The Lady in the Tower Read online

  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.

  They regarded each other for a moment or two. Knowing Henry so well now, I can imagine his little eyes taking in every detail of that truly elegant figure before him; and knowing François too, I could picture his cool assessment of his rival.

  The two Kings greeted each other and embraced before they dismounted; and then arm in arm they walked to the tent where Wolsey and de Bonnivet—François's chief minister—awaited them.

  Their words were, of course, recorded by observers and repeated.

  “My dear brother and cousin,” François said, “I have come a long way and not without trouble to see you in person. I hope that you hold me for such that I am, ready to give you aid with the kingdoms and lordships that are in my power.”

  Henry replied: “It is not your kingdoms or your divers possessions that I regard, but the soundness and loyal observance of the promises set down in treaties between us two. My eyes never beheld a Prince who could be dearer to my heart, and I have crossed the seas at the extreme boundary of my kingdom to come and see you.”

  In the tent agreements were drawn up regarding the marriage of the Dauphin and Henry's daughter, Mary, who was just four years old.

  It was a good beginning. I learned afterward, when I knew Henry very well indeed, that he had been greatly impressed by François's appearance, and it had depressed him a little because he always wished to shine more brightly than anyone near him, and he was afraid that François might be considered the more attractive. Then he remembered that François's legs were short. He looked at them and rejoiced. Of course François looked well on a horse. His own legs, he believed, were beautifully proportioned and François, being so slender, did not have that rounded calf which the King of England was so proud to possess. He often said much later when referring to François: “He had short legs and big feet. He was not quite perfect.”

  Now I can imagine his feelings on that celebrated occasion. The celebrations were to last sixteen days and the time would not be devoted merely to meetings between the monarchs. There would be jousts and tourneys, such entertainments as had never been seen before. Neither King had spared his attempts to impress the other with his wealth and power. It was said that those nobles who had accompanied the Kings to Guines and Ardres carried their lands and houses with them, so had they impoverished themselves in order to make the journey.

  But during those magnificent celebrations there was a hint of that tension which we all felt. There was such falseness behind the expressions of good will.

  It was arranged that the King of England was to go to Ardres to dine with Queen Claude, and that at the same time François was to go to Guines to be the guest of Queen Katharine.

  During the time the Kings were in foreign camps they should be hostages for each other. The suggestion had come from the English, and François laughingly agreed to it.

  The next morning François rose very early—which was unusual for him—and, taking only two gentlemen and a page, he rode over to the castle at Guines. The English guards were astonished to see him almost alone in their midst. I suppose the English were far more conscious of security than the French; they were after all in France, and certainly they did not trust the French. It was because he understood their feelings so well that François acted as he did that morning.

  He demanded of the guards the way to the chamber of the King of England.

  “His Grace is not yet awake,” the guards told him.

  François laughed and walked straight into the chamber where Henry was in bed.

  Henry was dumbfounded. He at once realized that he himself was in no danger, but François had taken a great risk by walking right into the midst of what could have been the enemy.

  Henry was immediately aware of the trust which was being shown him.

  He said: “Brother, you have done a better turn than any man ever did another. I see what trust I should have in you. I yield myself your prisoner from this moment.”

  Henry was wearing a jeweled collar worth fifteen thousand angels; he took it off and begged François to wear it for his sake.

  François, guessing something like this would happen and that there would be an exchange of gifts, had brought with him a bracelet which he insisted Henry accept and wear for his sake.

  François had judged accurately. The bracelet he bestowed was worth thirty thousand angels. The French must outdo the English in all things. That was a little touch typical of François.

  He then said that he would be the King of England's valet and it was he who warmed Henry's shirt and handed it to him.

  When François returned to Ardres, his ministers were shocked that he had gone almost unaccompanied into the English stronghold, but François only laughed at them; and when he touched the collar which Henry had given him, and thought of the bracelet which he had given Henry, he was much amused.

  There was another incident which did not end up in quite such an amicable way.

  This was on the occasion of a wrestling match, when, as in all the tournaments, the excitement was increased by the rivalry of the French and English.

  Henry had brought the champions of the sport with him from England, and as soon as the match began, it became clear that the skill of the English was superior to that of the French. I heard many a grumble that the best French wrestlers, who came from Brittany, had not been invited to take part. It was an oversight which was very regrettable to the French but delighted the English, for they won all the prizes.

  I could see that François was disconsolate when the winners came to the ladies’ loge to receive the prizes from Queen Claude.

  Afterward the Kings went into one of the pavilions to refresh themselves with a drink together. Henry was delighted with the success of the English, and he thought to crown the glory by wrestling with François and overthrowing him.

  He turned to him and said: “Brother, I must wrestle with you.” He thereupon seized François and sought to trip him. He must have forgotten—or perhaps he did not know—that François was one of the finest wrestlers in France. In a few seconds Henry was thrown to the ground.

  Embarrassed and angry, Henry rose.

  “Once again,” he cried. “Once again.”

  But the French King's friends reminded him that supper was just about to be served and, as none could start without them, it would be a breach of etiquette to arrive late. The wrestling match would have to be postponed.

  I can imagine François looking down his long nose at Henry and laughing inwardly, and Henry's humiliation to have been thrown. Fortunately it was only those close to the Kings who had seen it, but he knew the story would be all around the Court by tomorrow—as it was, and that was how I heard of it.

  But although François might have gleaned a momentary satisfaction, the incident did him little good, for after all, he was trying to win Henry to his side in the conflict with the Emperor; and Henry was a man who remembered slights.

  I vividly recall the dinner at which Queen Claude entertained the King of England. It was the occasion when François was dining with Queen Katharine. As one of Claude's attendants, I was present, so I had a greater opportunity of observing King Henry than I had ever had before.

  He was extremely affable and none could be more charming when he wished. I think the absence of François made him feel more at ease. He was gracious and very attentive to Claude; he had heard much of her saintliness, he said; and that was a quality he most admired in ladies. He was honored to be in the company of a lady of such goodness.

  I remember the gown I wore on that occasion. It was red velvet—one of my favorite colors—with a long skirt open in front to show a brocade petticoat. It was drawn in tightly at the waist and my long wide sleeves fel
l gracefully, well below my hands, hiding that sixth nail which always bothered me.

  The King complimented the Queen on the excellent food and wine and afterward he spoke to all of us.

  He lingered a little with me—I supposed because I was English. He seemed particularly amused to hear that I was Sir Thomas Boleyn's daughter.

  “A good servant, Sir Thomas,” he commented. “And you are an English girl.” He slapped his thigh. “I could have sworn you were French.”

  “I have been long at the Court of France, Your Grace.”

  He put his big face close to mine and said jovially: “Well then, you must have been nothing but a baby when you came.”

  “I was seven years old, Your Grace.”

  “Beautiful girls should be where they belong,” he said. “In their own country.”

  I smiled and he passed on.

  I thought he was very friendly, which was obviously because I was my father's daughter. I knew that he had progressed amazingly at Court during the last years.

  The great occasion of the Field of the Cloth of Gold was over by 24 June and I left with the royal party for Abbeville, while King Henry and Queen Katharine led their cavalcade toward Calais where they were to make the crossing to England.

  The next day François was furiously angry and that anger seemed to reverberate throughout the Court, for the King of England, instead of going directly to Calais, had gone to Gravelines, where the Emperor Charles, with his brother Ferdinand and his wily minister Chièvres, were waiting to meet him.

  So this was what the protestations of brotherly affection and friendship were worth! No sooner had the King of England said goodbye to his friend François than he was meeting the Emperor Charles; and Heaven knew what treaties they would be drawing up together.

  One thing was certain though—they would bring no good to the King of France.

  That year seemed to flash by. I was fourteen years old. I knew in my heart that I could not go on as I was much longer. There would be plans to get me married. Already I was aware of the glances of young men which seemed to follow me everywhere I went. I smoldered with resentment for I was sure some of them were remembering Mary and judging me by her.

  I had a ready wit which was gaining me quite a little reputation. Then I began to enjoy the admiration of the young men—which did not arouse in me any desire whatsoever—because of the opportunity to repulse them. I was so anxious to show them that I was not like Mary that I think I developed into being sexually cold. When I saw some of the women giggling together and recounting their amorous adventures, I felt disgusted. I was so determined not to be like Mary that I made myself so.

  Oddly enough, instead of being a deterrent, my studied indifference to the advances of young men seemed to make them more eager to pursue me. I could play the lute very well indeed. I have never believed in false modesty and I would say that few of the ladies could compare with me in that respect. I could sing well and could dance even better. In fact, I had been taught all the social graces and I had learned my lessons well.

  I had always been interested in clothes and because I had two defects to hide—my sixth nail and the mole on my neck—I designed my own clothes and I had become good at it. I could mingle colors artistically and I knew exactly what suited me, and that was what I was going to wear, even though I must sometimes snap my fingers at fashion. So well did I succeed in this that my styles had started to become the fashion. Everyone wanted to wear them, but I heard it said that they did not look quite the same on others as they did on the little Boleyn.

  Suddenly I had emerged. I was no longer a child. I was a nubile woman. I was fashionable. I had acquired an elegance; and I looked different from other women at Court. There was, after all, a similarity about beautiful women like Françoise de Foix. Big blue eyes, fair curls, straight little noses, red lips and pearly teeth. I was not a beauty, but I was myself. Large, deepset eyes which held some mystery, for nobody understood what I was thinking; long black hair which I liked to wear hanging loose about my shoulders, scorning the elaborate hairstyles; pale skin and slightly prominent upper teeth, oval face and a long, slender neck. People noticed me before they did these beauties. My clothes designed by myself were different and when others copied them I changed my style. Oh yes, I was beginning to be noticed in the Court of France.

  My attitude toward my would-be suitors baffled them. They did not know that the shadow of my sister walked constantly beside me—a dreadful warning.

  As soon as the festivities of the Field of the Cloth of Gold were over, the Court started its summer season of traveling throughout the realm. This was almost like a repetition of those weeks at Ardres; there was feasting and tournaments at every château where we rested.

  François was perhaps a little subdued. He was too clever to deceive himself, and he knew that in the Emperor Charles he had a formidable enemy who seemed to flout him at every turn. It might be that all the expense incurred through the meeting with Henry was wasted, since Charles, lurking at Gravelines and with very little pomp and ceremony, had proceeded to undo all the good François had done. It had been a master stroke to offer to help Wolsey to the Papal crown; nothing could win over that wily statesman more than such an offer. François knew that in spite of his youth the Emperor was more than his match.

  But at this time my mind was full of my own affairs.

  Little incidents occurred which disturbed me. It was becoming clear to me that François's attention had alighted on me.

  When I played the lute, he would compliment me in most fulsome terms; I would find him at my side; he often partnered me in the dance. A great compliment, some thought, but it filled me with apprehension.

  I knew that François was not always scrupulous in courtship. On the surface he was the chivalrous knight; but he would employ all kinds of devious means to reach his desires. There was a rumor that his one-time mistress, Françoise de Foix, had been a lady of great virtue, having been brought up in the pious Court of Anne of Brittany; and a marriage had been arranged for her with the Comte de Châteaubriand, which had been a happy one. François had seen her, desired her and urged her to come to Court, but she listened to the entreaties of her husband and remained in the country. François had heard that her husband had a very unusual ring and they had made a pact that, if they were ever parted and he sent this ring to her, she was to come to him at once. François had a copy made of the ring and sent the Comte away on an embassy. Then he sent the ring to Françoise with the instruction that she was to come to Court without delay.

  Of course, if Françoise had been a truly virtuous woman, she would have gone straight home when she realized she had been duped and I am sure François would have been too chivalrous to prevent her. But one had to remember that François was a very attractive man—apart from his kingship—and the power which came from that made him irresistible. However, Françoise succumbed. She had three brothers who were hungry for promotion and François could give so much. So that was the end of the virtuous existence of Françoise de Foix.

  There were many such stories of François and some may not have been true, but knowing him I guessed they had their roots in fact.

  Thus, when I saw his eyes on me, I began to suffer small anxieties.

  If I had been different, I might have been willing. After all, he was the King. I should never be like my sister, of course, but without her example might I have fallen into temptation? Should I have enjoyed flaunting my power at Court as the King's mistress? I was not sure.

  I was helped a good deal by Marguerite.

  She adored her brother and thought him perfect in every way, but that did not mean she could not see other people's points of view.

  She used to read to me quite frequently. She was interested in me. In fact, there was a similarity between us. I lacked her erudition and her clever mind, but I found great pleasure in listening to her discourse.

  It was she who kept me informed of events and one of her great fears at this
time was that our countries would go to war. The meeting at Ardres and Guines? She shrugged that aside. It was merely two kings displaying their wealth and power. That was not how treaties were made. Did I think it furthered friendship? It was rivalry all the time. What are tournaments but competitions? When it is between two knights, that is very worthy, even though it engenders jealousy, but when it is between rival countries, then the danger is acute.

  “Then why…,” I began.

  She shook her head. “Who can say? It was a gesture… while it lasted. If it had been a meeting to discuss ideas…Oh, it was said to be so, but what was important? Who won at the jousts? Who won at the wrestling? Who had the greater strength? The greater power… the greater wealth … And all the time there is that young man… the most powerful man in Europe. He is young in years but in wisdom he is already an old man. I hate the thought of war.” Then she looked at me and said: “But you, Anne, have a distant look of late. Tell me, what is on your mind?”

  I hesitated and she urged me to go on. I said: “It is the King.”

  “François?”

  “He…he looks my way.”

  She nodded, smiling. “Ah, he is a lusty boy. He always was. He is strong… such a man. He adores beauty. He is going to build beautiful châteaux all over the country. You know he brought Leonardo da Vinci here. Poor man, his stay was short. Genius should be above mortality. It should be granted eternal life. He tried for Raphael. You see, he would bring all the great painters, writers and architects to France so that his country becomes the center of art. He lives for beauty and he sees that in women. Women are essential to him…as art is. And he has seen something in you which attracts him.”

  “I do not want…”

  She understood as she always did.

  “I know. You are young. You are not of an amorous nature… like your sister.”

  I shuddered.

  She said: “Yes, I understand, Anne. You felt it deeply. It was a great disgrace and humiliation to you. Of course, she was young and innocent. There are others here who do all that she has done… and more…and yet here they live as respected members of the Court. Your sister was not clever enough; she was not devious; she was too open. She enjoyed sexual encounters so much that she could never resist them. There are some women like that. She became a byword at the Court, and that is what could not be endured. There are women at the Court who could not tell you how many beds they have slept in… they are so numerous. But here they stay while poor innocent little Mary is sent away. And the gentlemen… led by the King…if they have not a mistress, they are regarded with suspicion. Yet your poor little sister is sent away as a prostitute.”