”

  ******

  “You have quite the loyal servant in his Grace, Charles Brandon.”

  Francis leaned across our dual thrones to make this comment to me as the women of our court danced in front of us. To my right Jane smiled on; I had forbidden her from taking any part in the festivities, anxious for the health of our child. Among the young women in front of us, I saw none that sparked my interest, my older age and preoccupation with the health of my wife taking its toll.

  Since I had not been giving my full attention to King Francis, I missed the significance of what he had said and it took me a moment to respond.

  “I am — aware of his value,” I said carefully. I did not believe that Francis could be ignorant of the fact that an investigation had recently been made into Charles’ conduct. If Charles was indeed the spy, was this Francis’ way of covering for him, now that peace was to be found?

  “He argued most vehemently against the proposal that Calais revert to France,” he continued. “It was his strong words that turned my bishop’s ear and the reason that the peace treaty was so favorable to England.”

  I nodded but did not respond. Charles had been correct in his assumption that Francis had not truly expected England to cede Calais to the French, and that it had been Francis’ advisor, Bishop Martin, who had invented the scheme. I had been relieved when Charles had come to me after two days of arguments with the man and informed me that the Calais provision in the treaty had been dropped, as well as the fee Francis had demanded. Pleased, I had cordially thanked Charles, and he had hurried to prepare the treaty for both Francis and I to sign.

  There had been much pomp surrounding the treaty and I was pleased that we were at last enjoying a final banquet before Jane and I could leave for England. My ship’s captain predicted fair weather for the following day; we should be allowed to cross back to London with ease.

  I smiled at my queen, who sat serenely next to me, and reached out to take her hand for the moment. She smiled back and nodded at Francis, who had taken notice of my gesture, failing to repeat it with his thin-lipped queen. Pride overwhelmed me; I did not expect to triumph over Francis in such domestic fashion. With a squeeze of my hand, Jane stood and walked to sit next to Queen Eleanor. The two turned to speak to one another in low tones and I was forced to focus my attention on King Francis once again.

  “I have been blessed with dutiful servants,” I agreed finally. “It is a great disappointment that Secretary Cromwell could not accompany us here. He was most instrumental in bringing this meeting about.”

  Francis hummed, glancing at our wives who had broken into laughter.

  “I am surprised you are willing to trust him,” he said. “A merchant’s son.”

  “Ah, but you will remember that Cardinal Wolsey, who arranged for us to meet once before, was the son of a butcher.”

  “Another strange choice,” Francis parlayed. “I prefer to keep those of noble birth by me to guide me.”

  I let us fall into silence; there seemed to be nothing to say in response and there was no need to give into anger after the treaty had been signed.

  “Charles Brandon is the only duke remaining in England, is he not?” Francis asked after our wives began to laugh once more.

  “He is,” I bite out, irritated that he would bring the subject up once again. “We lost Thomas Howard, the good Duke of Norfolk, in battle.”

  I bristled with anger, not pleased to be thinking of the disastrous battle I had witnessed. I had yet to truly speak of it with anyone, hating to think back on it. I jumped, startled when I felt Francis’ hand on my arm.

  “My brother, I must share with you,” Francis said, almost whispering in an attempt to not be overheard, even by our wives. “It is obvious that there was someone inside your court giving information to the enemy. I do not know who that person was; Robert Aske guarded that most important secret quite closely. However, I can assure you that I never received any information from Charles Brandon, even when he was approached by my men to do so.”

  “What?” I asked, shocked by Francis’ honesty. Though there had always been a false intimacy between us, a courtesy extended to one another, he had never shared such frankness with me.

  “My men approached Charles Brandon over a year ago to attempt to win him to our side, with money, favors, and a place promised at my court. Not only was he fervently against the idea, but he sent our man, a servant in his home, back to France along with his entire family. I have never been so thoroughly rejected.”

  I sat back against the throne, stunned by Francis’ admission. Charles had never spoken a word of this to me. And indeed that would be his style; I could imagine his reluctance to trouble me with further news, especially as he had rejected the offer.

  “Thank you for sharing this information,” I finally said. “What made you decide to tell me?”

  Francis shrugged, as he sat back against his own throne. “I like the man.”

  I accepted that I would not receive any more information from Francis on the matter, as he crooked his finger, beckoning one of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting to his side. As he flirted with the young girl, who had perched on a stool between him and Queen Eleanor, I slumped down in my seat and took a moment to observe Charles as he sat across the room.

  True, this could be further proof that Francis was merely trying to cover for his spy. But if Charles had been rewarded by Francis, why had he not joined the French court? There was little of value for him in England since his inquiry. He had not sent his wife or any of his possessions away, I would have known if he had taken any action to leave the country.

  Charles looked older, lines creasing his face and his hair had turned almost completely gray since he had been arrested. I thought back to his quick words to me and his unending loyal service, even after I had him locked away. No evidence had been found against him, and he had been correct, Cromwell could always find evidence.

  And there was no reason for Francis to recommend Charles to me; he must know he was either unveiling him as the spy, or he truly admired the man. As I stared, a Frenchman leaned over and muttered something to Charles, pointing towards an English woman and I saw the red raise in Charles’ face, a sure sign of his anger at the man. No, I could not see Charles living here among the French.

  Sitting up to face Jane, who had come back to take her seat as the first course of food was brought out, I made up my mind. It was time to forgive Charles Brandon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 1539

  Outside my chambers I could hear my son Edward tottering about in the hallway, his mother and nurse following along behind. His small cries of laughter comforted me as I faced Charles across the table.

  “Your Majesty, I am pleased to be consulted on these matters,” he said guardedly. I smiled grimly, pulling my furs closer to my body, forcing away the chill of the room. I nodded to a pag
e who stepped forward and attempted to stoke up the fire that had drizzled out as bits of snow and ice fell down the chimney.

  “We must find a way to destroy the rebels’ army,” I said, glancing over to Edward Seymour, who sat stiffly to my left. My brother-in-law’s time in battle had not changed him at all; his crisp clean clothing and cautious mannerisms remained, even while he was being celebrated by the court as a hero.

  “Their numbers are still large enough to harm Your Majesty,” the young man confirmed. “Every battle we have won has been a great victory, but even a small band of rebels can wreak havoc among the countryside, pillaging farms and attacking commoners.”

  “I believe Your Majesty must force them into submission,” Charles agreed. “Their leaders must be destroyed, and they must see that rebelling against the crown will gain them nothing, and will cost them a terrible price.”

  “How long will it take for the armies to be beaten into submission on the battlefield?” I asked Edward.

  “At least another year of fighting,” he answered with a sigh. “Longer, if Robert Aske and his men cannot be silenced. And I fear that will still not stop the men from breaking into small raiding parties, terrorizing the northern countryside.”

  “So if they are to be beaten, they must be destroyed?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Edward answered, his voice lower. “I believe they must be utterly destroyed. No mercy can be shown to them; they will take Your Majesty’s kindness too far.”

  “What has been their reaction from their recent losses in battle?” Charles asked.

  I nodded to Edward to update the Duke. With a small look at me; he reached for a pile of dispatches and letters that sat neatly to his left.

  “They have once again stated that they wish for the laws of the Church of England to be discussed by a grouping of bishops. They demand that the closure of the monasteries, that nuns and monks be allowed to remain with their churches and continue providing assistance to the towns. And, of course, they continue their cry that the evil advisors that surround his Majesty be tried for treason.”