Between Two Kings (25 page)

However, several years ago François realized that he craved for constant relations with Anne de Pisseleu, Duchess d’Étampes. He had also matured and wanted permanence in his sensual relations, not a constant flickering of various mistresses in his bed. The variety of women no longer interested him. As a result, François became relatively faithful to Duchess d’Étampes and at times even pretended that he hadn’t known about her occasional infidelities. He knew that she had loved him and thought that she would be faithful to him once she learned he had abandoned all other mistresses.

The only exception when the King of France was unfaithful to Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly in the past several years was his wantonly passionate and rather short amourette with the young, pretty, and carefree Claude de Rohan-Gié, Countess de Thoury, which started between 1535 and 1536. Claude slipped under the king’s bedcovers with great pleasure, but although she was very young, she was an experienced woman, and François didn’t take her maidenhead. François quickly discarded Claude de Rohan-Gié and again became faithful to Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly.

Unfortunately, the King of France was mistaken because Duchess d’Étampes had continued her highly secret liaison with Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion. Only later she ceased her affair with Chabot due to her fear that François would possibly learn the truth. François could have forgiven Anne de Pisseleu an amourette with any man, except an affair with Cardinal François de Tournon, Anne de Montmorency, or Philippe de Chabot. They were people who had the French king’s greatest favor, and Anne de Pisseleu knew that if François had known about her relations with Chabot, he would have ruined her and Chabot’s lives, sending them into exile. The paradox of the situation was that Anne de Pisseleu had truly loved François while François had felt only a wild passion for her, which had almost entirely evaporated by now.

Currently, François wanted to be only with one woman – with his wife. A sudden thought struck him: he didn’t have such strong feelings of possession and jealousy for any of his mistresses, even for Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly. It was quite a remarkable discovery for him, and. he was puzzled with his own feelings and desires.

While François was silently overloaded with musings, the same happened to Anne. A whirlpool of thoughts blew through her mind. She was again comparing François and Henry. She knew that their characters were very different. Yet, she was amazed with one thing. Henry was a very passionate man by nature, and her marital bed with him was a battlefield of emotions. François was a Frenchman, a skillful lover and a womanizer, and he had to be a passionate man, she thought. When Anne and her sister Lady Mary Boleyn Stafford were on good terms, they often gossiped about the events at the court and their private lives.

Anne remembered that Mary, François’ former mistress, had told her that François had been a man who was so skillful in the art of physical love that he could have made any lady melt and tremble in his arms even if she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him. Mary assured Anne that François had loved a creative, passionate lovemaking. Mary and even mentioned that he read poems to her in bed when passion overcame him.

But Anne hadn’t seen François’ passion: he treated her with such tenderness and gentleness that she indeed melted in his arms, even if she didn’t love him. Where was his passion? Did François control his emotions so well? Was his passion hidden? Anne mused why he did that. Maybe he didn’t want to scare her or make her uncomfortable? She concluded that this was most the reason, and she was immensely grateful to him for that.

Anne didn’t notice how she started comparing the sensations François and Henry gave her. She always compared François and Henry. François was tender and soft during their intimacy, and she enjoyed their lovemaking, but her sensations became acute as she relaxed and then felt how a tide of dark oblivion gradually captured her at a slow speed, but the physical release was lingering and prolonged.

Again, it was opposite to her sensations with King Henry in the bed when she felt an explosion of passion and wild pleasure that flared up, flickered and burnt, then flickered again and everything repeated in the same cycle. François’ gentleness mesmerized and astonished Anne. Anne’s other former lover, Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet and the courtier at King Henry’s court, also was an epitome of passion in the privacy of the bedchamber, and she couldn’t imagine him being immensely gentle in the bed. François was very different from Henry and from Thomas Wyatt, even if both François and Wyatt were poetic and romantic men.

Anne’s affair with Thomas Wyatt had started after her betrothal to Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, had been broken and before she fell in love with King Henry. Thomas Wyatt charmed and seduced Anne by writing many love poems in her honor and by engaging her in courtly love in England, demonstrating that the concept of this as an integral element in chivalry was central not only at the French court, but was also related to the life of the Tudor court.

When Wyatt was courting Anne, she was grieving for the loss of Henry Percy; she missed her life in France and was feeling vulnerable in England. Temped by Wyatt’s colossal attention and sentimental romantics, she eventually hoisted the white flag and succumbed to her passion in a sudden outburst of willingness to experiment in the art of physical love which she hadn’t experienced before. Unlike her sister Mary, Anne didn’t have any liaisons at the French court, although she had a plenty of admirers and worshipers in France even at her very young age.

When Anne fell in love with King Henry and realized that Henry had wanted to make her the Queen of England, she wholeheartedly repented that she had that short amourette with Thomas Wyatt. The reason was that he had taken her innocence and later she had to lie to Henry, opposing his proposal to become his
maîtresse en titre
and deliberately asserting that her maidenhead had already been pledged to her future husband.

Anne was lucky that she had been able to hide the absence of her innocence from Henry because they had their first complete intercourse in thick green forest, on the bare ground, on the day after Wolsey’s death when they left the palace alone and rode into the forest. Their need for each other was so desperate that they removed some of their clothes and fell on the ground, whirling in the dance of wild passion and raw desire.

It was easy for Anne to say that she had lost her virginity in the forest as their copulation was quick and because Henry left her alone afterwards with loud cries of displeasure and exclamations of anger after Anne requested he be careful not to impregnate her. Later, Henry couldn’t have checked whether there was any blood during their first encounter, and it was implicitly assumed them that he had taken her virginity in the forest.

That lie was a vile act of undeniable hypocrisy and sheer artifice from her side, but Anne had to lie because otherwise Henry wouldn’t have fallen in love with her and because she wouldn’t have been able to refuse full sexual intercourse with the king for such a long time, heating his passion for her and prolonging his interest. It was her only lie about her personal life to Henry, and she was always faithful to him afterwards. She didn’t repent that she had lied because she loved Henry with all her heart, but she regretted that she had an affair with Wyatt as it was a potential danger if the truth about her relationship with the poet was ever discovered.

As she remembered Thomas Wyatt, Anne inwardly flinched because her affair with him was a grave secret. There were a great deal of rumors circulating around Anne and Wyatt at the English court that undermined Anne’s reputation. The Duke of Suffolk told Henry that Anne and Wyatt had been lovers, hinting that she had deceived the king about her virginity. Of course, Anne laughed when Henry enlightened her about Suffolk’s warning, requesting Henry punish Brandon and banish him from the court.

Since then, Anne was particularly afraid that somebody else would find enough evidence to implement the incriminating campaign against Anne. Like she was afraid that King Henry would ever learn about her secret, at present she was alarmed that François might become aware of her secret and would judge her. She didn’t need François to stop trusting her. Sighing deeply, Anne quickly put those thoughts aside. Thomas Wyatt was her past, and he would never speak about their relations. She shouldn’t be worried about that, she said to herself.

Anne felt how François tightly pressed her to himself, distracting her from her thoughts. He was kissing her raven curls, his left hand tenderly stroking her belly. “Anne, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling alright,” she replied.

He looked at her, his breathing slightly labored, his amber eyes bright. Then he dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “Please try to sleep. It was a long day.” His voice was thick with concern. “Don’t think about frustrating things. I promise you that you will finally meet your daughter. Now we can only wait,” he said in a persuasive tone.

Anne stared at him, her eyes huge and unknowingly hopeful. She hadn’t expected to hear those words from him. He’d remembered what today was. He wanted to ease her anxiety. At that moment she was eminently grateful to him. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

François smiled and tenderly kissed her right temple. “Goodnight, Anne.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

François put a little more distance between their chests to allow her a comfortable sleep. His left hand hugged her, his right hand on her stomach. Soon they drifted together to a peaceful sleep. The night was calm for Anne because for the first time in many months the ghost of King Henry didn’t haunt her in wild nightmares.

CHAPTER 13

September 1537, Château de Fontainebleau, France

Marguerite de Navarre, the Queen of Navarre, was reading the incriminating pamphlets about Thomas Cromwell, which were produced by Mellin de Saint-Gelais. Another poet and writer, Clément Marot, was in the process of writing a critical book about Thomas Cromwell’s role in the English Reformation. Marot was ordered to make special emphasis on the Dissolution of the Monasteries in England, highlighting the difference between Cromwell and Anne Boleyn’s opinion about the matter.

Marguerite was absorbed in her thoughts as her finger traced the text in one of the numerous parchments on her desk. As always, she was dressed extravagantly wearing an eccentric purple gown, its décolletage quite low and pressed flat against her breasts, her neck draped with elegant pearls. The collar and the cuffs of her sleeves were faced with dazzling white lace. The stylish pearl-dotted French hood, bejeweled in diamonds and amethysts, was on her head, revealing her long dark hair falling to her shoulders.

The French poet Mellin de Saint-Gelais studied at Bologna and Padua and had the reputation of being a doctor, an astrologer and a musician as well as a poet. As he had returned to France in 1523, after his studies in Italy, he gained favor at the court of the art-loving King François I. Saint-Gelais was enjoying immense popularity at the court.

Clément Marot also was an infamous poet at the French court. In 1519, Marot was attached to the suite of Marguerite d’Alençon, the future Marguerite de Navarre, his patroness and worshiper of his talent. Marot also was a great favorite of King François himself. He attended the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520. In 1524, Marot accompanied King François on his disastrous Italian campaign.

Marguerite looked up at Mellin de Saint-Gelais. A smile illuminated her lovely face. “Mellin, these pamphlets are amazing. François will be pleased with the results of our work.” She stared at the parchment. “I like that the pamphlets are so easy to remember by heart.”

Mellin bowed to Marguerite. “Your Majesty, I am glad to hear this.”

“You are welcome, Mellin,” Marguerite replied with a smile. Her gaze shifted to Clément Marot. “Clément, when will the critical book about Thomas Cromwell be finished? François wants it to be done as soon as possible.”

Marguerite was confused. She didn’t understand why the pamphlets and the critical book were so important to her brother. She found it suspicious that François wished to criticize Cromwell in such harsh tones. Another mystery was why François wanted to highlight the innocence of the deceased Anne Boleyn. She also didn’t comprehend why François had married another woman just several weeks after the annulment of his second marriage to Eleanor of Austria. Did François marry that woman-savior because of France’s political interests? Was he driven by love at first sight? Marguerite doubted that François had been wounded by a well-directed shot of Cupid’s arrow. It sounded like a fairytale to her that her dear François, so calm, so prudent, and so calculating in the past years, could have done anything that was ill-advised. Apparently, there was something very serious beneath her brother’s marriage, she inferred.

Despite incomprehension, doubts, and desire for clarification, Marguerite proceeded to her task as soon as she was charged with it. She had always helped François and had always performed what he had asked her to do. Her brother charged her with the preparation of the accusatory materials because he was convinced that she was the only woman who could do everything in the best possible way.

François also loaded that task on her shoulders because Marguerite herself was a prolific poet, a dramatist, and a prose writer who had published a two-volume anthology of her works. Marguerite knew very well how to produce the best incriminating materials that were reasonable, memorable, and vivid.

Clément Marot bowed to Marguerite. His face expressed how delighted he was to meet his patroness. “Your Majesty, the book will be ready in two weeks.”

“Clément, please show me the drafts of the first chapters. I need to look through them before we publish and distribute them in France and later in England,” Marguerite said in a commanding tone.

Clément nodded. “I will bring the first half of the book tomorrow.”

Marguerite smiled with a bright smile. “Thank you, Clément and Mellin.”

“You are welcome, Your Majesty,” the poets answered together.

“I will start distributing the pamphlets in France next week. In two weeks we will be able to distribute the pamphlets in England,” Mellin reported.

Clément chuckled. “Your Majesty, I think we will be able to finish the critical book in one month. Two more weeks are necessary to distribute the copies of the book in France and in England.”

The distribution of the incriminating materials in England was supposed to be arranged by the French ambassador to England Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion. François wanted to control the process by himself as he didn’t wish to involve Marguerite in the revenge plan on King Henry. Philippe de Chabot’s people were to collect the materials in Paris and take them to England. Everything was done with a high degree of secrecy and cautiousness.

Marguerite started applauding. She was pleased and felt inspired. “Excellent! Excellent! François will be very pleased with us!” she cried out, her eyes beaming. “I will notify my brother when we are done, so that he can arrange distribution.”

September 1537, Hampton Court Palace, Middlesex, England

Lady Mary Tudor and the Imperial ambassador Eustace Chapuys strolled in the Renaissance gardens of the Hampton Court Palace. The garden had square plats of grass with lions, dragons, and numerous painted heraldic beasts on posts. The garden was created by King Henry in the formal Renaissance fashion because he wanted it to outshine King François’ legendary Renaissance garden at Fontainebleau.

However, despite King Henry’s ardent desire to excel the King of France, his gardens could hardly be compared with the magnificent and grand gardens of the Château de Fontainebleau.

“Your Highness, what did His Majesty say about your marriage?” Chapuys asked Lady Mary. As they were alone and were talking in Spanish, he addressed Mary as “Your Highness”.

Mary averted her gaze. She didn’t know whether she would ever be married. She wanted more than anything else in her life to be married and have her own children. The most acceptable match for her would be a Spanish or Portuguese Prince. However, her father hadn’t shown any willingness that he wanted his daughter to have her own family. She looked at the ambassador. “Your Excellency, my father was furious when Queen Jane asked him about the possibility of my legitimization and finding a husband for me,” she confessed.

“Is His Majesty opposed even to your marriage?”

“It appears that my father doesn’t care for my personal happiness,” Mary replied.

“I hoped that the concubine’s death would result in Your Highness’ reinstatement in the line of succession.” Chapuys hated and despised Anne Boleyn, always describing her as “the whore” and “the concubine”. He was happy that she was burnt at the stake and that Mary was reconciled with her father.

“It was God’s will that the harlot paid for her crimes against my father and England,” Mary said, her tone quiet and colorless. “At first, I also hoped that my father would legitimize me after our reconciliation. However, my hopes were precocious.” She trailed off, her gaze wandering across the green garden. “I signed the Oath, declaring my mother’s marriage illegitimate and myself a bastard. Nothing can be changed at this stage, and, unfortunately, my sacrifice of my true beliefs led to nothing for me, except having a better standing at the court.”

“We shouldn’t lose hope. Maybe Queen Jane will help you,” the ambassador suggested.

Mary shook her head in disagreement as they stopped near the red, violet, and blue flowerbed. “Her Majesty will soon have her own child in the royal cradle. Hopefully, it will be a healthy boy. This child will be the future King of England.” Truth be told, Mary wasn’t sure that Jane would try again to defend her interests.

“I have deep respect for Her Majesty Queen Jane. She is a good woman,” Chapuys said firmly.

Mary liked Jane and was thankful to her; Jane also liked Mary and was loyal to the memory of the saintly Queen Catherine. However, Jane and Mary weren’t close friends because they had few things in common, apart from their loyalty to Queen Catherine and their Catholic religious beliefs. Jane was too uneducated and simple compared to Mary; Mary and Jane couldn’t talk about art, music, and politics. At the same time, these differences in education really didn’t matter much for Mary because having Queen Jane Seymour on the throne of England was much better than the concubine. “Queen Jane is a kind and decent woman,” Mary answered with a smile.

“Your Highness, the Portuguese Infante Don Luis would be a great husband to you. He is very enthusiastic about your prospective marriage.”

Don Luis was the second son of King Manuel I of Portugal and his second wife Maria of Aragon, who was the daughter of Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon.

Mary smirked. “I know, Your Excellency. But I am not sure that my father will ever allow me to marry. If I am married, I will have my own children who might be considered the true heirs to the throne, falling ahead of Queen Jane’s children in the line of succession. My father doesn’t want that.”

“His Majesty may be interested in securing an Anglo-Imperial alliance, and your marriage to Don Luis can help the matter.”

“We all favor this alliance, including Cromwell and the Seymours,” Mary stated confidently.

“In this case, His Majesty may let you marry Don Luis. However, Don Luis and you are first cousins. This puts you in the prohibited fourth degree of kinship. We will need the pope’s dispensations to marry,” Chapuys added sorrowfully.

Mary sighed. It seemed that her marriage to Don Luis was doomed from the very beginning. It was impossible. She would have to continue living unmarried. “Given that the English Church is separated from the Roman Catholic Church, we can guess how that will turn out,” she concluded in a low voice.

“We should still hope,” Chapuys countered.

“Vague hopes.” Mary laughed bitterly. Then she jumped to another subject. “Your Excellency, there are rumors that my cousin Charles is behind numerous assassination attempts on King François’ life.” She didn’t believe in the rumors that the emperor had hired an assassin, even if there was mortal hatred between the emperor and the King of France. “Is it true?”

The ambassador frowned. He didn’t know for sure, but the rivalry between Charles and François had become too sharp in the recent past, particularly after François had annulled his marriage to the emperor’s sister. “In my view, His Imperial Majesty didn’t hire an assassin. I don’t believe in these rumors. It is either French propaganda or an unfortunate mistake. Maybe someone decided to help your cousin and tried to kill King François, but it doesn’t mean that the emperor charged that man with the King of France’s murder.” Chapuys could say nothing else on the matter.

Mary digested his words for a moment. “I don’t think that it is my cousin’s fault.” The smell of roses and other flowers overwhelmed her senses as they continued their stroll in the garden. “I don’t believe that he could do it.”

They reached a mount overlooking the River Thames. There were so few people there, it was like the garden had been deserted, which allowed the ambassador and Mary to enjoy their privacy for quite a long time.

At the same time, in the presence chamber, King Henry had an official audience with Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion, who was the French ambassador to England. He was dressed in a dark gray velvet doublet trimmed with ermine on the sleeves and dripping with pearls and diamonds on the front. He also wore flat gray pants and black cloth gaiters mounting to the knee. King Henry sat on his throne. A golden and diamond chain gleamed around his neck. Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, was on the king’s right.

Today, they accepted the admiral’s attire contrasted in a pungent way with that of Henry and Charles: Chabot wore tight Italianate yellow pants and a doublet of the same color, as well as a small white and yellow velvet mantle, over which lay an elegant white fluted ruff.

Philippe de Chabot bowed to the king. “Your Majesty, I am happy to see you today.”

“The pleasure is mutual, Your Excellency,” King Henry replied, drawling each word and eyeing the ambassador’s appearance. “Why are you wearing yellow?”

Chabot’s face showed his confusion. “Actually, I am wearing white and yellow.”

“Mainly yellow and some white,” Henry amended him, smiling with only his lips. “In Spain, the yellow color used to be a symbol of mourning, but now they mainly associate it with heresy. People, who are accused of heresy and refuse to recant, are forced to come before the Spanish Inquisition dressed in a yellow cape.” He frowned. “Did you, Your Excellency, develop an interest in Martin Luther’s ideas and, afraid of your master’s wrath, clothed yourself in yellow in advance as a heretic before an inquisitor?”

The Duke of Suffolk grinned malevolently. Earlier Charles had liked Philippe de Chabot, and his feelings had been reciprocated. In the summer of 1534, Chabot had come to England with a diplomatic mission to negotiate the marriage of Elizabeth Tudor to Charles de Valois, who was known as Duke d’Angoulême at that time. The admiral had willingly spent two weeks at Suffolk’s estate, not hurrying to come to the court as he hadn’t wished to meet with Anne Boleyn whom he had always felt unwelcomed by. However, Charles’ perception of Admiral de Brion had drastically changed after the recent scandal around Thomas Cromwell.

While both Henry and Charles had been genuinely puzzled with the role of King François in the matter, Henry was blinded by anger and nostalgia for his past with Anne, which had undermined his ability to clearly see the reality. Henry wasn’t sure that François was involved in the matter, but Charles had the opposite opinion. Brandon didn’t favor an Anglo-French alliance, openly espousing a pro-Imperial policy at every meeting of Privy Council. If England’s relations with France worsened, he wouldn’t be chagrined.