Mary- Tudor Princess

by Tony Riches

  ‘I’ve made it worse for you.’ She placed a hand on his arm and noted he didn’t deny it. Mary sat in silence for a moment as she struggled to think what she could do. ‘I will meet again with Francis, tell him about our secret marriage – and that it was me who sent the jewel back to Henry.’

  ‘You should read this letter.’ He handed her the folded parchment.

  Mary unfolded the parchment and began to read. From Thomas Wolsey, it confirmed her worst fears. Brandon was to discontinue his ambassadorial duties and there seemed to be no prospect of the king’s forgiveness.

  She stared at Brandon, understanding in her eyes. ‘So, even if you can restore the French king’s goodwill, others will take credit for any treaty.’

  He nodded. ‘Wolsey’s tone has changed – and if he sets himself against us we are ruined.’

  ‘Then we shall have to make sure he does not.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Whatever it takes.’

  ‘He hints at a remedy, although there is no promise of success and it will cost us dearly.’

  Mary studied the letter a second time. ‘The price of my brother’s forgiveness is that we must return my dowry in full?’

  ‘Two hundred thousand crowns, as well as all your gold and silver plate and every one of your jewels. It’s impossible, Mary. Everything of value we both have will not be enough to satisfy him. Could you live without all this?’ He gestured at the grand furnishings that graced the luxurious royal apartments.

  Mary refolded the parchment and looked into his troubled eyes. ‘When my father was my age he had nothing, yet he confessed to me once that his years in exile were some of the happiest of his life.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve risked everything for me – and I will happily sacrifice everything for you, Charles Brandon.’

  Their secret was out and the Paris court buzzed like a nest of hornets at the news. One advantage of Brandon no longer being an ambassador was that he could spend more time with Mary. This also meant more opportunity for them to be seen together. King Francis ended the speculation of his courtiers by blessing their union at a special service, followed by an extravagant banquet.

  For once, Queen Claude sat at her husband’s side. She wore a voluminous gown of russet brocade which seemed to emphasise her girth. When Francis left to join in the dancing she placed her hand on Mary’s arm. ‘I was so pleased when I heard.’ She spoke in French, a wistful look in her eyes. ‘I once dreamed of marrying for love.’

  Mary glanced across at Francis and saw he was dancing with her fourteen-year-old lady-in-waiting, Mistress Anne Boleyn. Vivacious and accomplished, Anne made it her business to attract the eye of the king yet Mary hoped she would never become his mistress. She turned to Claude, who seemed unconcerned at her husband’s blatant flirting.

  ‘King Francis has been so generous with his support.’ She glanced back at the king and saw he was now whispering in the ear of Lady Anne, who laughed at some witty remark.

  Queen Claude also noticed and turned to Mary with a hint of sadness in her eyes. ‘I understand you’ve incurred King Henry’s displeasure.’

  Mary glanced at Brandon, deep in conversation with the king’s brother-in-law. ‘He planned to use my marriage to secure another alliance, yet I pray he’ll accept my choice soon enough.’

  Claude’s face suggested she doubted it. She stroked her hand over her bulging midriff and leaned closer, a conspiratorial tone to her voice. ‘You must have a child, Mary, the sooner the better.’

  She smiled at the queen’s frank advice. ‘And I must congratulate you. Do you think it is a boy or a girl?’

  ‘Francis says it will be a boy and shall be named after him.’ She frowned. ‘He told his mother if it is a girl she will be named after her.’

  Mary looked around and realised Duchess Louise had not attended their celebratory banquet. ‘I shall miss you, Claude, now I am returning to England – but I most certainly will not miss your mother-in-law.’

  Queen Claude brightened. ‘We must correspond, Mary. I have few enough friends I can trust and will look forward to your letters.’

  Mary took Claude’s hand in hers. ‘I am honoured to be your friend and must thank you for your kindness when I arrived here.’ She smiled. ‘I will pray your child is more like you than its father – or grandmother!’

  They laughed together at the thought and Mary saw King Francis turn his head at the sound and fix them with a questioning look. His sharp eyes missed little and she guessed he wondered what his wife was up to. She would not miss him either, despite his support for her marriage.

  * * *

  Another letter finally arrived from Thomas Wolsey setting out in detail the cost of their return. He proposed payment of the money by instalments of two thousand pounds a year, and for Mary to sign all her property over to Henry.

  Brandon cursed. ‘He knows that’s beyond our means. The de la Pole estates Henry gifted with my title are worthless until they transfer – and your French incomes are at the whim of King Francis.’

  Mary was unsurprised, both at Wolsey’s demands or Brandon’s outburst. The whole business had been playing on his mind, causing him restless days and sleepless nights. It also revealed a darker side to his character. His aggression clouded his judgement under such stress.

  ‘Thomas Wolsey needs to silence our critics with a substantial sum.’ She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. ‘We must play his game. Agree in good faith, then we’ll negotiate a smaller annual charge if we find we can’t afford the payments.’

  Brandon nodded and stroked his thick beard, deep in thought. ‘I could sell my wardship of Lady Elizabeth Lisle. She’s ten years old now and her wardship must be worth a goodly sum.’

  Mary glowered at him. ‘I assumed you already had. I trust you’re not still betrothed to the girl?’

  He grinned at her jealousy, his mood already improving. ‘In truth, I never was properly betrothed to her. I began to use the title in presumption of marriage and no one ever challenged it.’

  ‘I shall be Duchess of Suffolk,’ she smiled at the thought, ‘but I will use my title of Dowager Queen of France when it suits me.’

  ‘You will find it strange without an army of servants to take care of your every need, my lady.’

  Mary laughed. ‘Well. I have you, sir, to take care of every need.’

  He gave her a wry look and kissed her as Mistress Anne Jerningham arrived to tell them their escort was ready to take them to Calais. Mary took one last look up at the high ceilings and gilded opulence of the French palace, then turned her back on it all to begin her new life.

  King Francis surprised them one last time by riding with them the seven miles to Saint Denis on the outskirts of Paris, with fifty mounted knights. He embraced Brandon, wishing him a prosperous future, then kissed Mary’s hand and promised to ensure she would receive the income from her dower lands.

  They finally left for Calais, riding three abreast and followed by servants, the few ladies returning with them and two covered wagons laden with baggage. Dean West looked back over his shoulder. ‘The king still watches.’ He managed a rare smile. ‘One could think he doesn’t trust us to leave.’

  Mary resisted the temptation to look. ‘I can’t help wondering if he made the point about my dower lands to remind me of the hold he still has over us.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll keep his word after we’re in England?’ Brandon’s tone sounded doubtful.

  ‘We must make certain of it. The income is worth several thousand marks.’ Mary glanced across at Brandon. ‘I shall write to Queen Claude as often as I can. We can never be free of the French court, so it will be useful to have at least one friend there we can rely on.’

  Brandon agreed. ‘Once we’ve been accepted back at court I’ll arrange a joust in honour of King Francis and persuade Henry to meet him in France – without an invading army. If Francis sees we support his interests he’ll be less likely to withhold your income.’

  Mary smiled to herself, relieved to hear him talking of
the future with optimism once more. Before they left Paris she’d prayed for Henry’s forgiveness for them both. She drew hope from his promise to let her choose her own husband, and suspected Wolsey exaggerated her brother’s anger.

  It took five days of riding on deeply rutted French roads, stopping overnight in modest inns, before the welcome sight of Calais appeared on the horizon. Mary was pleased by their reception, as most of the town seemed to have turned out to greet them, including the mayor and the merchant aldermen in full livery, despite the late hour.

  Sir Richard Wingfield, Lord Deputy of Calais, raised a gloved hand in greeting. ‘Welcome to Calais, my lord,’ he bowed his head to Mary, ‘my lady.’

  Brandon slid from his saddle and embraced his old friend. ‘Good to see you again, Sir Richard. Is there news of our passage to England?’

  ‘I sent Sir William Sidney with a message to the king, as you requested. We should have his reply any day now.’

  Mary recalled Brandon’s cousin, who distinguished himself in the jousts at her wedding to King Louis. He had crossed the Channel several times at Brandon’s request carrying their letters to Henry, although too often he’d returned with no reply.

  Sir Richard looked back at the wagons. ‘Please allow me to escort you to your apartments.’

  As they followed him through cobbled streets lined with the people of Calais, Mary realised this might be the last time she would be such a figure of interest. She felt tired after their long ride and was relieved when Sir Richard announced he’d arranged a private supper as he had important news to share with them.

  He waited until they were alone then turned to Brandon. ‘I must ask you to keep to my apartments while we wait for your passage to be approved.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Brandon gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘I postponed a delegation to England, which has caused a little bad feeling among the merchants of the Staple.’ He frowned. ‘I wished a good welcome for you but instead it seems I’ve stirred up resentment.’

  Brandon was dismissive. ‘I’ll take care of myself, although I’ll keep my head down, if that’s what you wish.’

  Sir Richard looked relieved. ‘You are no doubt wondering how the treaty discussions progressed in your absence?’ He tore a chunk from his bread and used it to mop the rich sauce from his plate.

  ‘I trust you found it easier once the king wasn’t distracted by my endless haggling over my wife’s jewellery?’ Brandon refilled his goblet from the jug of red wine as he spoke.

  Mary heard the note of irony in his voice. She’d known how difficult it must have been to swallow his pride and humble himself to appease her brother. At the same time, she felt a frisson of pleasure at the hint of pride when he’d spoken of her as his wife.

  Sir Richard smiled. ‘The peace treaty is agreed in principle, which is not unexpected,’ he looked from Brandon to Mary, ‘and I have good news, my lady. King Francis has agreed to repay your dowry.’

  ‘The full two hundred thousand?’ Brandon sounded surprised.

  ‘It took some persuasion, and of course you’ll see little enough of it, but King Henry might feel better disposed towards you now.’

  Mary said a silent prayer of thanks for their good fortune. ‘We are most grateful to you, Sir Richard.’

  ‘I had a modest part in the negotiations, my lady. It seems Dean West spoke frankly to King Francis and persuaded him to understand your circumstances.’

  ‘He rode with us all the way from Paris and didn’t mention it once.’ Brandon gave Sir Richard a questioning look.

  ‘We received confirmation after you left Paris. All the same, he’s the one who deserves your thanks.’

  Mary’s wine warmed her throat and left a delicious aftertaste. Sir Richard had served his best and she’d devoured the well-cooked venison, realising how hungry she’d been. For the first time in weeks her mood began to lift.

  After they retired to bed Mary lay wide awake, her head full of questions. ‘Sir Richard’s messenger has had time to bring news from England, yet Henry has still not consented to our return.’

  Brandon put his arm around her. ‘Yet he hasn’t refused.’ He kissed her, his voice sounding sleepy.

  Mary kissed him back but her mind was still on their immediate situation. ‘Do you think our punishment is to languish here in Calais?’

  ‘I can think of worse things. I could be banished from court, lose all my titles, be locked up in a dungeon at the Tower of London, executed at Tower Hill...’

  ‘Don’t jest about such things.’ She gave him a stern look. ‘We will both write to Henry in the morning, advising him of the dowry settlement and that I’ve signed over my jewels. You can take some credit for the treaty, as you won over Francis before they even started the negotiations.’

  He pulled her close. ‘Sir Richard confided they are saying I conceded Tournai in return for Louis supporting our marriage. In truth, the only time I mentioned Tournai was to promote Wolsey’s ambition to become bishop there.’

  ‘You must tell Henry the truth.’

  ‘In good time.’ His voice sounded tired.

  Mary frowned. ‘If he believes these stories it will count against us.’ He didn’t reply and she realised he’d fallen asleep after too much good wine.

  Mary took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and held tight to the ship’s wooden rail. Their stay in Calais was pleasant enough but they’d both grown impatient waiting for Henry’s consent for their return. When his letter finally arrived it triggered a flurry of packing and goodbyes, as Brandon secured a passage on a merchant ship leaving with the early tide the next morning.

  A sea mist hung over the water, reducing visibility, but their captain assured them the winds were fair for the crossing. Mary stayed on deck with Brandon to watch as they manoeuvred from the crowded harbour of Calais and cleared the high Rysbank Tower.

  The undulating coast of France melted into the grey mist and she did a quick calculation on her fingers. ‘It has been seven months since I last saw England, although it feels like a lifetime.’

  ‘You’ll find England much the same as when you left – although you’ve changed.’ He smiled at her. ‘You left as a girl and return as a woman.’

  ‘You are right.’ She pulled him closer. ‘I was innocent of the world outside London, let alone the French court.’

  ‘It’s good you’ve lived a little.’ Brandon looked into her eyes. ‘You know it will be a struggle, until Henry shows his forgiveness?’

  ‘Where will we live?’ Mary hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.

  Brandon put his warm cloak over her shoulders as a chill sea breeze blew across the deck. ‘I have a house by the Thames, close to Greenwich and Westminster. It will need work, but if I can raise the money it could be made fit for a queen.’

  ‘I’ve never had my own house. Richmond belongs to Henry and I never felt at home in France.’

  Brandon put his arm around Mary to steady her as the ship heeled a little in the wind. ‘We shall name it Suffolk Place, and once we are established I’ll build us another house in the country, somewhere we can escape to when London becomes too oppressive.’

  At last Mary pointed as the faint shadow of Dover loomed in the distance. She’d been looking forward to this moment since they’d set out from Paris, yet now England was in sight her old misgivings returned.

  Thomas Wolsey’s letters warned there would be consequences for their actions and Mary had lain awake at night wondering what they might be. She’d seen Henry’s displeasure in the past and she knew he was not a man to cross. Now she worried, not for herself, but for Brandon.

  She looked up at him and saw him frown as he studied the distant white cliffs of Dover, topped by the dark outline of the castle. Their crossing had been uneventful yet Mary feared they were sailing into troubled waters.

  13

  May 1515

  Nobles from the royal court rode to greet them, banners flying in the breeze. Twenty mounted yeomen of the g
uard rode behind them in the king’s colourful livery. Mary’s heart began to race. She wondered if they’d come to take Brandon to the Tower of London.

  She brought her horse to a halt and looked across at him. ‘You can’t let them arrest you.’

  He stopped at her side, shading his eyes from the early sunshine with his hand as he studied the approaching men, trying to judge their mood. ‘I shall have to take my chances, as do we both. I know your brother as well as anyone and trust he will allow me the chance to explain.’

  ‘What will we do if he locks you up in the Tower?’ She frowned as she remembered horrific stories she’d heard of men driven to madness in their cells.

  ‘Then you will have to speak on my behalf.’ He turned to her, concern in his eyes. ‘Have faith. Henry gave his word you could marry of your own choosing. He can’t have forgotten – you’ve reminded him often enough.’

  Mary felt her courage slipping away as she watched the guards ride closer. Armed with swords and halberds, they would easily overtake her heavily laden wagons on the long straight road. Brandon was right, they would have to pray they found her brother in a benevolent mood.

  ‘That’s Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, riding at the front with his sons.’ Brandon scowled. ‘My ancestors served his family and he’s never let me forget it. I don’t doubt he’s been looking forward to this moment.’

  ‘Sir Thomas escorted me to France. Perhaps he’s here to greet me on my return.’ Mary recognised a familiar, stout figure, dressed in long black robes. A crucifix flashed on his chest as it caught the sunlight. ‘Thomas Wolsey rides behind them. Do you think it’s a good omen that he’s come in person?’

  Brandon continued to study the approaching riders. ‘We are about to find out.’ He turned to look at her. ‘If they arrest me, I want you to know I regret nothing. I would gladly do it all again.’