Between Two Kings (36 page)

“Maybe.” Anne also spoke in English, imitating the king. She was scared. She didn’t want François to know that she had an affair with the English poet. She didn’t want to tell him that she had fooled Henry that she had been a virtuous girl when he had taken her “innocence”. It was her secret forever.

François looked at his wife, slightly narrowing his eyes. “Anne, Sir Thomas Wyatt wrote this poem in your honor, after your supposed death. My ambassador informed me that Thomas Wyatt was your admirer and that he dedicated many poems to you.” His voice was calm and silken. Yet, something flickered in his eyes for a second, and Anne noticed it.

Her heart was beating violently in her chest. “Thomas Wyatt is a poet and admires many women.”

The amber eyes twinkled. A strange smile hovered over his lips. “Sir Thomas Wyatt was also arrested at the order of King Henry and imprisoned in the Tower of London for allegedly committing adultery with you, Anne Boleyn.” He paused. “Why didn’t Henry execute him?”

Anne forced herself not to betray her fears. Her face was like a marble statue. It took a great deal of effort to control her behavior. She looked into François’ eyes and spoke. “Thomas Wyatt was released from the Tower thanks to his family’s friendship with Thomas Cromwell. I don’t know whether he returned to his duties at the court.”

François shook his head. “My spies reported that Thomas Wyatt is currently not in favor at the court. Now he is at the Allington Castle.”

François’ questions about Thomas Wyatt were a disaster. Anne was scared François would learn about her affair with Thomas Wyatt. Their amourette was her greatest mistake; it was a short affair that had finished a long time ago. If François learned about it, he would probably stop trusting her and they would have a serious quarrel. Moreover, the King of France could start thinking that Anne could have deceived him about something important. They had formed a bond of friendship, and she hankered to keep it safe from destruction.

Anne looked right into his eyes, her own eyes blazed with challenge. “Your Majesty, I can see where you are going with your questions and hints.” She had to stay calm. She drew a deep breath and went on. “I swear on the lives of my children with King Henry and on the life of our unborn child that I never betrayed King Henry with any other man when we were married and during our courtship.”

She crossed herself and put a hand on her stomach. Indeed, she had spoken the truth because she had never been unfaithful to King Henry since the moment she realized how serious Henry’s intentions to her were and that she had loved him.

François glanced into her shimmering blue eyes and saw that she said the truth. Undoubtedly, she didn’t lie – he had already learnt to understand when she lied and said the truth. Yet, he had a feeling that there was something romantic between Anne and Thomas Wyatt. He wouldn’t press her. What was in the past was in the past. He didn’t care whether Anne was a virgin or not when Henry took her in his bed for the first time. Yet, he cared whether she was fully frank and honest with him or not. He didn’t want to live in the dark shadows of the past or to be deceived by her. “I believe you that you never betrayed Henry with other men,” he said sincerely.

She smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” A feeling of relief washed over her.

The smile disappeared from his face. “Anne, if there is something I don’t know about your arrest and imprisonment, you must tell me about it,” the king half suggested, half obliged her. “I am honest with you, and I won’t tolerate lies in our marriage. If there is something that I don’t know and if it can somehow harm us in our marriage, you should tell me about it by yourself. If you ever lie to me in something really serious, you will see me from a new, unpleasant side, and I would never want that to happen. I want you to remember this.” His voice was calm and low, without any note of danger or threat, but the message was clear.

Anne was unnerved by his words and the clear warning for her. She had a sudden impulse to tell him the truth, but she didn’t dare open her secret to him, at least not now. Anyway, her affair with Thomas Wyatt wasn’t related to her arrest and imprisonment – it had been a long time ago, before Henry’s courtship and before her ultimate arrest. She smiled. “Your Majesty, I told you the whole story about my downfall.” She hadn’t lied about her arrest and the trumped-up charges against her. Indeed, if François had been more direct and asked her whether she had slept with Wyatt before her courtship with King Henry, she wouldn’t have lied to him because she couldn’t have found moral strength to deny that. Yet, some things might remain unsaid, she mused.

“Very well,” François replied shortly. He placed his hand on her abdomen. His eyes warmed up. “Will we have a girl or a boy? What do you think?” His amber eyes were taking in her beauty. Her skin was smooth, her eyes large, almond-shaped, and blue, and her shape well-curved and slim.

Anne shrugged. It was an unusual question. Henry had wanted only sons with her, and for him every pregnancy meant hope for a son. François had male heirs, and she didn’t know whom he wanted. “Whom do you prefer to have?”

François laughed. “I believe that we cannot determine the gender of a child. It is God’s will.” He trailed off and stared at her as her face depicted astonishment. He laughed at her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will be happy to have a girl who is as beautiful and intelligent as you are. If it is a boy, I will also be happy.”

Anne smiled with an innocent smile. It was new and strange for her that François didn’t mind having a girl, but it was truly amazing. “I want to have a healthy child.” And it was true.

François nodded. “Probably, now for political alliances a daughter would be preferable,” he added.

“Yes, we are good political allies,” she said with a smile.

François sighed heavily. “Do you see anything else?” he cautiously asked. He drew his fingers through her curls that tumbled down her back and shoulders in an unruly raven wave.

Anne was silent and blinked in response. “Your Majesty?” She didn’t know what he meant.

François took her hands in his and kissed each of them, then held her right hand near his lips. “There is something. It is a matter of the heart. It is intertwined with the power and politics, as though power and love might be neighbors.” He hinted at his feelings as he wasn’t sure that it would be good to tell her everything in a straightforward manner. He wasn’t sure that she would appreciate his confession. He knew that her heart had closed after the horror of her marriage to Henry. If he wanted to do something with it, he would have to melt ice in her heart over time.

“Your Majesty, what in Heaven’s name do you mean by that?”

François laughed quietly and cupped her face. “Anne, I believe the greatest sin against God is to be false. If one is not true to oneself, then it is impossible to be true to God. You should understand your heart.” He said that because he had also struggled to realize that he had fallen in love with her. He also said that because he was sure that she was utterly confused about her new life. With displeasure, he also suspected she was often living in the past. “And then you can be following your heart, provided that it doesn’t torment you,” he opined. The hint was about Henry Tudor whose love was destructive and tormenting, if it could even be called love.

Anne only blinked in response. Then François kissed Anne gently on her lips. It was the tenderest kiss she had ever shared with the King of France.

The next morning, Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, Duchess d’Étampes, left the palace and glanced up into a broad, slightly pink night sky, her hands linked behind her back for what felt like an eternity. She was saying farewell words to her previous life as the royal grand favorite and to the love of her life – King François.

Duchess d’Étampes looked around. Several French courtiers had gathered on the front steps of the palace looking at the leaving mistress of the French king. Anne had no doubt that they come to look at her demise as they realized she had probably been ordered by the king to depart to France after Queen Anne arrived in Turin. Anne de Pisseleu wanted to run away from there.

She was dull and felt lifeless, but she didn’t show her true mood to the whole world. She had learnt the art of ambivalence to perfection at the French court. She needed to appear confident and indifferent. Confidence was essential to survive the silent whispers, gossips, and other troubles now cast at the royal favorite. Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly had learned that. She acted like Françoise de Foix, Countess de Châteaubriant, who was the first official mistress that François had taken. Both women took what the position afforded them, holding their heads high despite all the whispers behind their backs.

Anne raised her chin and smiled at the courtiers. Then she climbed into the carriage. Her sister Péronne de Pisseleu followed her. Péronne ordered the coachman to move. As the carriage moved, two more carriages followed. In one carriage, there were the ladies-in-waiting of Duchess d’Étampes; another carriage was assigned for the luggage. Duchess d’Étampes was leaving Turin for France at the order of King François.

Péronne de Pisseleu stared at Anne with alarmed attention. Anne had told her the whole story about the previous evening. Since then, Péronne watched her sister and she didn’t like what she saw. Anne de Pisseleu was more dangerous if she was taciturn than if she chatted and laughed. After an hour of silence, Péronne finally spoke. “What will you do now, sister?”

Anne de Pisseleu turned her head to Péronne. “Nothing in the next month,” she answered. “François doesn’t want me. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t need me.” Her voice was calm.

“Anne, what are you up to? I know you too well to admit that you will let the king break your relations. You will struggle on the battlefield, trying to defeat the mysterious Queen of France.”

Anne laughed. “I won’t let François go. Most likely, I will have to wait and later decide what to do.”

“How long are you planning to wait?” Péronne asked.

Anne shrugged. “I don’t know. At least till the time when François comes back to France.”

“What are his further plans?”

“I think he and his wife will leave Turin soon.” Duchess d’Étampes paused and glanced outside the window of the carriage. “She is pregnant. François will never allow her to stay in Piedmont.”

“Are you sure that Queen Anne is with child?”

“Yes, I am sure. I saw it with my own eyes, although her gown masked it quite well.”

Péronne smiled maliciously. “We can make sure she will have a miscarriage. There are many herbs…”

Duchess d’Étampes raised her hand for silence. “No, we will never do it. It is too dangerous. If the queen dies from bleeding, it might have tragic consequences for us. The death of the child could also be bad for us.” She narrowed her eyes. “It will show on me too easily, and I don’t need it. We will play a more sophisticated game against François’ damned wife.” She sighed heavily. “Besides, I will never let the child die because of me. Even though I hate the queen, I cannot wish an unborn child dead.” She lowered her voice. “You know about my troubles.”

Péronne nodded sullenly. “I know, Anne.”

“We tried everything to get me pregnant by François.” Duchess d’Étampes raised her voice. “But, nothing worked! Absolutely nothing!” Anne felt tears oozing in the corners of her emerald eyes. “I would love, with all my heart, to have a child with François, but I cannot conceive.” She blinked her tears away. “I hate this mysterious Queen Anne! I hate her because she conceived his child so quickly while I couldn’t do the same in ten years!”

“She conceived within two months after they married.”

“Oh, Péronne, I saw Queen Anne, and I think François got her pregnant at the very beginning because she is surely a little more than five months along in her pregnancy. Damn her! Damn her!” Anne de Pisseleu cursed in French. “When François slept with Jacqueline de La Trémoille five years ago, betraying me with her, Jacqueline conceived four months after the beginning of their liaison. His other lover, Claude de Rohan-Gié, conceived within three months after he first bedded her, but she miscarried. These mistresses are just the latest ones.”

“You upset yourself as you remember that,” Péronne assumed cautiously.

“Françoise de Foix was the most unlucky because she didn’t fall pregnant for several years after she became his mistress. Later her only daughter with François died in infancy,” Anne de Pisseleu continued, as though complaining about her fate that deprived her of any chance for motherhood. “Of course, there were many other women whom he impregnated in his early youth. I knew the names of all his mistresses, even though I was a very young girl at that time.” She laughed. “Damn Queen Anne! Damn her! François is mine!” she cried out.

“Anne, please calm down. Don’t scream.”

“Péronne, the coachman is Italian, and he doesn’t understand us.”

“The king has many spies everywhere, including in Italy. This man could be one of them, pretending that he doesn’t understand French,” Péronne warned.

Anne drew a deep breath. “It will be alright,” she spoke in a quieter voice.

“Then what will you do?”

“I have several spies in Turin, and they will notify me where François and Queen Anne go from here,” Anne replied as she glanced back at her sister. “I want to see Queen Anne’s face. There is something familiar in her, something that I have already seen in the past in somebody else.” The duchess shook her head in uncertainty. “I don’t know how to describe what I feel.”

“You can ally yourself with Anne de Montmorency. I am sure he doesn’t like the idea of the mysterious queen,” Péronne assumed.

“In either case, Queen Anne is the king’s wife, and she is carrying his child. I must think how to win the game with her,” Anne stated. Her thoughts drifted back to Queen Anne. “Queen Anne is not French. And she is not Italian,” she added.

“How do you know? Does her French reveal any kind of accent?”

The Duchess shook her head in denial. “No, her French is excellent, without any accent. But she is not French, and I feel it. And if she isn’t French, then it means that she was raised in France.”