The Lady in the Tower (9 page)

“François has spoken to him. Do you know what he said to him? These are his exact words: ‘My Lord Suffolk,’ he said, ‘there is a bruit in this realm that you have come hither to marry the Queen, your master's sister.’ Poor Charles. He was so taken aback, for he did not understand how François could have known about us. But, of course, it was I who told him. François said he would help us if he could for he had a great affection for me and he knew the strength of my feelings. That was good of him. But I don't trust him. I wish I could speak to my brother. I will write to him. That is it. I will remind him that I married once to please him, and for this I was promised that next time I should please myself. I shall warn him of my enemies who surround him and will try to do me ill.”

I brought the writing materials and she wrote.

I shared her tension, for my anxiety regarding my own future was growing. She said nothing about what would become of me; I could understand that there was no room in her mind for anything but her own affairs.

All during those days when the jousting, balls and banquets and rejoicing in the new reign continued, Mary alternated between joy and despair. She did not attend the festivities, of course, for although the six weeks were up, she was still supposed to be mourning the late King.

She had one or two meetings with Suffolk which carried her to the pinnacle of delight; then she would be plunged into melancholy.

“Charles is afraid,” she told me. “He says our love will destroy us. My brother knows of the love between us. He made Charles swear before he left England that he would not persuade me to plight my troth to him, nor take the opportunity which being here he might find.”

“And did he promise, Madame?”

“My brother would insist. Oh, he is bluff and hearty but he can be ruthless if any go against him. I know his temper. I should, because it is very like my own. But as I know him, so should he know me and when I set my heart on something, I shall have it…as he would. There is a strong feeling between us because we are so much alike. We know each other well.”

“But if my Lord Suffolk has promised…”

“
I
have been promised. My brother has promised me that, if I married for state reasons, the next time I should have freedom of choice.”

I could understand her feelings. She was ready to brave her brother's wrath; she was his beloved sister, but Suffolk, whatever the friendship between himself and the King, was only a subject.

Then something happened which upset her a great deal, not because of what actually took place but because it was an indication of the power of those who were working against her marriage.

Her confessor came to her and told her that a certain Friar Langley had arrived from England and it was imperative that he have speech with her immediately.

I was with her when he was brought in.

I curtsied and was about to leave when she said to me: “No. You may stay.”

The friar looked at me with displeasure but he seemed to come to the conclusion that my presence was of no importance. I had always been allowed to witness a great deal because of my youth.

Mary said haughtily: “What is it you have to say to me?”

“I have come to warn Your Grace.”

“To warn me? Of what?”

“Of one who has come hither in an embassy.”

“I do not understand you, Friar.”

“I have come to tell you the truth about the Duke of Suffolk.”

The color flamed into Mary's face. “What of the Duke of Suffolk?” she asked haughtily.

“I believe Your Grace has been deceived by this man and has shown him much favor. It has been impressed on me that I should come here to warn you that he traffics with the Devil.”

She was seething with rage and controlling it with more success than she usually displayed.

“And who, may I ask, has done this impressing?”

He was evasive, evidently wary of betraying those who had sent him.

“All know that Sir William Compton—a rival with the Duke for the King's favor—suffers from a virulent ulcer of the leg,” he said.

“I fail to see what connection this has with the Duke of Suffolk.”

“The King has made an ointment which is a cure for ulcers. It fails to work on Sir William.”

“Is that so?” Her voice was dangerously calm. I thought: In a moment she will fly at him. Clearly he did not know her temper.

The friar lowered his voice. “The Duke of Suffolk is a friend of Wolsey and it is well known that
he
is one of the Devil's disciples. How could a butcher's son rise to such greatness?”

“By shrewdness, wit and very special qualities which others have not.”

“No, Madame. Through the Devil.”

“Sir Friar, you should be careful how you speak of my friends.”

“It is because I fear for your safety that I have come here to warn you.”

She went close to him. “Go back to
your
friends,” she said in a low voice, “and tell them I know their motives well. Tell them this: I shall make sure that when I return to England the King is informed of your perfidy toward those he loves… and if you have any sense in your addled pate, you will get out of my sight at once. I never wish to look on your sly and silly face again. And if you pass on any of these lies which you have uttered to me, I'll have you in the Tower and there they will discover who it was who led you to this act of folly.”

“Madame…”

“Go,” she cried.

He went.

She looked at me and said: “You see, I have my enemies. They will do everything they can to prevent my marriage. They would destroy my happiness…if they could. But they are not going to.”

Nor did they. Fortunately for Mary, François had decided to help. Looking back, I think he was rather pleased to do this—not because of his affection for her. François's feelings toward her were entirely lustful. He might have been piqued because she preferred someone else, but I think he rather admired her tenacity. He was romantic at heart; at least, at times, it pleased him to see himself as such. One could never be sure of François; but I certainly think he took a pleasure in flouting the King of England.

There was a rivalry between them which was intensified because they were of a kind—both young, handsome, both following serious predecessors who had lived without pomp. It must have amused François, who would surmise that Henry would be obliged outwardly to disapprove of the marriage of his sister to a man who had come from a comparatively humble background because it would annoy the great families of England whose favors he could not afford to lose.

So, with François's help, Mary was married with great secrecy in the chapel at the Hôtel de Clugny.

I saw her briefly after the ceremony. Worried as I was about what
would now become of me, I could not help but rejoice in her happiness. She was radiant with joy—there in her simple gown, so different from the gloriously appareled young woman who had been married such a short time before in the Hôtel de la Gruthuse.

Only ten people were present in the little chapel, but one of them was the King of France himself.

It was a daring act, but characteristic of Mary. I believed that without her determination it would not have taken place, for Suffolk knew the hostility it would arouse.

The King of England was most displeased and for a time they were afraid to return to England.

But I learned something of the King's nature much later, when I went to England. He was very sentimental and he truly loved his sister. He liked Suffolk, too, and it was not long before a compromise was arranged. For such a flagrant act of disobedience they could not go unpunished, so the King would take possession of Mary's plate and jewels; for he had incurred great expense in sending her to France in the appropriate manner and he wished to be reimbursed for that. They were to pay him yearly installments of £24,000 and naturally they would not be able to come to Court for a while.

It seemed harsh punishment, but Mary did not seem to mind. She was so deliriously happy that I supposed Suffolk was all she had believed him to be.

“We shall be poor,” she said, “living in the country. How I shall love that! I am heartily sick of courts. I shall have my Charles and we shall be a country gentleman and his lady. It is what I have wanted more than anything in the world and now it is mine.”

Queen Claude sent for me.

She was very gentle and kind—not like a queen at all. She was surrounded by ladies just like herself. They spent most of their days doing good works, like sewing for the poor and visiting convents; they prayed a good deal. She was such a contrast to her flamboyant husband that it was amazing that theirs should be—after a fashion—a successful marriage, perhaps due to that realistic view of life which is characteristic of the French.

“Come here, Anne,” she said. “I have some news for you.”

I waited in trepidation, certain that she was going to tell me to prepare to leave for home.

She smiled her very gentle smile and said: “I have had word from your
father. He trusts that you have given satisfaction during your stay at our Court. I think Queen Mary would agree that you have, for she has kept you close to her.”

I was silent but my heart was beginning to beat very fast.

“Your father thinks that a stay at our Court is good for you…for your education and all you have to learn besides. He therefore asks me if I can find a place for you here so that you may remain when the Queen-Duchess returns to England, which she will shortly be doing. And I have decided that I will take you into my household.”

I was so delighted that I must have shown it, for she seemed pleased and patted my head.

“One of the ladies will tell you where you will sleep and explain your duties to you. They may be a little different from those you did with the Queen-Duchess.”

“Thank you, Madame.”

She smiled and nodded, and I left her in a daze.

I was reprieved.

So, with the coming of April, I joined Queen Claude's household; and Mary and her husband went back to England.

Life changed a great deal for me. Attendance on Queen Claude was indeed very different from waiting on my previous, volatile mistress. Claude always seemed surrounded by quietness; she was so kind and fundamentally good that while one admired her one felt a certain resentment of such virtues, perhaps because it seemed a reproach to one's own less than perfect nature. I learned how to do the finest embroidery; my French improved; and although I was one of the Queen's attendants, I did know what went on beyond our circle.

The Court was, as ever, dominated by François. In every field he distinguished himself. He was always champion of the jousts; he was the most skillful swordsman in the country; in wrestling none could overthrow him. Perhaps royalty came to his aid on one or two occasions but it was never obvious; I do not think he would have resented a rival in those arts but welcomed him. King Henry seemed a boy set side by side with the King of France. François had been born with wisdom, it seemed; but perhaps he had learned that at the side of his sister, who must surely be the cleverest person at Court, male or female. Not only was François the leading sportsman, he was the arbiter of elegance. He set the fashion which always tended to show off his own perfections. He was quite
dazzling. It seemed that he had all the outward gifts of sovereignty. The French could not fail to be pleased with their monarch.

His love affairs were numerous. Love was the great theme of the Court at that time. Poets wrote of it; musicians sang of it; courtiers talked of it. François was always gallant and charming; and he gathered about him men of similar tastes. It was said that if a man did not have a mistress he regarded him with suspicion. He liked to talk of women with other men and to hear how their love affairs were progressing; he would press for intimate details, and yet he could get angry if he considered any did not pay due respect to women.

To my mind it was all rather puzzling; but I did realize later how important my upbringing was in making me the sort of person I became.

In spite of his notorious infidelity to my mistress Claude, François was always gallant to her and showed her the respect due to a queen. She was constantly pregnant. I believe he delighted to see her in that condition for then he need not spend his nights with her until after the child was born and the time came for him to father another. It was really very decadent and the greatest offense was not wickedness but vulgarity. It was quite different from the Court of England of which I was to learn so much later.

Queen Claude herself took an interest in my education and very soon I was immersed in my quiet life. Those months which I had spent with Queen Mary seemed very far away. I often thought of her; and I heard that she was indeed living quietly in the country, for the Court was too expensive for her and her husband in view of their debts. I thought the King must soon free her of that obligation, for she would surely add to the brightness of his Court. I did hear also that she was deeply contented and I rejoiced with her. It seemed to be one of the few marriages which were truly happy.

As for myself, perhaps because of my youth, I was able to settle into the new life with the utmost ease. Not long after I joined Queen Claude's household, the King left to go to war. He wanted to prove to his subjects that besides being a handsome gallant he could be a conqueror. I heard these matters discussed and I was alert for what I could discover. Thus I learned that François was determined to bring conquests to France. He was gathering an army together on the pretext that he wished to make Burgundy secure against attacks from the Swiss, but it was believed—and this appeared to be the truth—that he was contemplating an invasion of the Italian States. Ferdinand of Spain was urging the Pope, the Swiss, the
Emperor Maximilian and the Duke of Milan, Maximilian Sforza, to join a league for the defense of Italy. The Pope, however, refused to join, declaring himself, as Pope, to be father of them all.

The conquest of Italy had been the policy of the last two Kings of France and François was determined to continue in this. He appointed his mother Regent of France and went to war.