The Lady in the Tower

by Виктория Холт

  There was nothing subtle about Mary. She enjoyed her sexual encounters as did those who shared them with her; and in her opinion that should not be the concern of anyone else.

  Perhaps it would not have been, if the first to take her up had not been the King.

  She was now referred to not as the King's mare but the mare anyone could ride at any time it suited him. This was a very willing little English mare.

  Marguerite understood my shame.

  “Your sister is a foolish girl,” she said. “She does not understand our ways as you do.”

  “I have remonstrated with her,” I replied.

  This made Marguerite smile. “Oh, poor little sister. You are so much wiser than she. You will learn from her mistakes. You would never act as she has, I know.”

  “Never,” I said fervently.

  “Your sister, as I said, does not understand us. She is not exactly wanton. She is innocent, which sounds strange in one who leads such a life. She is like a child who takes too much of what seems to her so good, and does not think of the effects it is having. There are others like her. Do not think she is unique. But where is her discretion? they are asking. How many have ridden the King's mare? Poor child. That is detrimental to her. The King cannot have the morals of his Court so corrupted.”

  I looked at her in astonishment and she laughed.

  “It is not that she has taken many lovers that is so disastrous; it is her manner of doing so. She blatantly enjoys it. It is almost as though her actions have become a public spectacle. People talk of her ribaldly. That, my brother will not endure. He declares he honors all women and will not have our sex humiliated… and that is what your sister is doing.”

  I was bewildered and as always in our encounters Marguerite wanted me to explain my thoughts.

  I said: “But it was the King himself who seduced her. He it was who called her his mare.”

  “He did all this discreetly. It was only natural that she would find him irresistible and that in time he should have tired of her. Then she could have taken another lover… discreetly. In time the King might have found a husband for her. That often happens in such cases. But Mary could not wait. She must dash into the next available bed. She should have bargained.”

  “That seems worse.”

  “It is…in a way… but it is etiquette and let me tell you this, Anne, my dear child: it is not what is done in my brother's Court which is important, but the manner in which it is done.”

  “But Mary would never barter. She would give.”

  “That is true. But to give too freely is not good manners. It is humiliating our sex. You are puzzled, as well you might be. But this is how things are at my brother's Court.”

  “Mary is young… she is simple really.”

  “Ah, there you have it. She is too simple to be acceptable at the Court of France.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  “She is to be sent back to England.”

  “Sent back in disgrace!”

  “Her presence is no longer required at the Court of France.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “And I?” I asked.

  “My dear child, you are not responsible for your sister. Why, you are even younger than she is. I have grown fond of you. You interest me. My brother has noticed you, too.” She looked at me steadily. “You will always remember your sister and never, never make the mistakes that she has.”

  I nodded.

  “We wish you to stay at our Court. I am sure your father will agree to that—though your sister must go.”

  So Mary went.

  My father was horrified that she should be sent home—and for such a reason. I heard later from her that she was made very unhappy for a while. But she had had such an exciting time at the Court of France that she would remember it forever.

  My father had married again and Mary was not welcome in the household. She was in disgrace.

  But Mary's nature was not to be sad for long, and a year after her banishment I heard that she was married; her husband was a William Carey—a nobleman but poor; he came of a good family from the West Country—not the sort of match my father had anticipated for his daughter. It must have seemed to him that all his efforts on Mary's behalf had been wasted. But Mary was happy; she would always be happy; and perhaps if she were married to a man who pleased her—and she would not look for great riches—she would be contented.

  Mary's experiences had a great effect on me—one which I should never forget. I did not know what plans my father had for me, but I guessed there would be plans. I was the only daughter left to keep up the Boleyn tradition of advantageous marriages.

  And I was growing up.

  I felt I wanted to hold back time. I wanted to go on living in this most elegant Court. I wanted to serve Queen Claude in the cloistered atmosphere of her apartments from which I could escape now and then to the stimulating society of Marguerite d'Alençon. I wanted my girlhood to go on and on.

  Never, never must I follow in Mary's humiliating path. Remember it, always, I told myself.

  One does not always realize at the time what effect historical events have upon our lives.

  In the year 1520 I was thirteen years old, getting dangerously near the time when I should be considered marriageable. It was something I refused to think about.

  Momentous events were afoot. The Emperor Maximilian, who had been one of the leading figures in European politics for so long, died. François immediately announced to his rival, Charles of Austria, who was now King of Spain, his claim to the vacant suzerainty. There was a great deal of discussion in Marguerite's circle about this. I heard it mentioned that the King of England believed he also had a claim.

  The choice rested with a council of German Princes and Archbishops besides the Duke of Saxony, the Margrave of Brandenburg, the King of Bohemia and the Court Palatine of the Rhine. They were the only ones who could make the choice. Their verdict was a blow to François. He had thought he had a chance, though not an overwhelming one. Charles of Austria and Spain was elected and so became known as the Emperor Charles.

  The result of this was to draw the disappointed candidates—France and England—together and it was arranged that a meeting should take place between them.

  Much discussion went on between the two countries. Each was determined to show its power and glory to the other. So there was to be this meeting between the two Kings; if I were present with the Court, it would be the second time I had seen the King of England and I was excited at the prospect.

  The matter was often discussed in Marguerite's circle, of which I was happy now to be a member. Queen Claude put no obstacles in my way; she thought it an excellent opportunity for me to be received in such intellectual company, which I could not enjoy with her.

  I was naturally interested in comments on England. They spoke quite frankly in front of me. I think they had forgotten I was English—so French had I become.

  Marguerite used to laugh about King Henry's vanity. We heard many stories about him because ambassadors were constantly coming back to the Court of France after having been to that of England and they liked to gossip. Marguerite encouraged this. We knew that the King of England had a tendency to play boyish games, that he liked appearing at masques in disguise, although it was never difficult to see through those disguises, for he could always be recognized by his height and reddish hair. He took a boyish delight in being treated familiarly and then suddenly revealing himself with: “I am your King.”

  There was a great deal of laughter among Marguerite's friends—not always kind. Henry was a little naïve in the manner in which he betrayed his interest in François. They were more or less of the same age and in similar positions. Henry would have heard of François's good looks and elegance. He himself was considered handsome—a fine figure of a king and he wanted to make sure that he was equal to—or, better, excelled— François.

  When the Venetian ambassador called at the Court, he had just come from
England and he repeated a conversation between himself and Henry which was typical.

  Henry wanted to know whether the King of France was as tall as he was. The Venetian ambassador replied that he could not give a definite answer; they were both unusually tall and must be about the same height.

  “Is he as stout as I?” asked Henry.

  “No,” replied the ambassador. “He is slender.”

  “What sort of legs has he?” asked the King of England.

  “Very slender.”

  “Slender!” cried the King. “Then they cannot be shapely. Look you, man.” He held up his leg. “Look at this calf. Just look at it.”

  The ambassador did as he was told and had to admit that the leg of the King of England was very fine indeed.

  There was a great deal of laughter. “And what are your legs like?” became a catchphrase throughout the Court for a while.

  But the growing power of the Emperor Charles meant that the Kings of France and England, whatever the rivalry between them, would have to watch the Emperor, and it was politic for them to show him that they were good friends, at least outwardly.

  These three men stood astride Europe—the Emperor Charles, the King of France and the King of England. They were all young. Henry of England was the eldest, being three years older than François, and François was four years older than the Emperor. They were all eager to prove themselves—all energetically dedicated to the struggle for power.

  As a result of this situation the King of England sent an embassy to Paris, there to make arrangements for the meeting between the two Kings. It was with some apprehension that I learned that my father was a member of this embassy.

  Our meeting was rather a painful one. My father studied me closely. I saw at once that he was not displeased with me but the shadow of Mary's disgrace hung over us.

  I curtsied and kept my eyes downcast.

  He said: “It is a long time, daughter, since we met.”

  “Yes, father.” I was uneasy, wondering whether I should have to return to England with him.

  “I have had good reports of you,” he said, and I had the impression that he was pleased with me. I would have given a good deal for a sign of fatherly affection, but that, of course, would have been asking for too much. I found myself wishing that George had been sent instead of my father. What a different meeting that would have been!

  I think he did not mean to be unkind, but he did not know how to show affection to us—though when I returned home and saw him with my stepmother, I realized that he could be fond of someone. It was a strange marriage because she was of no great family and by marrying her he had gone against the Boleyn tradition. I was to come to love her in time, for she was a wonderful woman—even though her blood might not be noble; and when I compared her with my cold grandfather, the Duke of Norfolk, and my indifferent uncle, the Earl of Surrey, I was glad my father had for once allowed his affections to get the better of his family pride.

  He could not, it seemed, show affection to his children; but I think he must have suffered acutely over Mary.

  “You are now a young woman… almost,” he said. “How old are you?”

  Odd that he, who had begotten me, could not remember. “I am thirteen years old, father.”

  “Growing up. Growing up. They have been good to you at the Court of France?”

  “Very good.”

  “And I hear that the Duchess d'Alençon has shown some interest in you.”

  “She has been very kind to me.”

  “You will be returning home…in due course.”

  I lowered my eyes. I did not want him to see the apprehension in my face. I dreaded that summons home. It would mean either a life of boredom at Hever or Blickling…or marriage. But perhaps a place at Court? I wondered. Could Mary have disgraced us all so much that that would be impossible?

  “I doubt whether I shall be coming with the King's party,” said my father.

  I was relieved at that.

  “I shall make the arrangements. I have certain discussions with the French foreign minister… and then I shall return home.”

  “Yes, father.”

  “Is there much talk here…of your sister?”

  “She is hardly ever mentioned. It is forgotten, I think.”

  “Idiot,” he said. “Well, she is off my hands now. Carey …” he grimaced with contempt. “She was lucky to get even him after her disgraceful conduct.”

  “I don't think she realized…”

  “I don't know how I could have offended God to be cursed with such a child.”

  I knew it was no use trying to explain Mary to him. As far as he was concerned, she was a bitter disappointment, an utter disaster.

  I saw him once or twice at Court; he was often hurrying to some meeting. I was relieved when he left.

  That meeting between the two Kings, which is often referred to as “the Field of the Cloth of Gold” because of the lavish extravagance which was given to it, is well known in history.

  I was old enough to be struck by the falseness of life at Court—and not just the French Court. I supposed that all courts were more or less the same. This meeting had not been devised so that two rulers with similar aims might be together in friendly fashion and talk of the peace of nations. It was an encounter between rivals, each eager to display his wealth and power to the other. While they talked friendship, they planned treachery, and the main object of the meeting was to show their successful rival, the Emperor Charles, that they would stand together against him.

  My father had arranged that the two Kings should meet in France. There had been a certain amount of maneuvering about this, for Henry of England thought he might demean himself by crossing the Channel; François no doubt felt the same.

  After much argument it had been decided that the meeting should take place in Picardy but that the headquarters of the King of England should be at Guines, which was not far from Calais and in English territory, while those of the King of France should be at Ardres, which belonged to France.

  Preparations were extensive. I expected it was the same in England, for each King was determined to outdo the other. There was great consternation when it was learned that the Emperor Charles had landed in England in order to have a conference with Henry before he set sail for France, which made it clear that he must be disturbed to contemplate this show of friendship between the Kings of France and England.

  There were always a great many secret missions going on between all countries; visitors arrived constantly at Court who were, I was sure, spies and they brought news of what was happening in England. It appeared that Henry had gone to Dover to meet Charles when he heard he was about to land and the two monarchs had journeyed to Canterbury where they visited the Cathedral and the shrine of St. Thomas àBecket.

  The Cathedral was resplendent with all the precious gifts which had been brought to the shrine over the years, and it seemed that Charles was very impressed by such honor done to the saint—an indication, he said, of the piety of the nation.

  There was a very disturbing piece of news which I heard Marguerite discussing, and that was that the Emperor Charles had made a friend of Cardinal Wolsey.

  Wolsey was a name I had heard frequently whenever my country was mentioned. Wolsey, it was said, had the ear of the King; and Wolsey it was who kept a tight grip on affairs in England. The King honored him; he was a brilliant statesman; when one considered how England would act, one thought of Wolsey.

  The Emperor, it seemed, had promised Wolsey that he would help him in his lifelong ambition, which was to become Pope. François had no such bait to offer him.

  Everyone was talking about the preparations for the meeting of the Kings. Right from the beginning the rivalry was apparent. Henry had chosen eleven hundred workmen from Flanders and Holland—the most skillful in the world at their particular trade—to build a wooden palace in the shape of a quadrangle. On one side of the entrance was a fountain and in this a statue of Bacchus had been
set up. Not water but wine flowed in this fountain. And on it was written in letters of gold: Make Good Cheer Who Will. On the other side of the entrance was a column held up by four lions and on the top a statue of Cupid, arrow poised. As if this were not enough, Henry had had a large statue placed opposite his palace depicting a Herculean figure with the inscription: He Whom I Back Wins.

  There could be nothing more likely to arouse feelings of rivalry in the French and they set about scoring over the English, but with good taste to match ostentation.

  François had had erected close to the town of Ardres a great tent, the dome of which was covered in cloth of gold. The inside was decorated with blue velvet spattered with stars so that it looked like the night sky. Though I did not see it, I heard that it was magnificent and made Henry's wooden palace seem vulgar.

  However, a few days before the meeting was due to take place, a storm arose and the wind, being almost of hurricane force, tore up the tentpegs and ruined the cloth of gold, destroying François's magnificent tent. The superstitious wondered whether it was an omen.

  François immediately took possession of a castle near Ardres and made light of the ominous event.

  I wish I had seen that meeting of the Kings. It must have been impressive and at the same time a little amusing to see those mighty monarchs, so wary of each other and making such efforts to show what good friends they were—and thereby showing that they were not. There had been a great deal of discussion as to how the meeting should take place. Neither must give way to the other. There must be no sign that one side was the weaker.

  They must have looked splendid; they were both head and shoulders above most men, both vain of their appearances and but newly come to kingship—and for neither of them had the possession of the crown been a certainty. Henry had had to take second place to his brother Arthur for years; François had lived in a state of anxiety even after the death of Louis. That must have made the crown doubly precious to them both.

  They were to meet in a valley between Ardres and Guines. On the way there Henry's horse stumbled. I can imagine the consternation that ran through the English community. Was it a sign? Henry, however, ignored the incident as François had the destruction of his tent—and went on to meet his friendly foe.