by Alison Weir
Leaving them to mourn in private, the new Duke Wilhelm V, stricken-faced and burning up with a fever, followed his father’s coffin to its burial in Kleve. When he returned, he took to his bed, seriously ill, and for some weeks it seemed he would be following Duke Johann to the grave.
If Wilhelm died, which God forfend, Sybilla would be sovereign duchess of Kleve. Would she pursue the alliance with England? Almost certainly, because her husband the Elector was all for it. Between brother and sister, there was no way out for Anna.
Slowly, to everyone’s relief, Wilhelm improved. By the third week of March, thin and pale, he was able to sit in a chair and receive visitors. From her window, Anna saw a messenger wearing the Elector’s livery galloping into the courtyard. An hour later, Wilhelm summoned her to his bedchamber and told her, with a hint of gleefulness, that the English deputation were frustrated at having made such little progress, and that King Henry was dispatching ambassadors to Kleve itself to treat of the alliance. The envoys had asked the Elector to exhort Wilhelm to weigh the matter seriously, as it concerned the King’s own person.
And what of my person? Anna fumed inwardly.
“The English grow anxious!” Wilhelm said. “The Elector writes that they keep reminding him that the Protestant cause would be greatly advanced by the influence of a Lutheran queen of England, this King being so uxorious that the best way of managing him is through his wives.”
“But I am no Lutheran!” Anna protested. “How dare they assume that!”
“They are but cozening favor with the Elector, Anna. Already he has promised to do his best to advance this alliance. He exhorts me to consent to the marriage, and has promised to send your portrait to England.”
“He should have consulted you first,” Anna said. “He had no right to act on Kleve’s behalf.”
“Schwester,” Wilhelm said, patiently, “he is acting on my behalf; he has had to, as I have been ill. But the picture will not be sent—not yet, anyway. To give me time to weigh the matter, he has told the envoys that his painter, Meister Cranach, is sick.”
One must be grateful for small delays.
“I suppose no one has suggested that I might like to see a portrait of the King,” Anna said. “Is he as handsome as reputed? Does it not occur to anyone that that might matter to me?”
Wilhelm regarded her severely. “It ought not to. There are higher matters at play in this betrothal. It will be your duty to love your husband, and you must endeavor to do so, and study him well, so that you can please him.”
“Of course I hope to love my husband!” she retorted. “But there is a world of difference between the dutiful love of which you speak, and the true love that was between Mutter and Vater, and which Sybilla has clearly found with the Elector. That is what I hope for from marriage.”
“Then I will pray you will have it, Anna. Yet there is more to a princely marriage. King Henry has already been told of your beauty and your virtue. Sybilla and the Elector have been praising your fairness, your honesty, and your gravity.”
“I hope they don’t make me sound too much like a paragon of loveliness and womanly perfection, for I am but human! I hope the King will not be misled.”
“Speaking as a man, Anna, I think most men would find you pleasing.” It was a rare compliment from Wilhelm, who deplored the sin of vanity. Touched, Anna kissed him on the cheek.
“So you will be conformable?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” she conceded, sighing. “I will look forward with good grace to the coming of the English ambassadors.”
As she returned to her chamber, she took comfort in the knowledge that all was as yet tentative, that marriage negotiations could drag on for a long time—and that betrothals could be broken. Picking up her mirror, she gazed into the burnished silver and appraised her image. Yes, it was pleasing, but beautiful? No. She had a rosy complexion, and a heart-shaped face with a pretty mouth and finely arched brows, but her eyes were too heavy-lidded, her chin too pointed, and her nose too long, too broad at the tip. Yet she was tall and graceful, with a good, slender figure and delicate hands. Was it enough to please a man like King Henry, who had probably been pursued by beautiful women all his life? Or was the King, like her brother, one to appreciate the more sober qualities in ladies, such as modesty, humility, and piety? She prayed it was the latter.
* * *
—
In early spring, amid much speculation at court, Dr. Heinrich Olisleger, the Vice Chancellor, and other high officers of Kleve arrived back from Cologne and hastened to report to the Duke. Wilhelm had bidden Anna, Mutter, and Emily be present at the audience, and they were sitting discreetly in the corner of his presence chamber.
Dr. Olisleger was a sturdy man in his late thirties, with a spade beard and a bushy mustache. Wealthy, of bourgeois origins, and utterly loyal, he was a dedicated humanist, and had been one of Vater’s most trusted councillors.
“Your Grace,” he said, “we have met the English envoys and had preliminary talks with them. Dr. Wotton is their spokesman; he is a lawyer; Herr Carne is a scholar and diplomat, Herr Berde a member of the King’s Privy Chamber. Herr Barnes you know of, as the King’s chief emissary to the Protestant princes. They have sent him in the hope that he will find favor with you. All of them speak good German.”
Wilhelm nodded. “Have they told you anything of their instructions?”
Dr. Olisleger permitted himself a wry smile. “Certainly they were keen to learn about the Lady Anna’s appearance and character.” He bowed to Anna. “I think they were happy with what we told them, for they immediately said they were empowered to offer King Henry’s friendship to your Grace. They crave an audience. I suspect they wish to ensure that you are genuinely interested in an alliance. If so, they would like to have sight of the Princess, and her portrait to send to the King. If he likes her, he will be glad to honor your Grace’s house and family with an alliance.”
Anna could barely contain her indignation. It was outrageous that King Henry should make this crucial alliance dependent on her personal appeal! But gradually it dawned on her that perhaps, like her, he wished for a marriage in which love could flourish. And who could blame him for not taking any chances this fourth time? This might not be the marriage she had once dreamed of, but maybe, with a willingness on both sides to make it work, it might just be a success. That was in everyone’s interests.
Wilhelm was thoughtful. “I do not wish to appear to be rushing into the English King’s open arms, exulting at my sister’s good fortune. Keeping his Majesty in hopeful anticipation may enable us to obtain greater advantages. More importantly, I mean to ensure that the Lady Anna will be well treated in England, and accorded the status she deserves. His Majesty should be made aware that she has been raised virtuously in our lady mother’s household. I am concerned about how she will fare as queen in a court known for its licentiousness. In view of what has happened to the King’s other wives, I must ensure my sister’s happiness.”
Anna felt a warm rush of gratitude to Wilhelm, but Dr. Olisleger looked dubious. “Your Grace, the King may not be disposed to wait. He might be offended by any delay on our part, and then we shall lose any advantage we have, for the match will be off. In my humble opinion, the negotiations should be concluded as soon as possible.”
“Very well,” Wilhelm said. “Tell the envoys to present themselves in Kleve in two days’ time, and I will receive them.”
* * *
—
Two days had passed, and Wilhelm was still tarrying in Düsseldorf. Only in the evening did he depart for Kleve.
“It seems rude of him to keep the envoys waiting,” Anna observed to Emily, as they sat up late, wrapped in their nightgowns, on Anna’s bed. “He needs this alliance, as does King Henry. I wish they would stop playing games and get things settled.”
“You are growing to like th
e idea of marrying the King,” Emily said, plaiting her long tresses.
“I’m not sure,” Anna confessed. “I was horrified at first, but I do see the advantages of an alliance, and I want to do what is right for Kleve.”
“The noble maiden sacrificing herself for her people!” Emily hooted, tossing the plait over her shoulder.
Anna smiled. “Something like that.”
“I will miss you,” Emily said, and Anna saw she was near to tears.
“I haven’t gone yet, and there is no certainty that I will,” she replied, feeling a constriction in her throat at the thought of leaving Kleve, her sister, and all those whom she loved—perhaps forever. She had been brought up knowing it might happen one day, had seen Sybilla depart for Saxony at just fourteen, and knew that she herself had been lucky to remain at home for so long; but the prospect of saying goodbye to her family and her country was heartbreaking. She was certain she would suffer the most dreadful homesickness. “We will write to each other, and maybe you can visit me in England,” she said, with as much brightness as she could muster.
“I would love to go to England and be queen,” Emily sighed.
“And marry a man who has buried three unhappy wives?”
“Maybe they made him unhappy.”
Anna was dubious. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“Think on it,” Emily said, throwing herself back on the pillows and stretching out like a cat. “He needed a son, so he tried to divorce his first wife because she couldn’t give him one. She was stubborn and refused to agree; you can see why he got angry with her. And then the second wife, Anne Boleyn, she couldn’t give him a son and she was unfaithful to him. That’s treason. She got what she deserved. He was happy with his third wife, but it wasn’t his fault she died in childbed, was it?”
“No,” Anna had to agree. “It’s just that he is so much older than me—more than twice my age. I fear I will not please him—and, if I don’t, that something awful will befall me.”
“Nonsense, Anna! Any man would be lucky to have you. He will fall in love with you instantly, as soon as he sees you.”
“I hope you are right. If I find the kind of love our parents shared, I will be content.”
She lay wakeful after Emily had gone to bed. Clearly the King was well disposed toward her, and looking for marital happiness. If she pleased him and took care never to offend him, and conducted herself in such a way that none could reproach her or accuse her of anything, and King Henry did not notice anything amiss on their wedding night, then nothing ill could befall her. She might even find happiness herself. Oh, but there were too many ifs!
* * *
—
Wilhelm returned from Kleve. Anna was discouraged to hear from Mutter that he had not seen the envoys, even after keeping them waiting an unconscionably long time. In his wake came Dr. Olisleger, who had spoken with them. When Wilhelm summoned Anna to his cabinet to hear about their meeting, Olisleger was there waiting for her.
“My Lady Anna,” he said, “I have spoken at length with the Englishmen, in company with Chancellor Hograve and other officers of the Duke.”
“You did not speak to them yourself?” Anna challenged Wilhelm.
“Vice Chancellor Olisleger excused my absence, as I had directed.” Wilhelm smiled faintly. “It does not do to appear too eager.”
Anna threw him an exasperated look. His stalling might well cost Kleve the alliance.
Olisleger spoke. “I assured the English envoys there was no deliberate delay on our part. But, Sir, they still behave as if the King is doing us a great favor, and express astonishment that you are not falling over yourself to accept the Lady Anna’s good fortune. They believe you are procrastinating to wring the most advantageous terms from their master.”
“They are right,” Wilhelm said. “I’m not sure I can afford to provide the Lady Anna with an appropriate dowry. And I want to know more about the terms King Henry is offering, and what dower he will settle on her for her maintenance. Then I will determine what answer I will give the King.”
“So I told them, Sir. I also informed them, as you commanded, that they will have portraits of both ladies within fourteen days.”
“Both ladies?” Anna echoed, surprised.
“Yes, Madam. That is what the King has asked for.”
Anna looked sharply at Wilhelm. “But I thought that I, as the elder sister, was the one under consideration?”
“So I was given to believe,” her brother said, “but his Majesty wishes to make a choice.”
Anna did not quite know how she felt. On the one hand, she was relieved that she might not have to leave Kleve after all; on the other, her pride was a little wounded. What if the King decided he fancied Emily best? How humiliating that would be for Anna, for her younger sister to be chosen over her and married first! Always she would be remembered as the rejected bride.
Wilhelm was speaking to Olisleger, oblivious to her discomposure. “They can have the portraits that were painted six months ago.”
“No, not mine, please!” Anna protested. She had been painted in profile, wearing a ghastly hat chosen by Mutter. She looked lumpen and fat, and too heavy in the chin—and she did not want King Henry, or anyone else, seeing her like that. Emily’s likeness was much closer to life, and very winning. There was no doubt who the King would choose.
Wilhelm frowned.
“If I may offer an opinion, Sir,” Olisleger intervened, “that portrait of the Lady Anna does her no justice.” Anna smiled at him gratefully.
“Then we will have to arrange for another to be painted,” the Duke said, “and find a better artist.”
“I will see to that, Sir,” Olisleger promised.
The envoys had been wasting time in Kleve for five weeks now. Even the Elector of Saxony was losing patience with Wilhelm, and had sent Vice Chancellor Burchard to urge him to ensure that negotiations moved forward. Wilhelm insisted that Anna and Emily be present when he received this most respected and influential statesman, and ensured that the English envoys were there too. Anna was bracing herself to make a good impression, but then Wilhelm mentioned that the envoys were not to be presented to either her or Emily.
“You will not mingle with the throng. You will stand behind my chair, and you will both dress as our mother decrees. I have asked her to ensure that you are modestly and discreetly attired.”
That meant being swathed in voluminous black gowns from neck to feet, and wearing floppy feathered hats that overshadowed their faces. Really, Anna thought, they could not have appeared more unbecoming!
“We look like frights!” Emily complained, as they walked sedately to the presence chamber.
“They will think Wilhelm is hiding us from view because we are deformed or ugly,” Anna protested.
“Your brother has his reasons,” Mutter said firmly, and would not be drawn further.
* * *
—
Vice Chancellor Burchard, in his sober black gown, bowed before Wilhelm. He had a world-weary face, shrewd eyes, and heavy jowls. Discreetly, Anna swiveled her eyes to the English envoys, who were standing some distance away. Their spokesman, Dr. Wotton, had a gaunt, kind face. They were all staring at her and Emily with undisguised interest.
The audience consisted of mere pleasantries. Only in the afternoon, when Burchard retired with Wilhelm and Olisleger to the private cabinet, did the real business of the day begin. Anna, seated with Emily and Mutter at the table, watched Wilhelm resist Burchard’s attempts to get him to approve the alliance.
“The English are weary of delays and excuses,” Burchard argued. “They say that you, Vice Chancellor Olisleger, know that well enough.”
Olisleger mopped his brow. “I do indeed.” He glanced despairingly at the glowering Wilhelm. “What troubles them most is that they have not seen the young ladies here—or
not properly. They complained at dinner about the apparel their Graces were wearing this morning. They called it monstrous—saving your presence, my ladies—and said they could see no sight of their faces or their persons. I’m afraid I got rather testy and asked if they wanted to see them naked!”
“Really!” Mutter exclaimed. Anna squirmed with embarrassment. Emily giggled.
“My apologies to your Graces.” Olisleger looked abashed. “They said they just wanted to see the ladies. I said I would arrange that presently.”
“Please, my lord Duke,” Burchard intervened, “will you not send ambassadors to the King to offer the Lady Anna? At least, then, you will know where you stand, and what terms the King offers.”
Olisleger nodded his approval.
“I cannot spare anyone now,” Wilhelm said irritably. “I need my diplomats for a meeting in Guelders.”
The chancellor sighed. “My lord, this is getting us nowhere. Maybe you should unburden yourself of the real reason why you are worried about proceeding with the marriage—which I have had to divulge in confidence to the English envoys.”
Anna stared at her brother. Wilhelm looked nonplussed for a moment, then recovered himself. “Anna, I am concerned that your betrothal to Francis of Lorraine is still valid, and that you are not free to marry.”
She was stunned. “But Vater said the precontract had no force because the promises were made only between the fathers, as Francis and I were too young to give our consents. Vater told me we were at liberty to marry where we would.”
“He said as much to me too,” Mutter declared firmly.
“And that is the truth of the matter, as I have assured his Grace here several times,” Olisleger said, “and the envoys.”
