The Lady in the Tower (8 page)

I wondered what he would have to say to Mary, whether he would reproach her for the trick she had played on him, withholding the good news from him for several weeks and moreover putting him into a fever of despair.

He was with her for some time and when he left she sent for me. She was very pensive and, I think, alarmed, so I thought he must have expressed his displeasure.

But later I learned this was not so. François's sense of gallantry would never allow him to upbraid a beautiful woman.

Mary could not keep her anxieties to herself and I was the only one to whom she could safely unburden herself.

She said to me: “It shall not be. I have endured all this, have I not? And was it not on the understanding that, having married once for state reasons, the next time it would be for my own? That silly little Prince of Castile. That his name should be Charles is an outrage. I'll not have it. I will not.”

I stood by silently. She put the brush in my hands and signed for me to brush her hair. It soothed her in some way. She turned and looked at me. “My brother is negotiating a marriage for me with the Prince of Castile.”

“Your Grace will not submit…”

“Not I!”

“And the King of France?”

She laughed. “He was amused by the trick I played…so was his sister. Madame of Savoy less so. I think she would like to punish me very severely… and she would, if she could.”

“Oh no, Your Grace.”

“Yes, she would, but she cannot, can she? She would be afraid of
offending my brother if they harmed me in any way. She will content herself by seeing me off… right away… out of France forever. But the King of France has other plans for me. Do you think I am very beautiful, little one?”

“Oh yes, Madame.”

“So does he. Oh, what elegant phrases! I wish I could understand them better. I shall be glad to speak English again. That is what is so pleasant with you. We can talk together… sensibly. It seems that between them the King of England and the King of France have decided my future. Just as though I were a piece of baggage. Shall we send her to the Prince of Castile or shall we keep her here for the King of France? I'll not have it. I told François so. He is greatly enamored of me. The trick I played has not changed the feelings he had for me from the moment he saw me. Rather has it enhanced them. He likes women of spirit. We laughed together over the padding. I told him that you were the only one in on the secret. He said, ‘Oh, the little one with the big dark eyes.’ What do you think of that?”

“I…I am surprised that he should have noticed me.”

“Oh, he sees all women. Just as he notices a painting or a building … but especially he notices women… and although you are but a child you are a woman, too. He says he is madly in love with me and will be desolate if I leave France. He plans that I shall marry here. He has even selected my bridegroom. He thinks the Duc de Savoy… another Charles if you please. He will be a complaisant husband, and François and I can embark on an idyllic love affair, which we were meant to do from the moment our paths crossed. It is a pity, he says, that he cannot make me his Queen. It would have been following the pattern set by my late husband with Anne of Brittany. But alas he is already married to Claude. But Claude is the most obliging of wives. Who would not be obliging to the handsome, charming, witty King of France? That is how matters are arranged in France. But there is one who will not fall in with these charmingly expressed arrangements. I think he was a little taken aback. He is not accustomed to refusals… and I made myself very clear to him.”

She was silent for a few seconds. Then she went on: “I told him there was a reason why I was not in love with him. I had already given my heart to another. I said there could only be that reason, for I, like the rest of the world, could not be unaware of the charm of the most attractive man in France. Oh, I was on dangerous ground, was I not? But I had a certain pleasure in treading it. He was so charming, he expressed himself envious
of my Charles. He said something about bartering his crown to be in his place, which made me want to laugh. Did he really think I would believe that? But he was kind. He had to live up to his reputation for chivalry. He said that, since I had so honored this man by loving him, then he must be his friend. Nothing else would do… and if he could do aught to persuade my brother to give way to my will, he would do so. What think you of that?”

“That it is indeed good of him.”

“The point is, little one, does he mean it? Often there is something hidden behind these flowery phrases. But I really think he wishes me well… that is, if my good can bring no harm to him. One thing I am determined on: I shall never take that sniveling little boy from Castile.”

She dismissed me soon after that, and when I saw her again she was radiant. She could not stop herself giving me the news. Her brother, hearing of Louis's death, was sending an embassy to France to offer condolences and talk with the new King; and at the head of that embassy was to be Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

She would see him soon. “And this time,” she vowed, “I shall not let him go until we are married.”

During all this time I was anxious about my own future. I had seen how cursorily her maids of honor had been dismissed in the days after her marriage. I only had remained and that was on account of my youth and unimportance. I was wondering what would happen to me if she married Charles Brandon. Should I be sent home? The thought of returning to the life at Hever or Blickling was a little depressing. I had grown accustomed to the French Court. I liked listening to the chatter, picking up pieces of gossip and scandal; I liked very much the dresses. I was interested in fashion and enjoyed helping the Queen to dress. She said I had a feeling for color and often she would say to me: “Should I wear this, little Boleyn? What think you?” She would pretend that the question was merely rhetorical, but she sometimes took notice of what I said.

I was growing up fast. If I had been precocious when I arrived, I was more so now. I missed little. I knew when men and women were lovers, though many of them thought they carried on their intrigues secretly. Now and then I plucked up courage to bring a scrap of scandal to the Queen's ear which greatly amused her.

I was changing. I was no longer the innocent child. Such an environment was a forcing ground. The ladies of the Court took little notice of me. I was a child to them and they often behaved as though I were not
there; that was when I gleaned my scraps of gossip. They did not realize that I understood their language better than I spoke it—although I was doing that more fluently every day.

I was enormously interested in everything that went on around me, and my great fear was that any day I might hear the dreaded news that I was to leave this colorful scene and return to England.

The Queen did not talk to me as much now. Her thoughts were on one subject: her meeting with her lover. She was silent often and would sit staring into space with a beautiful smile on her lovely face; I knew then that she was dreaming of the meeting.

François was naturally very eager to be crowned King of France. No monarch feels that his position is secure until he has been crowned. But he was in a dilemma. To hurry on the coronation would seem like disrespect to the late King; and yet he could not bear to remain uncrowned.

François compromised. Much as he would have loved a glittering spectacle of a coronation, he decided it would be better to have a simple one if he could have that without delay. It was usual for Kings of France to be crowned at Rheims. But the people would have expected a very grand occasion if he had followed that tradition. So to Rheims he went but that was just for the ceremony of the “sacring,” which meant the anointing with the
sainte ampoule
which was performed in the Cathedral St. Rémi. This took place of night and afterward he went to St. Denis— where before this, only the Queens of France had been crowned—to complete the coronation with as little fuss as possible.

So François was the crowned King of France.

At this time we heard that the English embassy had arrived in France. François had had a meeting with the Duke of Suffolk and I heard afterward that Suffolk had thanked François on behalf of King Henry for the comfort he had given his poor widowed sister; and François replied that he hoped the Queen would let her brother know how lovingly he had behaved toward her. He was not, of course, referring to the dishonorable overtures he had made to her, but if I knew the Queen, her brother would hear of that in due course. He told Suffolk that he had hoped the King's happy marriage would have been of long endurance. I could imagine his sardonic smile as he uttered such a blatant falsehood.

The meeting had taken place at Noyon; and when it was over the English party made its way to Paris, where it was to witness the ceremonial entry of the King into his capital.

If the coronation ceremony could be called a little subdued, this did not apply to the celebrations which followed.

The coronation had taken place on 25 January—just over three weeks after the death of Louis; but François did delay his entrance into the capital until 13 February. By this time the Queen had just completed her six weeks’ retirement and, although still in mourning, she could emerge— although she could not take part in the celebrations, she could watch them from a window as they passed.

I was, of course, beside her.

There was no doubt that the French welcomed their new King. Louis might have been good for the country but he had sadly lacked that glittering presence, those handsome looks, the young and sparkling vitality which could not fail to fill the people with admiration and hope for the future under such a magnificent creature.

The streets had been hung with damask and tapestry and the people were out in their thousands. Recklessly they climbed to the highest points of buildings to get a better view, and they refused to be dislodged.

And what a splendid sight he was! François was dressed in white satin and silver damask; over this he wore a cloak of silver edged with silver fringe. His white velvet hat glittered with gems and sported a plume of white feathers.

There was a hush as he appeared. I was sure none of these people had ever seen anyone like him. Very tall, athletic, yet perfectly graceful, he must have seemed like a god. He was indeed the supreme specimen of manhood—and most royal personages of the past had been small, sickly and even deformed in some way. The French habit of tightly swaddling their babies probably accounted for a certain stunted growth which I had noticed was rather prevalent. Following Louis with his swollen neck and protruding eyes, François was a glorious contrast. Louise must have made sure that her Caesar was not tightly swaddled in his babyhood; his limbs must have been free to expand as nature intended them to. In any case he was a magnificent figure. He had a natural elegance, as had quite a number of the noblemen who attended him. This was something I missed later in England where there was a decided lack of that quality and where people adorned themselves with dazzling jewels instead of using them with discretion as François and the members of his Court did. I learned to follow the French modes and that I think was one of the things which set me apart later on.

The cheers for the King, the music from the trumpets, sambucas and hautbois were quite deafening and not always harmonious but one could not fail to be caught up in the excitement.

The officers of the Crown in their cloth of gold and damask, the nobility in crimson and gold, the ladies in their litters, all passed below us. I saw Louise seated with little Renée, the late King's daughter; and in another litter was Marguerite d'Alençon with old Madame de Bourbon, who was the daughter of Louis XI.

All this was to be the beginning of six weeks of festivities. François wanted the people to know that under him there would be no cheeseparing. His reign must be heralded by this indication of the good times he was going to give them.

There was no doubt of their appreciation.

During the procession Mary sat beside me, tense, waiting.

And at last the moment came, for part of this brilliant cavalcade was the English embassy which had come to visit the King to offer condolences and congratulations and no doubt lay the foundation for further friendship between the two countries.

The Duke of Suffolk rode at the head. He was undoubtedly handsome—tall as the King of France and as fair as François was dark. He did bear a resemblance to Henry VIII, and I could quite understand why Mary had become obsessed with him.

He glanced up at the window as he passed and I saw the looks they gave each other. Mary was radiant. She was breathing deeply and her clasped hands lay in her lap.

I hoped she would be happy. Perhaps she would take me back to England with her into her household. That would not be unusual. Young girls did go into households of noblewomen; and I believed that she did have a fondness for me.

Events moved quickly after that. That very day there was a meeting between Mary and Suffolk. Afterward she was in a state of great excitement—of wild optimism and despair.

They had had such a short time together, she told me; but that was going to change. “That arrangement with Elizabeth Grey is nothing… nothing. And I am free now. I tell you this: nothing is going to stop us.” Then she was sunk in melancholy. “There are so many against us. They know of our feelings for each other.”

I thought: Seeing you, Madame, who could fail to be aware of it?

But I said nothing.

“They hate him. They are jealous of him. Who would not be? That is understandable. They will try to turn my brother against him. I do believe that Henry might agree to this match…if it were not for those
people around him. They think he would become too important… married to the King's sister. It is intrigue… intrigue. He loves me…as I love him. He said it might cost him his head if he married me. Wolsey is not against the match… and Wolsey and my brother together…who would dare say nay if they said yes?”

She paced about the room. I wished she would be calmer for I was sure that would be wiser.