It seemed that Anne had thought of everything. My first thought was that perhaps these ideas had come from another noble and Anne was merely taking credit for them; such things happened often in the court. But I dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came into my head – Anne had proven herself to me in predicting the Spanish attack.
Leaning back in my wooden chair I looked out one of the small windows. I could see nothing but dust, kicked up from the men drilling down below, the loud bellow of their commander coming in through the window. Looking before me, I shifted through the three letters before raising one and looking to my secretary.
“Prepare a letter.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the young boy said, neatly putting his papers aside and pulling out a fresh piece. “The usual greeting to Lord Cromwell?”
“No,” I answered. “Address a letter to the queen.”
***
Another week was spent with sparse cannoning of the enemy before a rider appeared, a waving a flag of truce.
“This could be a trap,” Norfolk said from behind my left shoulder. Since acquiring his son’s body three months prior, the man had ceased his grieving and returned to being my reliable courtier.
“Unlikely,” Charles countered from over my right shoulder. “He rides alone and is now in range of our archers. Unless the French suddenly have a stronger bow, there will be nothing lost from allowing one messenger in.”
“It’s unusual timing,” Norfolk snapped back. “There have been no serious exchanges of fire, no battles, no dead bodies. And I doubt the French have suddenly decided to retreat.”
“Perhaps they have realized the inevitability of their defeat,” I answered. Neither man responded as I turned to gesture to one of the knights to allow the man in.
“Prepare the larger chamber,” I ordered a page. “Tell Captain Owaine that he may continue training his men on the morrow if it is still necessary.” The small boy nodded and took off at quick trot.
“Follow,” I ordered to both dukes and they fell in behind me, careful to remain the same distance behind me on either side, neither allowing for the other to take precedence. I bit back a sigh at their continued rivalry but said nothing. It was now harmless; they had not taken arms against once another since I had courted Anne Boleyn, seven years ago. And they would not risk animosity now, in this strained situation.
It took us only minutes to reach the chamber, but by then it had been transformed. The page boy had not only expelled my guards but had taken the time to wipe down the table and have a small batch of fresh rushes littered around my chair. I was also pleased to see that the dishes from dinner had been cleared away and the room looked fairly presentable. By the door stood Owaine, his broad shoulders thrown back, and his posture excellent as always.
“Owaine, I wish for you to remain,” I ordered, crossing the room to the large chair that would serve as my throne for this audience. Owaine nodded and ordered the two guards currently assigned to me to wait outside during the visit. Once they exited, Owaine came to stand behind me, his fingers flexing by his sword. I would be in no danger as long as this young man stood by me.
I took my seat, and nodded for the dukes to do so as well, which they did in perfect unison. It was not courteous, but approaching a room of sitting men with a guard would hopefully unnerve the lowly noble sent to parlay with us, a fact we could use to our advantage.
We were not kept waiting long. A herald soon appeared accompanied by a young man, no more than twenty-five years, who rounded the corner with a bounce in his step. His sandy hair fell over his eyes, doing its best to hide a scar that ran down the length of his narrow face. He smiled as my herald snapped to attention.
“Your Majesty, Comte Huguet Du’Bernard!”
I nodded for the boy to approach but none of us stood; it was an insult that Francis would send someone with as lowly a rank as comte. And as young as this man was. Though I had no doubt he had seen battle, this man was obviously not the seasoned courtier Francis should have sent.
“Comte Du’Bernard,” I said when he reached the end of the old wooden table. “What message do you bring me from King Francis?”
“Your Majesty,” he said, his French accent holding onto the “t” as he dipped into a smart bow. “His most holy majesty, King Francis, has sent me here to call an early end to the season.”
Charles raised his eyebrows at me. Before I could answer, Norfolk addressed the boy.
“That’s preposterous!” he barked. “Ending the season in September? Hostilities rarely end before November. This siege could continue throughout the winter if necessary.”
“Yes,” Du’Bernard said with a sniff. “However, I do not think that would be advantageous to either of their majesties.”
“We are in no position to begin discussion on our plans for the winter,” I said before Norfolk could reply. “There must be a reason for King Francis to request this.”
“There is no advantage to a continued siege,” Du’Bernard argued. “An early end to the season would allow your majesty to return home.”
“Yes, and pulling our men out of Guînes would allow the French to return and run it over, in good weather no less,” Charles answered, managing to sound almost bored.
“King Francis would give you his word that no such thing would occur,” Du’Bernard replied.
“And what is that? The word of King Francis?” I answered. “I can recall dozens of King Francis’ promises that proved to mean less to him than to me. Perhaps I should remind you of his promises to the Emperor Charles and I after the Battle of Pavia.”
“His Majesty made that oath under duress,” Du’Bernard said, bristling at my accusation. “His own life was at stake.”
“Well what is so different now?” I asked.
Du’Bernard glanced about before lowering his eyes. I sensed we were finally to get some level of truth from the man.
“The Prince Henry has become most ill,” he said.
“The sickness,” Charles muttered to me. “I had heard that the prince had ridden out to see his father’s troops.”
“The prince is a grown man,” I countered, loud enough for Du’Bernard to hear. “What good will his father do?”
“His Majesty has grown most anxious in the past weeks as the Prince’s health has deteriorated,” Du’Bernard said, his voice lowering. “After losing his eldest son four years ago, Prince Henry has become precious to his father.”
I sighed, sitting back in my chair. No one knew better than I did the power a son could hold over his father, especially fathers such as Francis and I. It was not just a continuation of a family line; a son was often the only life that could save a country from civil war. And if Francis was anxious enough for his son to admit this to me, to send a comte to discuss the matter with me, then he was worried indeed. I imagined hearing the same of Edward and felt an immediate pain in my heart, worse than any physical pain I had ever been dealt, even worse than the pain I had felt after losing the infant sons Catherine had given birth to.
“Very well,” I finally said. Neither duke argued with me, but of course they had both lost sons as well and knew what pain Francis must be feeling. “We will have an accord signed up, we will agree to not attack the lands that France currently holds until after Easter of next year. My secretary will draw up the agreement that neither side will attack lands already in possession, and it will be sent with you for King Francis to ratify. If he agrees, return with the same flag of peace you came here with and we will meet with King Francis to sign the agreement.”
I nodded to a page who had been standing perfectly still in the corner.
“Lead the Comte Du’Bernard to the Duke of Norfolk’s outer chambers and have him served a meal.” The boy nodded and went to stand by the Comte who was studying me. After a moment I spoke.
“We will have the accord for you within the hour. We will move with as much haste as possible.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, with a bow muc
h deeper than when he entered. He then left quickly with the page. Once they had gone I nodded for Owaine to close the door.
Both dukes began to speak at once.
“Your Majesty, you cannot mean to —“
“I don’t care what the son has —“
I raised my hands and both men fell silent.
“We will leave a sizeable army here in France, most of which will be stationed at Calais under Lord Lisle, but a larger-than-usual garrison will remain here at Guînes,” I said. “It will be expensive, but necessary. This will allow us to return home and to deal with the possible Spanish invasion.”
“Your Majesty,” Norfolk said, cutting in before Charles could speak. “A six month break could revitalize the French. They will have a chance to gather greater stores, to pull men in and create a heavier defense system.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But it will give us a chance to reorganize as well. And Francis always had the power to revitalize, to bring in food from the southern countries. It will be expensive, but it can be done. However, this will give us a chance to reach out to the Duke of Cleaves and plan a double attack for the spring, and to finish training the men in Calais. We will have more maneuverability than we would, stuck here in Guînes for the duration of the siege.”
Neither duke looked particularly pleased with my argument, but both had known me long enough to realize my mind was made up. Neither one smiled as I motioned for a page boy.
“Go fetch my secretary,” I ordered. “We will have this accord signed by the end of the week.”
Chapter Eight
November, 1540
I should have known that none of my ideas would go as planned.
It took longer than I expected to complete the accord; neither the dukes nor I felt comfortable leaving Guînes before the end of October, a full month after we were approached by Francis. Even with his son dying, he could be a snake, looking for any opportunity to gain an advantage over me.
It was November when we reached Calais and another week was lost while storms hit the coast, making sailing to London impossible. For seven days I paced the corridors of Lord Lisle’s home, anxious to return to my home and the comforts that awaited me there.
At least my letters to England had set sail before the storms. As soon as I had heard that the small Spanish fleet had been sighted off the coast of southern France, I had written to Cromwell, ordering his immediate return to London, along with the court. The only exceptions were my daughters, both of whom were to return to their establishments. Anne and my regency council should have taken up residence in St. James Palace the same day that I arrived in Calais, but there were no letters to confirm this.
We sailed for England on the first clear day available to us. The winds were still strong and tossed the ship around. The sprays of the energetic sea made riding above deck unmanageable, so the dukes and I found ourselves below for most of the hectic journey.
Upon arriving at the soggy coast of Dover, we took immediately to horseback and rode on to London. It was tradition for me to rest in Dover after a crossing, but I was anxious to return home and see what damage had been done in my absence.
We arrived late and without fanfare. To my deep disappointment, most of the court had not arrived at St. James Palace. It seemed that Cromwell had gotten a later start leaving Hever than I had suggested. Furious, I allowed a minimal meal to be served to me before retiring to my chambers. The court was due the next day. I could speak with Cromwell when he arrived.
It would be unbecoming for a king to welcome his court to a palace, so I made sure Charles was there to greet the travelers and knew that he would take the chance to inform Cromwell of my anger. I, instead, took up residence at a window above the courtyard where the men would ride into, spying down from behind a curtain. It was unusual for me to be in such a position. I had been at the center of the court since I had assumed the crown at the age of seventeen. I could not remember a time when I was not at the head of a riding party, or escorted into one of my many homes by my court.
That morning I had looked about the empty chambers, which were in perfect readiness for the court, and realized just how large my home was. I had taken two wrong turns and caused one maid to scream, dropping the pot she was cleaning, before finding this window, with its perfect view into the courtyard. From there I could watch Charles, blind to my presence, joke with one of the stable boys before tossing him an apple. The boy smiled at Charles, displaying more gaps than teeth, and ordered the horse he was walking to rear back and take two steps on his hind legs. Charles clapped for the boy, who then led the horse away as a dust cloud, announcing the arrival of travelers, appeared through the gate.
She rode alone. Oh, the guards surrounded her, but Anne appeared, riding before the rest of the party, on a light gray mare that kicked up dust as it cantered into the stables. From the windblown look of her guards I knew she had been cantering for quite some time, and that they had dashed to keep up with her. Her mare moved swiftly, and Anne prodded her all the way to the steps before rearing her to a stop.
She wore a green riding outfit, complete with a small hat that bent down over her left eye. I could not tell if the cut of clothes were flattering or if Anne was smaller, but she looked as if she belonged in the saddle. I recalled the first instance of her riding a horse when she had arrived eleven months ago, her pale face as she clutched the mane of a small palfrey with terror. A mere glance would lead one to believe Anne had ridden for her entire life.
I saw her call to Charles, and him answer back with a deep bow. She gestured back through the gate, and as I looked down the road I saw a bigger cloud led by two dark carriages, both of which belonged to Cromwell. I assumed my regency council would be inside of the small boxes that lurched along the path in an effort to keep up with the queen.
Back down in the courtyard, two boys had appeared to help Anne down from her horse. With a laugh, she placed her hand on her heart and seemed to be deciding which smiling face to choose her help from. Finally she smiled, and taking one lad by the shoulder, placed her boot in the other boy’s hand. With a small jump she touched the ground and turned back to nod at each of the boys, and left them both with a farthing and looking pleased.
She approached Charles, who looked torn between escorting his queen inside and waiting for the rest of my regency council. With a laugh, Anne waved her hand back along the road and said something that made Charles smile. Whatever she had uttered had convinced him, as he offered her his arm and led her inside, an unconventional way of escorting one’s queen.
Cromwell’s carriages had just appeared through the gate, his stern face visible through the window. They had evidently traveled most of the way without the curtains drawn as the entire inside of the carriage seemed covered with dust. Seeing his carriage roll to a stop, I turned and left my window. It was time to take my place on the throne once again.
***
I did not see Anne until that evening. My regency council approached me as quickly as they could, Cromwell’s bow deeper than the others. It seemed I did not need Charles to explain to him his error. Only Archbishop Cranmer looked unworried by my stern face and harsh words as I demanded an explanation for the flight.
“Your Majesty, it seemed prudent at the time,” Cromwell said with a slight tremble. “We did not want the queen or her ladies to fall into the hands of the Spanish.”
“Then why did you not simply send away the Queen and her ladies?” I asked sharply. “I do believe that was Archbishop Cranmer’s suggestion, was it not?”
“Yes it was, Your Majesty,” Cranmer agreed before either of the others could speak.
“Your Majesty, we did not want the regency council falling into the hands of the Spanish, either,” Gardiner spoke up. “To risk ourselves and what we represent would have been disastrous for the English people.”
“If you had fallen into the hands of the Spanish,” I said, my voice tight. “You would have ceased to be the regency council, and merely h
ave been a bishop of the church.”
“Not by the orders —“
“Forget the orders!” I roared. “I have been in France, risking my very life for this country, and yet you two turn and run at the first sign of danger! I left you here to take charge of England, not to abandon her to the hands of her enemies!”
My anger released, I collapsed back onto my throne. Below me Cromwell and Gardiner had both fallen into a deeper bow, neither willing to look even at my feet. Still exhausted from my journey, this small piece of anger left me even more tired. My body relaxed, and I took comfort in seeing them thoroughly chastised.
“You may go,” I said with a wave of my hand. Something would have to be done before I left for France again, but now at least I had six months to consider it.
I made it known that I would not hear cases until the following Tuesday, then left for my inner chambers. The rest of the afternoon was filled with reading the notes of my regency council, determining if what they had decided in my absence should be signed into permanent law, or cast away now that I had returned.
A page had lit my candles by the time I stopped for the evening. It was not particularly late, but darkness came early in November, and I had not yet eaten supper.
“Your Majesty, shall I send to the kitchens?” Geoffrey, one of my senior pages, asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “But have the meal sent to the Queen’s rooms. Let her know that I will be there shortly.”
The boy nodded and disappeared after a quick bow. Another two boys followed me into my chambers where I would change my jacket; my sleeves had become dark with ink smudges from the hastily scrawled notes of Cromwell. I took a moment at my wash basin to splash water on my face and even run some over my hair. I took a few deep breaths before drying myself off with a worn towel, then gestured for the boys to step forward. The jacket was a deep red, and one of my favorites; I had been pleased to return to London and find it waiting for me.
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