The House of Tudor (15 page)

The campaigning season in France was coming to an end and on 20 October Henry, suddenly impatient to be home, slipped away from Tournai with a light escort. Three days later he was taking the Queen by surprise at Richmond, and husband and wife were reunited in ‘such a loving meeting that every creature rejoiced’. The King was in high spirits and full of plans for next year’s conquests. Before leaving Lille he had signed another treaty with Spain and the Hapsburgs binding the allies to make a three-pronged invasion of France in the summer of 1514, and had also settled that his sister Mary should marry Max’s grandson, Charles of Castile, by the fifteenth of May. The only shadow lying across that triumphant autumn was the ending of the Queen’s third pregnancy in a miscarriage.

The year 1514 marked an important stage in the development of young Henry Tudor. At any rate it marked his emergence from a fantasy world of knights in shining armour re-fighting the Hundred Years’ War and brought him face to face with the realities of international diplomacy. The King owed this somewhat overdue awakening to Ferdinand of Aragon who had spent the winter quietly preparing to sell his son-in-law down the river for the third time. The plan, beneath its elaborate camouflage of verbiage, was simple enough. The King of France, having been suitably softened up by the Treaty of Lille and by the implacable hostility and growing military might of England, was offered a bargain: if he would relinquish his claims to Milan and Genoa, then Ferdinand and Max would be delighted to live like brothers with him for the rest of their days and would, naturally, come to his aid in the event of an English invasion!

But dealing with the guileless Henry seems to have made Ferdinand overconfident and he failed to take account of the fact that the King of France was also a poker player. Louis had no intention of submitting to a Spanish protection racket. On the other hand, he was perfectly prepared to pay any reasonable price for English neutrality. Accordingly he adopted the classic technique of stringing the King of Aragon along until that enterprising individual had been drawn into exposing his hand for all to see. Louis, of course, was hoping to catch England on the rebound and his expectations proved fully justified. Henry might still be inexperienced, but he was nobody’s fool. By the spring of 1514 his opinion of Ferdinand was much the same as his father’s had been, if not more so, and his one idea was to strike back.

This was the moment Louis had been waiting for and he went smoothly into action, using as intermediary the Duke of Longueville, who had been taken prisoner at the Battle of the Spurs and was now most conveniently residing at the English Court. In his present mood Henry was reluctant to trust anybody, but when the French offered peace on very gentlemanly terms, he was ready to listen. When Louis himself offered marriage to the Princess Mary, it opened up a prospect of so exquisite a revenge on his former allies that it was scarcely to be resisted.

This abrupt reversal of English foreign policy was made easier by the fact that Louis had now made his peace with Rome and that there was now a new and pacifically inclined Pope, anxious to see the Christian princes compose their differences. In any case, Henry’s conscience was clear. He alone of the members of the Holy League had kept his word. ‘I do not see any faith in the world save in me only’, he told the Venetian ambassador, ‘and therefore God Almighty, who knows this, prospers my affairs.’

There was quite a flurry of diplomatic activity between London and Paris during July and August as the peace treaty and the marriage contract were signed. The King and Thomas Wolsey, now rapidly becoming the King’s right-hand man, could congratulate themselves on a very satisfactory outcome. Mary Tudor was less enthusiastic. Not that she had any reason to regret Charles of Castile, an unappealing pasty-faced boy of fourteen; but Louis, a widower in his fifties and unkindly described by some as ‘old, feeble and pocky’, could scarcely be said to offer a much more alluring prospect to a high-spirited nineteen-year-old who was generally conceded to be an exceptionally beautiful girl.

In the five years since her father’s death Mary had experienced a degree of fun and freedom most unusual for an unmarried princess. But the King was very fond of his young sister. He liked her company and saw no reason why she should not enjoy herself Mary shared his passion for parties and dancing and dressing-up and played a vigorous part in the hectic social life of the Court. The dangers inherent in this situation were obvious enough - it was not for nothing that princesses were normally shipped off to their husbands the moment they reached puberty. Mary was a warm-blooded and highly desirable young woman surrounded by all the gayest, best-looking and best-born young men in the kingdom - inevitably she had formed an attachment of her own, the object of her affections being Henry’s closest friend, Charles Brandon, newly created Duke of Suffolk.

Charles Brandon owed his start in life to the fact that his father had been Henry VII’s standard-bearer, killed at Bosworth by King Richard himself. The orphan obviously had a strong claim on the Tudor family, and he had been brought into the royal household when he was about seven years old to be a companion for Prince Arthur. Later he had served Prince Henry in the same capacity and the two boys had grown up together. Charles was a tall, handsome, athletic youth, like Henry an enthusiastic sportsman, tireless in the hunting field and a skilful and courageous performer in the jousts. A cheerful, good-natured extrovert, without very much in the way of intellectual equipment, he stood in no danger of out-shining his master whom he followed about like a large, faithful dog. Henry found him excellent company, lavished favours on him and treated him as an honorary member of the family. Mary, of course, had known him since childhood and, by the summer of 1514, what had most probably begun as a little girl’s hero-worship for one of her brother’s lordly friends was ripening into something deeper.

There was no scandal - not a whisper of gossip linking the princess’s name with the Duke of Suffolk reached the outside world - but inside the family circle the affair seems to have been an open secret. Indeed, Mary herself had confided in her brother, telling him frankly that she loved Charles Brandon and was only prepared to marry the ‘aged and sickly’ King of France on condition that, as soon as she was free again, Henry would allow her to make her choice as her own heart and mind should be best pleased. ‘And upon that your good comfort and faithful promise’, she wrote later, ‘I assented to the said marriage; else I would never have granted to, as at the same time I showed unto you more at large.’

Whether this compromise was Mary’s own idea, or whether it had been hammered out in a family conference we have no means of knowing. Nor do we know how seriously Henry took it. But he was particularly anxious that nothing should interfere with the smooth running of the new alliance. Mary was no longer a child and it would make things very awkward with the French if she turned difficult now. In the circumstances, he was ready to promise anything she wanted - anything to avoid tears and scenes and keep her happy until she was safely across the Channel.

The proxy marriage was celebrated at Greenwich on 13 August in the presence of the King and Queen and all the dignitaries of the Court. The Archbishop of Canterbury officiated and the Duke of Longueville acted as Louis’ proxy. As soon as the solemn vows had been exchanged per
verba de praesenti
and the ring had been placed on the fourth finger of her right hand, Mary retired to put on an elaborate ‘nightgown’. She and Longueville then lay down side by side and he touched her with his naked leg. After this rather curious piece of play-acting – intended to symbolize intercourse – the Archbishop pronounced the marriage consummated and Mary went off to change again, into a gown of chequered purple satin and cloth of gold worn over a grey satin petticoat. There was the usual great banquet with the usual display of expensive ‘subtleties’ and afterwards the floor was cleared for dancing. According to the Venetian ambassador, who was present by special invitation, ‘the musical accompaniment was provided by a flute, a harp, a violetta and a certain small fife which produced a very harmonious effect’. The King and several other English lords danced in their doublets, and everyone was so gay and the music was so catchy that the ambassador felt distinctly tempted to throw off” his own gown and join in. Prudently, though, he remembered his age and his dignity and abstained.

Wedding presents and letters of congratulation were now flowing in from all over Europe - Louis sent his bride a magnificent diamond and pearl known as ‘The Mirror of Naples’, valued by the London jewellers at sixty thousand crowns - and Mary was kept so busy during her last few weeks at home, receiving deputations, attending receptions and entertainments given in her honour, having fittings for her trousseau and undergoing a crash course in French that she had very little time for repining. At any rate, she was presenting a resolutely cheerful face to the world and one Italian observer remarked cattily that the princess did not appear to mind that the King of France was a gouty old man and she ‘a young and beautiful damsel’, so great was her satisfaction at becoming Queen of France.

Everything was French that year. There was even talk that the King was thinking of divorcing his Spanish wife, who could not give him an heir, and marrying a French princess. But by the late summer of 1514 Catherine was once more visibly pregnant. New linen and curtains were being ordered for her lying-in and Henry, joyfully trumpeting the news abroad, had invited King Louis to stand godfather to the new arrival - none of which sounds as if he was contemplating divorce.

From across the Channel came reports of Louis’ eager impatience to see his bride. In spite of his age and his gout, he was said to ‘yearn hourly for her presence’ and according to the Earl of Worcester, who had gone over to France to act as Mary’s proxy at the betrothal ceremonies, he had ‘a marvellous mind to content and please the Queen’. It seemed the French king had shown Worcester ‘the goodliest and richest sight of jewels’ he had ever seen, telling him they were all for the Queen but that she should not have them all at once, ‘for he would have at many and divers times kisses and thanks for them’. Worcester, much impressed by this lover-like attitude, told Thomas Wolsey he had no doubt that, by the grace of God, Mary would have a good life with her husband.

By mid-September everything was ready for her journey. There was a final outburst of entertaining and Mary herself gave a farewell reception to which all the foreign merchants in London were invited. Wearing a French gown of woven gold with the Mirror of Naples flashing on her bosom, the new Queen of France was very affable and gracious to her guests, giving her hand to everyone. She was obviously in her best looks, one witness going so far as to describe her as ‘a nymph from heaven’, but even allowing for a certain amount of over-enthusiasm there is no doubt that Mary Tudor was quite outstanding. Of slightly above average height, slender and graceful, she had a clear glowing complexion and a glorious mane of red-gold hair. Equally important, she had all the infectious gaiety and outgoing charm of manner which made her brother so attractive.

Mary left London on 19 September, accompanied by the King and Queen and an escort which, according to the Venetian merchant Lorenzo Pasqualigo, included ‘four of the chief lords of England, besides four hundred knights and barons and two hundred gentlemen and other squires.’ For the second year running the people of Kent were able to enjoy the spectacle of the royal family - the King riding with his sister, the Queen, because of her interesting condition, travelling by litter - pass through on their way to Dover. The Court on the move was always an impressive sight and seldom more so than on this occasion when, as Pasqualigo told his brother, ‘the lords and knights were all accompanied by their wives and there were so many gowns of woven gold and with gold grounds, housings for the horses of the same material, and chains and jewels that they are worth a vast amount of treasure.’

The cavalcade reached the coast before the end of the month, but the September equinox was not the best time of year to choose for a Channel crossing. The weather was appalling and Henry rapidly got bored with waiting for it to improve. Dover in a howling gale and pouring rain offered few attractions and he was never a man to put other people’s comfort before his own. So, when the wind dropped temporarily on the evening of 1 October, it was decided that the fleet should sail on the early tide, in spite of a forecast of more storms to come. Mary was woken in the small hours next morning and Henry went with her to the quayside. As they said their goodbyes in the chill grey damp of that dismal morning, Mary, in tears by this time, clung to her brother and rather desperately extracted from him a renewal of his promises about the future. He kissed her and committed her to God, the fortune of the sea (which, considering the look of the sea at that moment, can scarcely have been very cheering) and to the governance of her husband. Mary and her noble company then went on board while the King rode back to Dover Castle and a good breakfast.

The sea fully lived up to its unappetizing appearance. Of the fourteen ships conveying the Queen of France, her wardrobe and her retinue to Boulogne, only four arrived on schedule - the rest fetching up at various points along the coast from Calais to Flanders. The bride’s own vessel made Boulogne but ran ingloriously aground just inside the harbour. Mary had to be transferred to an open boat and, soaked to the skin and prostrate with seasickness, was finally carried ashore through the waist-high surf by one of her gentlemen.

It was not a very auspicious start, but with the resilience of youth and health she recovered quickly and was soon winning golden opinions from the French, who were greatly struck with their new Queen’s beauty, pretty manners and elegant, expensive clothes. For the journey from Montreuil to Abbeville she wore cloth of gold on crimson with tight English sleeves and a shaggy hat of crimson silk cocked over one eye. Her first meeting with Louis took place by carefully pre-arranged ‘accident’ on the outskirts of the town, and the King threw his arms round her neck and ‘kissed her as kindly as if he had been five-and-twenty’. In Abbeville itself a royal welcome had been prepared and here on 9 October, amidst much lavish display by both nations, Mary was finally married to the King of France in person.