The Lady in the Tower (46 page)

There were one or two minor irritations. Henry demanded that Katharine should give up her jewels. Although as Queen of England she had been wearing them for years, they did not belong to her but were the property of the Crown. Henry said that, now God had shown him that theirs was no true marriage, the jewels must be returned.

The fact was that he wanted me to wear them during the French visit and after my marriage they would be in my possession.

Katharine indignantly refused to return them. She would not give up such jewels to adorn the person who was the scandal of Christendom, she declared, and whose very presence at Court brought ignominy to the Crown.

Katharine could be very bold, and always there was the shadow of the Emperor beside her. For that reason, although she might be insulted, even the King would not dare harm her physically.

But the Emperor was far away and the King was supreme in England and promising to be even more so than he had been before.

He now commanded her to deliver up the jewels, and messengers were sent to collect them.

It was wonderful to have them but I did regret that they had had to be forced from Katharine.

Then there was the Duchess of Suffolk. As the ex-Queen of France she would renew many old acquaintances, for Henry wished her to accompany us. She had always been stubborn, and she had, of course, special privileges with the King. He always thought of her as his little sister Mary. She had married Suffolk and overcome his displeasure. And now she resolutely refused to come to France with us.

This was, of course, because I was going. Had Katharine been in my place, Mary would have been happy to join the party.

I did not know what I wished for—whether he should command her to come, which would have been most unpleasant for she would have been very disagreeable, I was sure, or whether he should give way and accept her refusal, which was an insult to me. In either case it was not very pleasant, but really, as I said, just a minor irritation.

Then there was Suffolk himself. Henry was really angry with him. Because of his longstanding friendship with Henry and his close
relationship to him through marriage, he had had the temerity to suggest that the idea for the trip was not a good one.

I guessed what his comments were. Henry was taking a woman not his wife, and flaunting her as his Queen on a visit to another state. It was a mistake, even though François had sent messages expressing his pleasure.

Henry had been furious.

As a result Suffolk had been sent from Court—not to remain in exile but to prepare without delay for the journey. As this was going to be very costly, Suffolk was far from pleased; and his wife insisted on staying at home.

Even though François had welcomed the plan so enthusiastically, the visit had its less pleasant side. He was to meet us at Boulogne, but none of the ladies of the French Court would accompany him.

Of course, the important person was François.

“We'll do better without the ladies,” said Henry, but it naturally meant there would be occasions when I could not be present.

I had to remind myself that it was probably the first time a King had taken with him a woman who was not his wife on what must be a state visit.

“In any case,” he added, “I would not wish to meet the Queen of France.” She was Eleanora of Austria, sister of Charles, and therefore Katharine's niece. “I'd rather meet the devil than a lady in Spanish dress,” added Henry.

In spite of all these setbacks, plans went ahead. There was a certain amount of misgiving of which I could not fail to be aware. It was a daring thing to do to take me away with him on such an occasion before there had been a marriage ceremony. True, I was now a peeress with one of the highest titles in the land, but I was more unpopular than ever with the people.

Nevertheless I was happy, and so was Henry. He could not bear to leave my side; he sent the company ahead to Dover so that we could be alone—or almost—together. We stayed at the house of Thomas Cheyney—always a good friend to me—and Henry insisted that there should be no fuss and we would live simply for a few days. This we did— riding together… eating alone… and living away from people…privately. I was surprised how much we both enjoyed it. Perhaps I was beginning to love him. It is difficult for a woman of my nature not to be fond of one who shows such care for her.

Love changed Henry; he was both ardent and grateful; it made a different man of him; and I liked that man better than the mighty King; or it may be that I enjoyed seeing the mighty King reduced to a humble lover. It was difficult to think of Henry without his royalty. It was so much a part of him; and to think that he could cast it aside was very endearing.

He said he had never been so happy in his life as during those days we spent away from the rest of the company, and what joy it gave him to contemplate that in a very short time we should be married.

We could not live in our sylvan paradise forever. We had to go on to Dover.

As we rode along, I noticed the looks of the people; they were more sullen than vituperative. They did not approve of the French visit—well, perhaps it was not the visit, but the fact that I was accompanying the King.

There was plague in some of the hamlets along the southeast route. A sign, said the people. There were all sorts of omens. People had dreams. Some saw a sign in the sky—a comet perhaps. But it was more likely to have been conjured out of someone's imagination. Someone else had seen a strange creature in the sea. It looked like a fish, but it was not. It had the face of a man. What its purpose was supposed to be, I had no idea— except that it was some dire warning because of our evil ways. And all these signs meant that God was not pleased with a king who put away his wife and flaunted his concubine—even before the eyes of the King of France.

In due course we embarked for Calais. We had a fair crossing in spite of the dire prophecies. A great welcome had been arranged for us. The town was
en fête
. The townspeople were gathered to cheer us as we went first to the church of St. Nicholas, where Mass was celebrated and we gave thanks for our safe crossing. After that we were taken to the lodgings which had been prepared for us. Henry's huge bed and furniture which we had brought with us had gone on before and were already installed.

They were wonderful days. Henry and I were together most of the time. He took great pleasure in riding the town with me. I was cheered by the people there. How different from the reception I had from the people at home! Perhaps the news had not reached Calais or perhaps they were so glad to have us there, with our ceremonies to enliven their days, that they accepted me as part of it.

It was wonderful to see Thomas Wyatt again. He was as handsome as ever and delighted to see me in such good spirits.

“Do you remember those days at Hever still?” he asked me.

“They will never be forgotten, Thomas,” I answered.

“I rejoice in your good fortune, but it is bad fortune for me.”

“How so?”

“Because you are lost to me forever.”

“Thomas,” I said seriously, “there must be no such talk.”

“Indeed not. Look what it cost me before! I still have the tablet.”

“Then do not let it be seen.”

“It was such a cause for royal jealousy.”

“Thomas, there must be no more.”

“Anne! Queen Anne! Well, you were made for distinction.”

“You too, Thomas.”

“You will be remembered as the Queen. I perhaps… perhaps not… as a poet.”

He wrote a charming poem at that time which was for me. I always remembered it.

It could not help but please me that a man such as Wyatt had loved me for so long. Yet I was a little fearful of him. He was very impetuous. But perhaps he had grown wiser now. He knew what it meant to offend the King.

Henry seemed to have forgotten the affair of the tablet and the slander which Suffolk had spoken against Wyatt and me. Now that we were lovers he was satisfied. I had managed to convince him that my passion
for him matched his for me; and if I was less sexually ecstatic than someone like my sister Mary, he would regard that as evidence of my finer nature.

I was perfect to him in those days. Moreover, with François's approval we should soon be married. Then his conscience would be at ease, for Cromwell and Cranmer were working assiduously to prove that Henry's marriage to Katharine was no marriage, and soon he and I would be together without having to endure the occasional—very occasional now—twinges of that infuriating conscience.

After a week in Calais, during which preparations were made to welcome the French King there, Henry rode off to meet François at Boulogne. It had been decided, after a great deal of consideration, that it would be better if I did not accompany him, as we had been warned that the ladies of the French Court would not be coming with François. I did not like this, but I understood it. Until I was actually married to Henry, I could not be treated on ceremonial occasions as his Queen; and like Henry, I had no wish to meet the French Queen since she was Katharine's niece. It would have made a very awkward situation; but all this would soon be at an end, for Henry had decided that our marriage should take place in a week's time; and if François was a guest at the ceremony, that would mean a great deal to us.

Meanwhile I remained in Calais. I had devised several masques which I wanted to be considered witty, amusing and elegant, even to French tastes. Wyatt was present and he would write some of his verses, and everyone must admit that he was a poet of quality.

Henry had spared no expense in fitting out the castle's banqueting chamber, and it was hung with tissue of silver and gold, the seams of the material studded with glittering stones and pearls. The plate was all gold. It was going to be very elaborate and worthy of our guest, the King of France.

I was impatiently awaiting their return. Then the all-important ceremony would take place, and my fears would be at an end. I should go back to England as Queen.

The meeting of the two Kings had been, I heard, a glittering occasion. I wondered if they had both been reminded of that other meeting at Guines and Ardres. They embraced warmly, as though there had never been any enmity between them. François had arranged entertainments for Henry at Boulogne; but I knew he would be impatient to return to me, and I thought it was a pity the ladies of the French Court had not come, for then I could have been present. I tried to convince myself that
it was really due to the fact that the Queen of France was so closely related to Katharine, and the last person she would want to see was Henry, who had just cast off her aunt.

So I supposed it was a wise decision, although a little galling, and it would give them the impression that they had not come because I was not Henry's wife.

I consoled myself that that would soon be remedied.

In due course the two Kings arrived in Calais.

I was received with the utmost graciousness by François. He soon dispensed with ceremony and told me that I had become even more beautiful than he remembered. I could hardly say the same of him with truth. A great deal had happened to François since those days of his early kingship. Those years of imprisonment in Madrid, where he had almost lost his life, had taken their toll on him. He looked debauched, which was not surprising after the life he had led; but François had an innate charm, and his graceful manners and general elegance could not fail to please.

There was to be a banquet in the splendidly decorated hall, but before that I had an opportunity of being with Henry alone.

He kissed me with passion and said the separation had seemed long, but I noticed that he was deeply concerned about something. As our wedding was to take place so soon, I felt a tremor of alarm.

And well I might.

It was not long before he was telling me all about it.

The wedding ceremony which we had planned could not take place. François, who had urged us to marry in France and return home with the deed already done, was now of a different opinion.

The Emperor Charles had defeated the Turks, so they were no longer a threat to him. This meant he would be free to turn his attention elsewhere. We could guess that that could mean France.

In the circumstances, François could not appear to give his public approval to our marriage, although he hoped we would continue to regard him as our very good friend.

“So,” I gasped, “there is to be no marriage.”

“Not here. We shall have to postpone it… but only for a short while.”

I was angry. Once more I was faced with frustration. I had been so certain that all would be well, and I should have security within a few days, and now to have it snatched away from me, just as I was about to reach out and take it, was more than I could bear.

“How dare he!” I cried.

“Sweetheart, he has good reason. It is true that, if he gave his outward blessing to us, the Emperor would take his revenge. We must see his side, my dearest.”

“He has tricked us.”

“No…no. It is the King of France of whom you speak.”

“I care not for kings.”

He raised his eyebrows and looked grave. He said, slightly coolly: “I trust there is one King you care about…”

I threw myself into his arms. He was very patient with me. I often marveled at that afterward. He stroked my hair. “You must not be distressed,” he said. “It is a bitter disappointment… but it is not the first we have had, eh? We'll get over it. Mayhap it would be better to be married at home. Doubtless there would be some to question its legality… if it took place here.”