Jean Plaidy - Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII
She jerked herself from his embrace, her eyes dark with passion.
“Masques! Banquets!” she cried. “Is that all the balm you have to offer for a broken heart!”
Then she ran from the apartment, leaving him standing there, bewildered—but miraculously not angry, only sad because he could see no way of helping her.
There was a further check to his plans. Charles Brandon, now the Duke of Suffolk, was ready to set out for the Netherlands where he would fill the post of Henry’s ambassador. And once he is out of England I shall feel easier in my mind, thought Henry, for it is because she sees him constantly at Court that she has become so intractable.
Before the newly created Duke set out, however, a courier arrived with a letter from Margaret to Henry.
She was deeply embarrassed. A rumor had reached her father that she proposed marrying Charles Brandon, and the Emperor was extremely angry. She therefore thought it advisable that before he set out for the Netherlands, Brandon should marry Elizabeth Grey to whom she knew he was affianced. This she believed was the only way in which her father could be appeased.
Henry stared moodily before him. Clearly Margaret regretted that piece of romantic folly, and when Brandon was no longer at her side she realized that marriage with him would be incongruous. She was telling him and Charles that that little episode was over.
He sent for Charles and showed him the letter, and the manner in which his friend received the news was in itself disconcerting, because it seemed to Henry that the fellow was relieved.
“What of marrying Elizabeth Grey?” he asked.
“She is but nine years old, Your Grace; a little young for marriage.”
Henry grunted.
“Then,” he said, “you must perforce leave for the Netherlands without delay.” He brightened a little. “It may be that when Margaret has you at her side once more she will be ready to snap her fingers at the Emperor.”
Charles bowed his head. He did not want the King to read his thoughts.
Henry said: “Then begone, Charles. Leave at once. There is no time to say your farewells to … anyone. I expect you to have left by tomorrow.”
So Charles left for Flanders, and the Princess Mary was more and more melancholy as the days passed.
The Duc de Longueville, guest, rather than prisoner, at the Court of England, found means of writing to his master Louis XII.
He did not regret his capture, he wrote, because it was so amusing and interesting to watch the young King of England in his Court. At the moment there was a great bustle of preparation for the Princess Mary’s marriage to young Prince Charles. The Princess was not eager; in fact, he heard on good authority that she was imploring her brother to stop the match. Not that her pleas were of much avail, although Henry was made very anxious by the importunings of his sister.
“He loves this girl,” wrote the Duke, “as, to my mind, he loves no other; and it does not surprise me. If my gracious liege could see her, he would understand. For she is of a truth the loveliest creature in the Court. Her hair, which is the color of gold, is abundant and falls in thick shining curls to her waist; she has a healthy complexion like her brother’s, and her eyes are large and blue—though at this moment somewhat melancholy. She is well formed and graceful, high spirited by nature, though downcast at the prospect of her marriage, seeming a little younger than her eighteen years. A delightful girl.”
Henry liked to ride out to the chase, the French Duke beside him, for the man was an elegant and witty companion and Henry enjoyed his company; in addition it was so delightful to contemplate that he had taken the Duke prisoner in battle.
Once as they rode back to Greenwich after a pleasurable but exhausting day, Longueville said to Henry: “Your Grace, do you trust the Emperor?”
“Trust him!” cried Henry. “Indeed I trust him. We fought together in Flanders and he served under my command.”
“A strange gesture from his Imperial Highness.”
“Oh, he is a simple man. He told me that he was old and I was young; and that it was a mistake for youth to serve age. It should be the other way about.”
“And he was paid highly for those sentiments, I’ll swear.”
“I paid him as I would pay any generals serving under me.”
“And won for him the two towns he wanted?”
Henry flushed scarlet. “You forget, sir, that you are my prisoner.”
“I forget it not,” answered Longueville, “although the gracious manner in which you have always treated me might make me do so.”
“I forget not your rank.”
“Then, Your Highness will perhaps listen to my opinions, for I was a confidant of the King of France, my master, and I could be of use to you.”
“How so?”
“Your Highness discovered the perfidy of Ferdinand of Aragon.”
“That is so.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that the Emperor and Ferdinand are now making a treaty with my King, while professing friendship with you?”
“I perceive,” retorted Henry, “that you believe yourself to be the ambassador of the King of France. I must perforce remind you that you occupy no such post. You are the prisoner of the King of England.”
Longueville bowed his head, but a sly smile played about his mouth. He knew that he made Henry very uneasy.
As he was given the freedom of the Palace, Longueville did not find it difficult to speak a few words to the Princess Mary, and one day he presented himself at her apartments to ask for an audience.
Lady Guildford was inclined to forbid it, but Mary heard the Frenchman talking to her lady-mistress and idly asked what he wanted.
He begged to be allowed to speak to her, and Mary told him he might. Lady Guildford hovered in the background while he did so.
“My lady,” said Longueville, “I have news which I think you should know. As you will guess, I receive letters from France and I know what plots are afoot. Prince Charles, who is betrothed to you, is now being offered a French Princess, and his grandfather, Ferdinand, has actually declared that if he does not take her and abandon you, he will leave his Spanish dominions to Charles’s younger brother, Prince Ferdinand.”
Her eyes widened and lost a little of their melancholy.
“Is this so?” she said thoughtfully.
“I thought you would wish to know, for you are too proud a lady to think of marriage where you are not wanted.”
“My lord Duke,” answered Mary, “I thank you, and I beg of you, keep me informed, for you are right when you say I have no wish for such a marriage.”
He left her, satisfied; and when he had gone she ran to Lady Guildford and began to shake the startled woman.
“Did you hear that?” she demanded. “Charles is being offered to a French Princess, and his grandfather Ferdinand wants him to abandon me. This is a happy day.”
“You must not excite yourself.”
“Not excite myself! Are you mad? Of course I shall excite myself. This is the best news I have heard since they betrothed me to that idiot. I’ll not marry a boy who does not want me.” She was laughing hysterically. Then she stopped and said: “Poor French Princess!”
Henry tried to shut his ears to the rumors. It was too humiliating. He had been duped by Ferdinand; could it be that he had met the same fate at the hands of the Emperor?
He refused to believe it. He thought of the man humbling himself before him, coming to him in black frieze, a widower mourning for his wife. “I will serve under you … and I must be paid as you would pay your generals. We will take these two towns. …” He had not said that they were the towns he wanted. And what good were they to England? Had the Emperor been laughing at the King of England, as Ferdinand had, exploiting his vanity?
Henry would want absolute proof before he believed it.
Charles Brandon returned from the Netherlands where Margaret had been friendly, but cool. Clearly there could never be a question of marriage between them.
“All my plans are coming to naught,” grumbled Henry.
Mary sent for the Duke of Suffolk.
“Have a care, my lady,” warned Lady Guildford. “Remember the Duke’s reputation. He is not a man to be lightly invited to a lady’s private apartments.”
“You may leave this to me,” Mary retorted imperiously. “And when he comes I wish to be alone with him.”
“But my lady …”
“Those are my orders.”
He came and stood before her, and when Mary had dismissed Lady Guildford, who went most reluctantly, she put her arms about his neck and they stood for some seconds in a close embrace.
It was he who took her hands and withdrew them from his neck; they stood looking at each other.
“Charles,” cried Mary, “Margaret has refused you and Charles is going to refuse me. Was there ever such great good fortune?”
He looked at her sadly, and she shook her head in exasperation.
“You despair too easily.”
“Tell me for what you think we may hope,” he asked.
“I am eighteen and marriageable. I must be given a husband from somewhere. And if a Duke is worthy of Margaret of Savoy, why not of the Princess Mary? That is what I shall ask my brother.”
“He thinks you far more precious than Margaret of Savoy.”
“He must be made to see reason.”
“I beg of you, be cautious for both our sakes.”
She threw herself against him: “Oh Charles, Charles, who ever was cautious in love?”
“We must be … if we wish to survive.”
Her eyes sparked. “Do not think I spend my days sitting and dreaming. I have made a plan.”
He looked alarmed; she saw this and burst into laughter. “You will soon discover what it is. Very shortly you will receive an order to appear at the Manor of Wanstead. Then you shall hear all about it.”
“Mary …”
She stood on tiptoe and put her lips against his.
“Kiss me,” she said. “That makes me happier than talk. By the Holy Mother, there is so little time when we may be alone; Mother Guildford will find some pretext soon to come and disturb us. Oh, you are back … miraculously free … as I am! Charles, Charles, do not ever think that I will allow them to take you from me.”
He abandoned himself. How could he do otherwise? She was irresistible; he could even ask himself: What did it matter if this was the end of ambition? At moments like this he could believe he would willingly barter all he had achieved for an hour with her.
Charles was not the only one who was summoned to the Manor of Wanstead. Thomas Wolsey, Bishop of Lincoln, received a command to attend, as did the Bishops of Winchester and Durham.
When they arrived they found Sir Ralph Verney, the Princess’s Chamberlain, already there; with him was the Earl of Worcester who told them that, on the instructions of the Princess Mary, he was to take them with him into the great hall.
There Mary was waiting to receive them. She looked more than beautiful on that day; she was regal; she had put on a purple cloak which was lined with ermine, and standing on the dais she greeted them with the utmost formality.
When she had spoken to each singly, she begged them to be seated, while she addressed them.
She spoke in her high clear voice and, although now and then during her discourse her eyes fell on Charles, she gave no suggestion that she regarded him in any special light; and the impression she gave was that he was there because he was the Duke of Suffolk and for no other reason.
“My lords,” she said, “I have assembled you here to speak of a matter which touches my royal dignity, and I look to your loyalty to the Crown to support me. I know I can rely on you. It has been brought to my ears that the Prince of Castile and his family continually conspire against my brother and this realm. I am, therefore, resolved never to fulfill my contract with him.”
There was silence among the assembly, but there was one among them whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Wolsey had risen high in the King’s favor since the war, and he saw himself rising still higher. He had long doubted the sincerity of the Emperor, and that the alliance with the Prince of Castile should be abandoned suited his plans.
Mary continued: “I beg of you all to plead my cause with the King, my brother, who may well be displeased with me for summoning you hither.”
Charles watching her thought: How wonderful she is! There is no one like her. Who else, but eighteen years old, would have dared summon her brother’s ministers to her presence and make her will known?
He was exultant because he was beginning to believe that she must achieve her desires—and hers were his.
When Mary rode back with her attendants to Greenwich, the people came out to cheer her; they marveled at her appearance for, on this occasion with the certainty of victory in her eyes, she was so beautiful.
She had not been so happy since she had realized the difficulties which stood between her and the man she so ardently loved, and one of the reasons for her elation was that Thomas Wolsey had spoken to her when taking his leave.
“My lady,” he had said, “you may rely on me to do my utmost with the King to have you released from this match which is repugnant to you.”
Mary recognized in that man a spirit similar to her own.
“Wolsey is on my side,” she told herself.
Henry no longer had any doubt of the perfidy of the Emperor.
Envoys from France had arrived at Greenwich, ostensibly to make terms for the return of the Duc de Longueville and other prisoners whom Henry had taken at Thérouanne; in fact they came to bring a message from the King of France which was for Henry’s ears alone, and as he listened to it the veins stood out at his temples. Not only had Ferdinand renewed his alliance with France but the Emperor Maximilian was his ally in this and—behind the back of his comrade-in-arms, Henry of England—had made his peace with the French. It was however the wish of the King of France to make friends with England; and if His Grace would summon the Duc de Longueville to his presence, the Duke would lay before him a proposition from the King of France.
Henry summoned the Duke to his presence, and with him that minister on whom he had come to rely, Thomas Wolsey; and when the King heard what the Duc de Longueville had to say his eyes glistened with something like delight. By God, he thought, here is a way of avenging myself on that pair of rascals. Foxy Ferdinand and Imperial Perfidy will dance with rage when they hear of this.
The matter was settled and it only remained for the principal person concerned to be informed. Henry sent for his sister, the Princess Mary.
When she came to his presence Thomas Wolsey was with the King, and her warm smile included them both, for she believed Wolsey to be her friend.
Henry embraced her.
“News, sister, which will be most welcome to you.”
Her smile was dazzling in its satisfaction.
“We are breaking off relations with Maximilian, and a marriage between you and his grandson is now impossible.”
She clasped her hands together. Gratitude filled her heart, to Providence, to Henry, to Wolsey, to the Emperor for his perfidy. Her prayers were answered. She was free and in a short time she would cajole Henry into letting her have her way.
