by Tony Riches
He looked up at the physical contact, then leaned across and kissed her for the first time. A slow, lingering lover’s kiss. She was about to embrace him when he pulled back and sat up straight in his chair. ‘We must be wary of your servants, Mary.’
She glanced back at the closed doors. He was right. Any of her servants could start rumours that would spread through the French court like a lit taper on dry kindling. ‘I was asking what Dean West might be able to do...’ Her voice sounded breathless.
‘We shall see, as I’m bringing him here tomorrow.’ Brandon leaned forward for one last kiss before leaving.
Mary breathed a sigh of relief that there seemed to be a glimmer of hope about her future. Then she sensed a deep misgiving. She’d lost count of the number of times her luck had changed for the worse. One malicious word in the wrong ear and her new life could unravel. She feared she could become an excuse for war between two young kings, both keen to prove their power, with her caught in the middle.
She kneeled on the cold, ancient stones of the palace chapel and prayed. She pleaded with God for good fortune, not only for herself but for Charles Brandon. She’d asked him to risk everything for her and he’d gladly accepted. She prayed he would never have reason to regret it.
A heavy fall of snow turned Paris white and froze overnight, making the paths treacherous and the icy roads impassable to horses. Mary watched from her high window to see if her visitors could still make it but the palace courtyard looked deserted.
As a precaution she’d dismissed all her servants except her loyal chamberer, Mistress Anne Jerningham. Mary trusted Anne and decided she should also be taken into her confidence but her response shocked her.
‘I guessed as much, my lady,’ Anne Jerningham smiled, ‘from the way you look at Sir Charles.’
‘Do others know?’ Mary felt the cold stab of concern.
Anne shrugged. ‘If they do not, it’s only a matter of time. One thing I’ve learned in my time here in Paris is the courtiers love to gossip about such things – even more than those in England.’
Mary looked at her as she thought about the consequences of Anne’s words. ‘Please be ready for us to leave at short notice, Anne.’
‘Are we returning to England, my lady?’
‘God willing, although I pray we’ll not have to leave before this snow has gone.’
Mary picked up her lute and ran her fingernail over the strings. Satisfied with the tuning, she began to play one of her favourite songs, an old English carol that reminded her of happier times.
‘There is no rose of such virtue,’ she sang slowly, her voice echoing and clear in the silent, high-ceilinged room, ‘as is the rose that bore Jesu...’
A tuneful tenor voice replied from outside her door. ‘For in this rose contained, was Heaven and earth...’
Mary sprang to her feet. ‘Charles?’ In a flash of recollection, she remembered a Christmas long ago in Richmond Palace, when Brandon and Henry dressed as minstrels and entertained her father with carols.
The door opened to reveal a grinning Brandon and sombre-faced West. ‘Apologies for our lateness, Your Grace, we had to come here on foot.’ He nodded to her chamberer and rubbed his hands together. ‘A cup of warmed ale would suit us well, mistress.’
Mary waited until Anne left for the kitchens. ‘Thomas Grey’s son Edward has asked to marry her – but she’s told me she wishes to stay in my service.’ She looked from Brandon to the dean. ‘I decided to tell her my intentions – and she’d already guessed!’
Dean West’s eyes narrowed. ‘She’ll not be alone, my lady. We must act while there is time.’
They sat by the log fire while Anne returned with silver tankards of warmed spiced ale. Brandon took a sip and nodded in approval, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He looked from Mary to Dean West, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Nicholas has devised a plan,’ he smiled at Mary, ‘which requires a little deception.’
Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Is our situation not complicated enough?’
West sipped his ale before replying. ‘I assure you my suggestion is nothing disloyal, my lady, but first I should say we have a number of difficulties to remedy.’ He studied Mary, as if wondering where to start. ‘We must secure a new peace treaty. Which means we have to win over King Francis.’ West ticked off the points on his long fingers. ‘We must of course placate your brother King Henry and,’ he looked across at Brandon, ‘not compromise the oath you swore before leaving England.’
Brandon leaned forward in his chair and looked into Mary’s eyes. ‘It’s true your mourning left you in a state of some distress?’
Mary nodded. The memory of the dark chamber still haunted her. ‘I felt I was being punished, although I’d done nothing wrong...’
‘Then it will not be too hard to convince the king of your vulnerable state and appeal to his sense of brotherly duty?’
Mary understood. ‘I’ll write to my brother.’
Dean West nodded. ‘It is fortunate the king agreed to bless your choice of husband. You could beseech him to honour his word – and must convince him this was your own initiative.’
‘Yes,’ Mary brightened, ‘and I’ll write to Thomas Wolsey. Henry listens to his counsel.’
Brandon’s face became serious. ‘There is another... problem, Mary. I regret to tell you Queen Catherine was delivered of a stillborn son.’
Mary raised her hand to her mouth. ‘No! She longed to give Henry a son…’
Brandon shook his head. ‘Queen Catherine was out of favour with the king because of her troublesome father, so the loss of this son is a doubly bitter blow.’
Mary looked up at them. ‘We must pray for her – and for Henry – but we don’t have time to wait until they’ve finished grieving.’
Dean West agreed. ‘You are right, which is why you need to ask King Francis to assist you.’
‘He’s the last person I would choose to confide in now.’ Mary looked concerned. ‘There’s no telling what he might do.’
Brandon took another drink of his ale and leaned forward in his chair. ‘King Francis has a keen sense of chivalry. Ask for his help. I think he’ll surprise you.’
Mary felt doubtful but there seemed little alternative. ‘What about your oath to Henry?’
‘I shall write to him, after you have paved the way by making it clear this was your own doing.’ He grinned. ‘How could any man have refused you?’
Brandon was right. Francis surprised Mary by agreeing to her request to meet in private that afternoon. She’d expected to wait for days and planned to rehearse her words, yet now her only choice was to tell him the truth.
He wore a wide-sleeved black-and-silver tunic embroidered with gold. A white ostrich plume fluttered in his jewelled hat as he stood to welcome her. Mary noted how his hand rested on the golden hilt of a short sword.
‘You intrigue me, my lady.’ King Francis spoke in French and bowed in greeting. ‘Have you come to discuss your betrothal?’
Mary gave a nervous smile as she returned his welcome with a curtsey. ‘I’ve come seeking your advice, Your Grace.’
Francis gestured for her to sit and gave her a quizzical look. ‘You wish to return to England?’
‘I am in no hurry to leave France – but I have a dilemma. I wish to marry the Duke of Suffolk, yet my brother King Henry made him swear an oath not to marry me.’
Francis sat back in surprise. ‘I was informed… by a reliable source, that the Duke of Suffolk had returned to Paris to seek your hand.’ He frowned at her. ‘When I confronted him with this, he told me he’d been charged to return you to England and his intentions were honourable.’
‘I give you my word, Your Grace.’ Mary placed her hands together as in prayer. ‘As God is my witness, this was entirely my doing.’
Francis studied her with a disbelieving look in his sharp eyes. He seemed to be weighing up the truth of her words. ‘The duke is a good man and excels at the joust – but I can find you a better match.’
Francis stroked his finely trimmed black beard as he considered the implications. ‘What does King Henry have to say about this?’
‘I will write to my brother but thought I should inform you first, Your Grace.’
‘A wise decision, as there is more you clearly do not understand.’
His mocking tone put Mary on her guard. ‘Your Grace?’
‘My agents inform me the Duke of Suffolk plans to take you back to England so you can be married to the son of Emperor Maximilian.’ He paused for effect, enjoying his power over her. ‘He has no intention of marrying you himself. King Henry plans to secure further alliances by the duke’s marriage to Archduchess Margaret of Savoy.’
‘It cannot be true!’
‘Has he professed his love for you?’
Mary hesitated. Brandon had not yet said the words, although she knew his feelings well enough. She had supposed he would, when he felt the time was right. Now she studied the young king’s face and saw he felt he had the upper hand.
Francis tutted at her silence. ‘I suspected as much.’ He smiled as a thought seemed to occur to him. ‘You have my blessing to marry him – here in France. If he finds some excuse, you will know I’m right.’
‘I must wait for my brother’s permission.’
‘If you wait, you will live with the consequences.’
Mary hesitated again. ‘You support my marriage to the Duke of Suffolk?’
‘If your brother has his way it would strengthen his alliances against the interests of France,’ Francis gave her a wolfish grin, ‘and it amuses me to rob him of the opportunity.’
Mary sent for Brandon as soon as she returned from her meeting with King Francis. He arrived with Dean West and listened intently as she recounted what happened.
Brandon cursed. ‘It’s true I was sent to bring you back – but the idea of my ever marrying Margaret of Savoy was a joke.’
Mary stared into his eyes. ‘Then will you marry me now, here in France?’
‘Of course,’ he stared back at her, a twinkle in his eye, ‘if that is your wish.’
Dean West had been watching them in silence. ‘You must be aware you both risk incurring King Henry’s displeasure—’
‘I know a certain way to win back his affection,’ Brandon interrupted, ‘with a token of our goodwill.’
‘What do you have in mind, my lord?’
‘You shall deliver my letter of explanation in person, together with the Mirror of Naples, which the king himself had valued at more than sixty thousand crowns.’
Dean West turned to Mary. ‘Do you still have the jewel in your safekeeping, my lady?’
‘I do – and I will gladly surrender it as the price of my brother’s favour.’ Mary looked back at Brandon. ‘We must marry before Henry receives your letter, or he might forbid you to do so. It will be done in secret but with witnesses.’ Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
Dean West frowned. ‘King Henry can still order such a marriage to be annulled.’
Brandon gave him a wry smile. ‘He can – but I doubt he will if the marriage is consummated.’
Mary felt her face blush at his suggestion but knew it was the truth. Her hand involuntarily fell to her slender waist. Even better, she could be with child before Henry could prevent them.
The noon bell chimed with a dull, clanging tone and the serene figure of the Madonna smiled down at them as they stood together in the private chapel at Cluny. The elderly priest eyed the small congregation of the most loyal of Mary’s ladies, and mumbled a Latin prayer.
Their secret, hasty wedding required little arrangement. Mary and her ladies dressed as if for any other Paris day in winter, with riding capes and furs over thick gowns instead of fine silk wedding dresses. It suited Mary when few heads turned as she rode past with her ladies, another reminder that being Dowager Queen of France counted for little now.
She shivered in the chill air as the priest muttered his way through the order of service, uninterrupted by any music or singing for fear of drawing attention. Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the old chapel when she said her vows, and she consoled herself with the promise of a grander wedding once they returned safely to England.
Charles Brandon smiled at her as he placed the gold ring on Mary’s finger. She recognised it as the one inscribed with her motto. La volenté de Dieu me suffit. When she’d sent her ring to England with her secretary John Palsgrave she’d never dreamed it would be returned in such a way.
She stared adoringly into the grey eyes of her new husband as he swore to love and honour her. The will of God was a wondrous thing. He smiled, then kissed her. He bent closer to her ear and whispered, so only she could hear.
‘I love you, Mary, with all my heart.’
Anne Jerningham held the lantern in the window, the signal it was safe for Brandon to enter Mary’s apartments by the servants’ stairs. For a moment Mary wondered if he’d seen it, then the door opened and he stood there, dressed in black velvet to conceal himself in the shadows.
She smiled at his look of surprise when he saw her dressed in a nightgown of lilac silk, her unplaited hair combed loose over her shoulders. She’d dismissed her servants for the night and now Anne had gone they were alone.
Brandon stared at her. ‘You look ... beautiful, Mary.’
‘Thank you. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.’
He glanced back at the entrance to the servants’ passageway. ‘We shall have to declare our marriage soon. There are too many pairs of eyes on us to keep our secret for long.’
‘It’s only until our letters have arrived in England.’
Charles gave her a look of concern. ‘Then it might be longer than I’d wish, as I struggle with the wording. It’s no easy thing to tell Henry I’ve disobeyed his wishes.’
‘My secretary has a way with words. I’ll ask him to help you – but we needn’t talk of such things now.’ She took his hand and led him to the privacy of her inner chamber.
A dozen beeswax candles scented with the delicate perfume of lavender oil and a crackling log fire gave the room a warm glow. Mary closed the door behind them and slid across the bolt.
Charles took her in his arms and gave her a long passionate kiss that took her breath away. He finally spoke in a whisper, as if they might be overheard. ‘Alone together at last.’
Mary put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. ‘As husband and wife.’
‘Yes, as husband and wife.’ He kissed her again.
She freed herself from his embrace and pulled at the thin ribbon securing her silk gown. It fell to her feet, leaving her naked before him.
Brandon lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the canopied bed, where he lay her down before unfastening his jerkin and linen undershirt. Pulling off his clothes he climbed on to the bed and lay at her side. Brushing her long hair from her face with his hand he looked into her eyes.
‘I never believed this day would come.’
She ran the tips of her fingers through the dark hair of his chest. ‘You used to think of me?’
‘You were always so close, yet so far from my reach.’
‘If two people are destined to be together, nothing can stand in their way.’
‘Not even kings?’
‘Not even the King of England – or the King of France.’ She giggled at the thought. ‘I remember seeing you when I was betrothed. You left early.’
‘I could watch no more of it, Mary.’
She pulled him closer. ‘Well, what will you do, now you have me in your spell, my lord of Suffolk?’
His answer left her breathless, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Afterwards she lay on her back, her mind a whirl and her pulse racing. She finally understood why people were prepared to risk everything for love.
12
March 1515
Mary gu
essed something was wrong as soon as she saw his face. Brandon’s eyes revealed his thoughts to her more than any man she’d known. He waited for her to send her servants away then sat heavily in a chair. He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his unruly hair then frowned at a folded parchment he carried in his hand.
He’d been meeting with Francis and she guessed it had not gone well. The letter might be the reply he’d been waiting for from Henry, or another from Wolsey. She crossed the room, the hem of her emerald-green gown swishing on the marble floor tiles as she moved, then leaned down and kissed him.
‘What’s happened?’
He looked up at her, his face serious. ‘King Francis demands the return of your jewel.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not unexpected. He told me many of the jewels King Louis gave me now belong to Queen Claude, as the crown jewels of France.’
‘He insists we return the Mirror of Naples.’ He scowled. ‘I realise now it was a mistake to send it to England.’
‘I have other jewels. You can give them all back to him if it means we can return home.’
Brandon shook his head. ‘Henry wishes me to return with as many of your jewels as I can. I told Francis I’ll do my best to retrieve the Mirror of Naples but he knows Henry will never send it back.’ His hand formed a fist in frustration. ‘He’s playing games with us – and to make matters worse, my enemies accuse me of being too lenient in my negotiations with the French.’
‘Your enemies?’
He looked at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘You don’t know? Ever since I was made Master of the Horse, the old families of England call me Henry’s stable boy. They resent my title and look for any chance to ruin my reputation. There have always been whispers behind my back at the council – but now they could turn the king’s mind against me.’ He frowned. ‘Against us, Mary.’
She heard the note of bitterness in his voice and remembered how her ladies once joked about Brandon’s rapid rise. She’d reprimanded them but this was different. If enough nobles of the council sided against him, Henry would be bound to listen, with dire consequences for them both.
