by G Lawrence
King Henry VIII was twenty-three years old when he came to Margaret’s court. I was thirteen. With the other filles, I watched from the windows when his party arrived. We all looked amongst the crowds of men and jewels and horses to see the King of England in the clamour of their arrival. In the years that had passed since the coronation, he had grown in reputation; it was widely said about the courts of Europe that he was the handsomest prince in the world. His height, strength and prowess in sport and hunting were talked of avidly, but also his desire for learning, for languages and for music. A lot of flattery is gifted to princes and kings, but in many ways, Henry was all the things they spoke of him. We filles were eager to see him, and to judge for ourselves how much that was spoken was true.
From those great stone windows we spied down upon the party of the King riding into the courtyard at Lille. We were not meant to be watching Henry’s arrival, but were meant to be sewing demurely in Margaret’s chambers. But the event was too exciting for us to miss. Each of us filles had sworn to the other we would not tell, if they did not. The ladies of Margaret’s entourage were already at her side, and la dame d’honneur, our overseer, was amongst them. The servants were as eager as we were to see the arrival of the King, and so there was no one who would tell our mistress that we were not where we should have been, on the day King Henry of England arrived at the Court of Burgundy.
They came in a great rush of people, seemingly unplanned and impulsive, but at court there was nothing truly left unplanned. The crowds thinned out amongst the rush and the bustle of their arrival, and then I saw him. There could be little mistake that he was the King. Although the others were dressed richly, he was the most stunning. Cloth of gold and silver mixed with bright and royal reds and purples on his tunic; gems glowed from amongst the rich folds of velvet and silk. His fingers glittered with gold and jewels. There was no understatement in this king; he wanted all to know who he was. His hair shone golden and red under his black velvet cap. He was tall and broad and muscular. His body was toned and strong. He swung down from his horse with the ease of a true horseman and he walked with the grace of an athlete. His face was indeed most handsome, and I could see it much clearer this time than I had at his coronation. His eyes were blue and clear, his beard fashionably short and golden, and his laugh, which seemed to ring out against the stones of the courtyard, was hearty and warm.
My breath caught in a little gasp at the back of my throat. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen, and Margaret’s court was full of handsome men. There was something so likeable, so young, so magnetic about him that all of us filles leaned forward. There was something in him that drew attention, that drew you towards him, and it was not just because we knew he was the King of England. He was compelling, charming… captivating, even at a distance. It was there in the ease of his manner and the grace of his movements. It was the way he moved, it was his voice that sung with both friendship and command. It was his laugh, which boomed about the palace walls.
No, it was not just the crown that made him attractive; after all, although he was a rich king with all the money his frugal father had left him, he was not as powerful as the King of France, or the Hapsburgs. No, it was not only the King I was interested in, it was the man. We filles started avidly at him from that window. It was something in the man himself that called to me so powerfully, so… tantalisingly.
As I watched him through that window it suddenly occurred to me that he was the King of my country, he was my King! I had been at Margaret’s court for so many months that I had almost forgotten that my home was England and that this magnificent king was the ruler of my true country. My eyes scanned the strong face that beamed down on those around him. He put his arm around another man who was so like him in hair, stature and appearance that they could have been brothers. The other man said something that made King Henry laugh again. This then, must be Sir Charles Brandon. I had heard of him before. Brandon was the King’s favourite; he was not of very noble stock, but his father had been King Henry VII’s standard bearer and had died for him at the Battle of Bosworth Field. Henry VII, this King’s father, had wished to reward his loyalty and had taken the dead man’s son into his own household. Brandon and Henry had been raised together, had shared lessons and sports. Now that he was the King, Henry VIII wished to reward his friend and companion and had raised him up to be a great noble. Rewards were heaped upon Brandon. This was the way that such a king treated his friends; they were rewarded for loyalty and devotion to him, rather than just for being noble.
This thought gave me such a rush of admiration that I blushed suddenly, my face feeling hot and my hands cold. As I looked at this king, on his manner, on his handsome face and broad shoulders, on his boyish ways, I felt my inner thighs begin to ache with a feeling that I had not experienced before. My loins tingled, teasingly, and I felt excitement sparkle through my blood. My breathing quickened as I felt moisture rush softly between my legs.
I felt desire for this man… and it excited me.
One of the other filles, Elisabeth of Brittany, turned to me and saw my flushed cheeks and glittering, glassy eyes fixed on the royal party. She pounced on the opportunity to catch me off-guard.
“Mistress Anna Boleyn!” she whispered, loudly enough for the others to hear. “Are you lusting after the King… or the handsome servant of the King?!”
The other filles burst into giggles as I turned to them, flustered and caught. My heart was throbbing in my chest and I felt the quickening of craving lust in my immature body. My first true feelings of desire had been caught and exposed by my companions; I was confused and humiliated.
Suddenly, and before I could ready my tongue to whip back at them, the figures in the courtyard turned our way and looked up. Our giggles had attracted the notice of the King and his friend. The two great men looked up at us, shading their eyes from the sun, and other figures in the yard also began to turn our way. The sudden thought that my father must be amongst them made my heart quite stop within me.
Quick as a flash of lightening, and with a clearly audible, collective shriek, we filles dropped from our positions and ran the halls back to where we should have been all along, sewing in Margaret’s private chambers. As we turned tail and fled, I heard that great laugh ring out again against the stones of the palace. The King of England, it seemed, was not displeased by the prying, lusty eyes of the court maidens shining down on him illicitly from above.
Fortunately, none of this was revealed to Margaret, and she was too occupied with the business of entertaining to pursue any rumour of her maids acting so immodestly. Fortunately for me, also, my father did not know the identity of the maidens who had fled from the amused eyes of the King.
Chapter Fifteen
1513
Lille
I was called to see my father shortly after his arrival at Lille. Although almost a year had passed since I had last seen him, he had barely changed. I found him in the gardens and as I walked towards him, stopping to curtsey as I approached the sharpness of his gaze, I saw him nod once in satisfaction. A little drop of the ocean of fear in my heart fell away as I noted that he was not displeased with my appearance or manners.
“Your mother has sent letters for you,” he said as we took a turn in the gardens.
“I will be most pleased to receive them, father,” I said, my now-much-improved French accent lilting pleasantly as I spoke.
“Your French is better,” he nodded. For a moment I thought on the terrible letter I had sent when I first arrived at Margaret’s court, and felt a little colour creep into my cheeks for shame. “You are learning well, and behaving modestly?” he asked.
I nodded. “Madame is most careful with her filles, father,” I said. “And in any case, I would be a fool to not take advantage of all that you have secured for me here… I will be forever grateful to you for this opportunity. The court of the Archduchess is a place of wonder and beauty.”
He nodded to me, apparently satisfied wi
th my answers and my deportment of myself. Our meeting was short, as he had many more important matters to attend to, other than simply seeing his daughter.
My father simply wanted, in that brief meeting, to assure himself that I was behaving well and taking advantage of the opportunities he had gained for me. Perhaps I should have been upset at the brusque nature of our meeting, after being apart from my family for so long, but I was not. My father had ever been a distant figure to me, since I was a small child. I was more pleased to find that my audience with him was brief since it shortened the time I would have to live in fear of making a mistake before him. Besides, my time was much occupied during the visit of the English King, since there were many entertainments whilst dignitaries visited, and we filles were called to perform for the King and his men during the few days they were with us. There was much to distract us in the games of courtly love which unfolded during their visit. Sir Charles Brandon was a very handsome, but, I began to think, a rather foolish and somewhat easily-led man. He flirted with Margaret outrageously, rather beyond what we had come to see as the general bounds of decency in the game of courtly love. He was crass with his attentions to her, although she pretended not to notice. I believe that he thought her rather in love with him. He was sadly mistaken. Margaret could not speak English, and Brandon’s French was quite terrible, so often their games were conducted through translators, which only made the whole spectacle of Bandon more and more awkward and somewhat amusing to us filles.
At court we had become used to gentle attentions and to cultured lines of verse offered in praise. Brandon offered none of this, but rode in many tournaments for Margaret, which he always won unless he was matched against King Henry. But in his attentions to her he was quite ardent. I believe at some stage he really thought that Margaret might forget herself and marry him. But she would never have lowered herself so. I think the game amused her and although she certainly found him attractive, she was not fool enough to enter into a marriage or affair that was so beneath her. The game of courtly love was most often played to gain a richer and more powerful patroness, rather than a lover in the real sense. Brandon, I am sure, would have loved to marry so much higher above himself, but he was happy to settle for a patroness as rich and influential as Margaret.
The King, Henry, was adept at this game, much more skilled than his friend. He was most quickly enamoured, it seemed, of another of Margaret’s ladies, my own companion in the hunt, Etionette de la Baume, daughter of the Lord of Chateauvillan. It was not unusual for a man to be married and to have a mistress in the games of courtly love, but this affair, it seemed, was more than just a game of love. A year or so later, when she married, Henry wore black in mourning for “the love of a lady”, as he said, which, it seemed, may have been Etionette. The thought made me a little sad, even though I had no real cause to be. I did not like to think of his admiring Etionette so. With the foolish wants and wishes of a child, I yearned for the King to notice me.
I was too young, too unimportant to have attracted his attentions then. I was a child even if I believed in my heart I was not. But even as a child I watched him… watched him with a growing longing in my heart, so strong that I thought it should burst. The love of the young is so violent and simple. I would let no one know of my desire for him; I was learning to keep my emotions and feelings secret from the other filles who served Margaret with me. After that first embarrassment, I swore I should never be humiliated in front of others again. My feelings were my own and that is how they should stay.
So with the other filles and court ladies I watched Henry the King. Admired him, talked of him… but no more than the others did. I watched him, usually from a distance, as I was rather young still to be involved in all the events and entertainments. When I was involved, I was usually in a throng of many maids and the chosen group that he moved in was far away and above my social standing.
At times I bristled with indignation to be still restricted, for after all, I was of an age to marry and therefore of an age to attend all the entertainments, surely. But Margaret had promised my father that she would protect me, and I realise now that I was still not ready or equipped to defend myself as the older women of the court were able to. There were dangers at court which I was to truly learn of later. The protection of Margaret at this time, as I realise now, was a true blessing.
Henry did not come with his Queen Katherine, as she was in the latter stages of pregnancy; a condition that she seemed to perpetually be in with no viable result. After the death of the little Prince when I was ten, there had only been more failures and no living children to show for all the sorrow the royal couple undertook in trying for them. He still, though, held her in high esteem; Katherine was acting as his Regent in England, a position of true authority and trust. Their marriage was rumoured to be strong despite his occasional discreet affairs, and what man did not have affairs? It seemed that there was genuine affection in this royal marriage, a rare thing indeed.
Katherine was defending the borders of England against the Scots who had taken the opportunity to invade when Henry had headed off to war with France. The Auld Alliance, as it was called, meant that France and Scotland were bound as allies, and whenever the English thought of waging war on their neighbours across the water, so would conflict follow from the lands of the Scots. My own grandfather, then the Earl of Surrey, was a general in those wars, along with my uncle Thomas Howard. Katherine, Queen of England, with the aid of my family and others, was in time to quash the Scots. In September of 1513, the Scots’ King James IV, the husband of King Henry’s older sister Margaret, was killed by the armies of the English at the Battle of Flodden Field and the Scottish attempts to invade England faltered and failed. The crown of the Scots went to the heir to their throne, James V, a babe in arms, little more than a year old, and the threat of the Scots to England was much diminished. Katherine was so excited by her victory that she wanted to send the corpse of the King of Scots to Henry; his own brother-in-law’s corpse shipped as a trophy of war! But the English nobles, my uncle and grandfather amongst them, thankfully thought the idea too horrific and so Katherine sent the Scottish King’s bloodstained shirt as a ghastly trophy to her husband instead, to use as a “banner of war” as she reportedly wrote to him.
People talked of Katherine as a most gentle and humble Christian lady; but there was always the spirit of a ruthless fighter there. She was, after all, the daughter of Isabella of Castile, the Queen who had rode to the frontline of her troops whilst heavily pregnant, and had raised many of her young children on campaign with her. Katherine was never such an unassuming, meek creature as she was made out to be by those who supported her in her later troubles. And, I doubt, had she been so, whether Henry would have found her interesting enough to remain at her side so many years. Although some of his mistresses had been obliging, quiet women, for the most part, he liked his loves to have a little fire within their spirit… He tired of the fire only later in life.
I was vastly proud of the valour of my mother’s kinsmen who had fought, died or won in the wars against the Scots and the French. My mother wrote to me in glowing letters of the accomplishments of her father and brother against the Scots, and I showed the letters to Margaret, who praised my family. She said to me that she was sure my grandfather would win back the titles of Duke of Norfolk now that he had proved his loyalty and valour to his king in feats of arms. I shone with pride at the thought of calling my grandfather a Duke. This happened as Margaret had foreseen; in 1514 my grandfather became once again the rightful Duke of Norfolk and my uncle Thomas, now a man of more than forty, inherited the title of the Earl of Surrey. My grandfather was given, too, the honour of being allowed to display the royal arms of Scotland alongside his own, with the Scots lion impaled with an arrow, to signify his part in having brought the King of Scots to his death. My mother’s family was amongst the most important in the land of England once more.
In the amusements planned for the visitors, there were hun
ting excursions, dances and pageants; I enjoyed hunting fairly often now, but was not chosen for these parties due to my youth. I was skilled at archery, but those hunts that Margaret and Henry and their retinues went on were for boar and stag. Par Force hunting required different skills and was much more dangerous than bow and stable, or hunting with hawks. I was too young and not of sufficient rank to accompany them, and therefore I was left out of those hunting parties. I watched the heart of the court return from their day of game with their trophies of dead boar and hart, and I felt a pang for being so left out of all that was exciting and interesting… all, in fact, that was anything to do with Henry Tudor. I longed each day to get a glimpse of this hero who had ignited my imagination and my female desire. There were other filles who joined me, also seeking to steal a glimpse of the most handsome King in the world, from the great stone windows of the palace.
The pageants, however, were for the maids and youths of the court, but there were special seats in galleries from which we could watch. This was so that we could be taken away should the entertainments go beyond our years or understanding.
Always in the centre was this man, this golden king, so young and so handsome; I believe that most of the court ladies, not just Etionette, would have been open to him both in the game of courtly love and in the realities of physical love. He knew the effect he had upon women and he loved it. To see their blushes when he talked to them was a drug to him. Through the nights Henry would dance with the ladies of the court, even once throwing off his doublet and shoes to dance with further vigour. In the days he would ride in the joust, only seeming to grow more vigorous with every lance he broke. He went to bed late and rose early, and all the courtiers were amazed at his vital and unrelenting energy for life and pleasure.
