Between Two Kings (27 page)

François surprised Anne by laughing. It was a laugh of shock and an attempt to defuse the tension in the room. “Pleased, yes, most assuredly, she is that,” he said in a high voice.

“Mischief-makers are always pleased with the results of their doings,” Anne parried with a thin-lipped, bleak smile.

François stared at Tournon and Brosse. “Thank you, Your Eminence and Monsieur de la Brosse.” He smiled with a warm smile. “Please leave me with my wife.”

Brosse and Tournon climbed to their feet and bowed to the King and the Queen of France. They left the room without any other words.

François smiled heartily. “Anne, please don’t worry. Lady Rochford will pay for her crimes. Now we know the truth, and it will be easier for us to implement our plan. We are resourceful enough to outrun Cromwell and Lady Rochford and even King Henry.” His right hand trailed down her still flat belly. “Anne, I don’t want you to worry.”

Anne shook her head and refused to feel the emotion that any mention of Lady Rochford brought. But Anne’s heart was beating so loudly that she could hardly identify François’ words. She tried to slow her heart, but each moment was more difficult than the last. “I am not frustrated, Your Majesty. I just didn’t expect my sister-in-law to be so cunning and so mendacious.”

“Well, we will learn over time why she did it.”

Anne tipped her chin. “I wonder how we can pressure her. We are in Italy and she is in England.”

François smiled. “Well, I have some suggestions.”

Anne stared at him with a silent question in her eyes. “Why do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“Anne, I sent Philippe de Chabot to England because he is one of the most entrusted people in my entourage. When I learnt about Henry’s betrayal in financially supporting the emperor in the Italian war of 1521-1526, I asked Philippe to become the ambassador to England and to watch Henry.” He paused and rubbed his cheek. “Now I will ask Philippe to deal with Lady Rochford.”

“And what can we do?”

“Many things,” the king said cryptically. “There is one unusual way we can influence her from a distance. It might prove to be effective because she will be haunted by what she wants to forget.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Then, listen to me.”

Over the next half an hour, François and Anne discussed the situation concerning Jane Boleyn. Finally, they agreed upon what François would order Philippe de Chabot to do.

King François sighed, thinking whether he should say what he wanted to say. He decided to be truthful with Anne. “Besides, the situation with your fate was quite uncertain at that moment, and I wanted Chabot to regularly report to me about your case,” he confessed.

Anne raised her brows. “To report about my case?”

“Yes.” François nodded. “I was worried about you. Honestly, I didn’t believe that Henry would do what he did.”

Anne laughed half humorlessly, half sarcastically. “King Henry’s actions are hardly believable,” she replied coldly. As she was reminded about what Henry had done to her, she couldn’t look at François. She averted her gaze. She was also pleased that François was so frank with her. She hadn’t expected him to worry about her. She felt tears press against her eyes again, but she fought them back. She hated being weak. She sighed heavily. She felt better and that she had won the battle with the tears and her eyes were still dry.

François leapt to his feet and approached Anne, making her stand up. He swung her around to himself. He cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. As their lips parted, he smiled with a charming smile. “Anne, please try not to be so frustrated,” he remonstrated. She wanted to object, but he put a finger to her lips. “If you don’t wish to do it for yourself, think about our child.”

Anne glanced at him, her gaze blank. However, she had put a lot of effort into staying visibly calm because the news about Jane Boleyn had affected her much more than she wanted to admit. All that hurt came back to the surface, but she masked it. “I am not frustrated,” she said with a stony smile.

François sighed. Her denial only showed to him that she was hurt. Observing her, he had already learnt to understand her mood swings even under the mask of indifference. Had he not possessed such great observation skills, which had long been a source of pride for him, he would have never been able to start understanding Anne. “Anne, I will always take care of you and our child,” he declared in an almost fatherly tone.

It was a protective voice that she liked. Anne felt much better that François was with her in the same room. “Thank you,” she said.

François smiled. “Someday, very soon, your name will be cleared and we will say to the whole world who you are. You will be a great Queen Consort of France. One day you will see your children you were forced to leave in England, although now it is not possible. Will that not be grand? You will have no time to be sad then.”

At that instant, Anne felt very close to François. She was grateful to him because he said what she wanted to hear. Since her escape from England, she felt that as if François had taken on the weight of the world on her shoulders. François made her feel strangely comfortable, taking a part of her load from her. “Yes, it would be perfect,” she answered with gratitude.

François pulled her to his chest and kissed her on the nape of her head. “Perfect,” he echoed.

Suddenly, Anne remembered that François had told her that he had supported her marriage to Henry when they had met in Calais
 
in October 1532. However, later he hadn’t acknowledged her as the Queen of England, and she had felt betrayed. François also hadn’t given permission for a betrothal of Elizabeth with his son
 
Charles de Valois, Duke d’Orléans
,
François’ third son with Claude of France.

At that moment, she had felt that King François, whom she had regarded as her friend, had betrayed her for the second time. Would he betray her again next time? Now she was subject to his authority, he could do with her what he wanted, in the light of her supposed death and due to their secret marriage. As her brain replayed those thoughts, a mixture of anger and frustration transfixed her heart, and she stepped away from François.

Anne and François looked at each other for nearly a minute. Her blue eyes were blazing as if alight with a blue flame. Then they turned darker, as if the flame were dying. His amber eyes also changed their hue, darkening at the mere sign of her rebellion against him. He didn’t understand what had caused that mood swing when a minute ago everything seemed to be fine.

“Anne, what is it with you?”

Anne shook her head. She had to be strong and not to show her feelings. “Your Majesty, I am fine.”

François didn’t believe her. He guessed what had happened. She didn’t trust him and was thinking about her uncertain future. “Anne, I am not going to cast you off as my wife,” he spelled out slowly, as though letting her digest his words. “I told you what would happen if our plans failed. You can be calm regarding this matter.” He stepped towards her and took her hands in his. “Do you think that I am so heartless to set aside a woman who is carrying my child?” He shook his head. “I will never bastardize my own child who was conceived and born in a true matrimony blessed by God.”

Anne wanted to laugh. François said that he would never bastardize his offspring, and how strange it sounded to her. Henry made Elizabeth and Arthur bastards; he hadn’t even met Arthur. She glared up at François, the flame in the blue eyes lighter. “Thank you for assuring me, Your Majesty.”

François squeezed her hand. She was silent, their eyes locked. “What do you want, Anne?”

Anne slightly tilted her head. “I want Thomas Cromwell and Jane Boleyn to pay for their crimes. I suspect that Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, also had his part in my downfall, and I also want him to pay his debt back.” Her blue eyes narrowed, and the blue flame rekindled with a new strength. “I want Jane Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell to die.”

Anne didn’t tell François that she was also zealous to hear hear Henry’s words of repentance. She dreamed about seeing Henry on his knees in front of her, asking for forgiveness and a chance for atonement. She desired Henry to suffer as much as she had suffered at the Tower and during their tumultuous marriage. She wished him to suffer because he cast off not only her, but also Catherine of Aragon. Although she was still sure that Henry and Catherine’s marriage was invalid as Catherine had been married to Arthur before, Anne still wanted Henry to pay for Catherine’s injustice and suffering. It was an unusual feeling for her, but she desired that.

François emitted a heavy sigh. He wasn’t a foolish man, and he understood what she didn’t tell him. She didn’t tell him that she wanted Henry to suffer. He decided to skip it for the moment. “You understand that Jane Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell will be executed if our plan works,” he stated.

She nodded with a blood-curdling smile on her lips. “Yes.”

“As for Charles Brandon, it will be difficult to learn how he contributed to the matter. I might be mistaken, but I am not sure that he took part in your downfall,” François supposed.

Anne chucked. “Charles Brandon has always hated me.”

He raised a brow. “What do you want to arrange for him?”

“Definitely not to die,” Anne said. “But I want him to suffer.”

“Anne, he might be removed from Henry’s favor. If it doesn’t happen once your innocence is proved, we will think about something else, if you will still want this.”

“Brandon might be dealt with later,” Anne agreed.

François took her right hand in his and placed a kiss on it. “The greatest revenge on your enemies will be if you move on and are happy.”

“Maybe Your Majesty is right,” she replied in a neutral voice.

François was looking at her with an expression of mingled sorrow and anger. “Anne, why do you only remember the pain from your past? Why are you so bent on destroying yourself?” he asked calmly. His facial expression softened. “Why?” He squeezed her hands. “I told you that we would deal with those who designed your downfall.”

The color drained out of her face. She didn’t what to hear what he said. She didn’t know whether she believed him or only wanted to believe him. So many people had betrayed her, even people whom she believed and whom she loved, especially King Henry. She forced herself to smile with a cold smile. “I know that I may trust Your Majesty because we are political allies.” Her tone was official.

The king’s face was crossed by a momentary frown. He understood her pain, but he also wanted her to hear and understand his words. He wanted her to move on, not to live with venom and hatred in her heart. “Anne, you cannot forget your past, but you mustn’t be focused only on your tragic memories. You will never overcome your past until you resign yourself to the fact that what happened in the past must be left in the past. Think about this.” His voice dropped and faded away until it was no more than a whisper.

François hugged her and placed a kiss on her forehead. Anne didn’t step back, but she was frozen. They stood in the same position for several minutes, and nobody dared to move. She felt how his hands encircled her waist. She felt them rest there, her heart beating faster and faster as the scalding heat of his hands penetrated her body. She felt his warm breathing on her forehead, rising and falling. She was amazed that François didn’t move away.

François bent his head down and looked into Anne’s eyes. The fire in the blue eyes was still cold, but the dark flame had stopped flickering. He knew that she could be either his curse or his blessing, but he didn’t care. If their plans failed, damnation would be a worthwhile price to pay for those moments with her he had now. Somehow François felt that the world currently seemed right, as his senses and soul seemed finally to be filled after years of emptiness. He crushed his lips on hers, and she responded to his kiss. He needed nothing more at that moment.

CHAPTER 14

October 1537, Venice, the Republic of Venice

King François didn’t want to leave Anne in Venice, but it was high time for him to return to his generals and army in Piedmont.

“Monsieur de la Brosse, I am leaving today for Piedmont,” King François declared in a high voice. “You are staying here with my wife, Queen Anne of France.”

Jacques de la Brosse bowed in deep respect. “I will do exactly as you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Fifteen of my guards, whom I trust the most, will also stay here. As I must be well accompanied on my way to Turin. His Eminence Cardinal de Tournon has already requested more guards to arrive here from Turin.”

Brosse was honored to be accredited with such an important task as the security of the queen, even if she was the secret queen and the notorious Anne Boleyn. “Your Majesty, don’t worry – I will take care of everything in Venice.”

The King of France heaved a deep, staccato breath. “My wife is with child. Please if you hear something negative about me or any unpleasant news from England, think carefully how to give this news to Queen Anne,” he instructed.

François was afraid that negativity and stress could distress Anne and possibly cause a new miscarriage. He had learned about her miscarriages from his French spies a long time ago when the whole of Europe was observing the dynamics of relationship between King Henry and Anne Boleyn.

In addition, the Venetian doctor who examined Anne told François that Anne had confessed that she had had two miscarriages and that her last pregnancy had been rather difficult, which François attributed to the general distress and emotional fragility during her imprisonment, as well as to the miserable conditions at the Tower. At least François had had a glimpse of what had happened to Anne after Henry Tudor decided to get rid of her.

“I will be very careful, Your Majesty,” Brosse vowed.

“Monsieur de la Brosse, this is a letter for my sister Marguerite, the Queen of Navarre.” François handed the stamped letter with his personal royal seal to Brosse. “If something goes wrong with me, you will pass this letter to Marguerite and will take care of my wife, Queen Anne, until my sister takes her under her protection.”

Brosse bowed to the King of France. “Everything will be done in accordance with your instructions.”

“Thank you,” François said shortly. “I am ready to bribe you in order to take the best care of my wife,” he mocked.

Brosse bowed to the King. “Bribes! Always bribes! And such a lovely bribe to preserve the Queen of France’s life,” he said with a democratic smile.

The King of France tipped his head back and gave a shrill laugh.

October 1537, the Palace of Whitehall, London, England

King Henry was absolutely furious. Everyone knew that it was because of Anne Boleyn that the king’s wouldn’t allow the courtiers to live in peace and enjoy festivities and pleasantries at the court. The court was a silent place, and in the afternoons seemed abandoned. There were no official receptions, feats, or jousts there.

At times, King Henry summoned somebody to his chambers or receptions rooms. The visitors reported that the king scolded everybody and threatened to banish the courtiers from the court or send them to the Tower of London without any explanation. It was also known that the king was throwing things in his chambers, breaking furniture, mirrors and even his own nails. It was disastrous. The consequences were unpredictable.

On the seventh day of that madness, King Henry summoned into his chambers Thomas Cromwell, who had recently been granted the title of Baron Cromwell of Wimbledon. During that meeting the courtiers held their breath, knowing that the pamphlets were the main reason for the king’s wrath. Edward Seymour, who had recently been raised to the Earl of Hertford, and Thomas Seymour, who was recently created Baron Sudeley, were the other witnesses of the king’s rage. Only Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, wasn’t there as he had left the court in order to spend a month at his estates and recover his health in fresh countryside air.

Cromwell stood near the king, looking directly into his eyes. He knew the reason for the king’s rage. He also knew that Mellin de Saint-Gelais had issued the accusing pamphlets slandering Cromwell’s name. These pamphlets proclaimed that Cromwell had been the organizer of the imprisonment and execution of the innocent Queen Anne Boleyn.

Cromwell had already seen several pamphlets; he kept them at his desk at home. He was shocked as he didn’t understand why the pamphlets attacked him above all Henry’s other ministers. Mellin de Saint-Gelais was one of the most favored and beloved poets at the French court; his patron was Queen Marguerite of Navarre. Was it King François or his sister Marguerite who had invented a crafty plan to bring Cromwell down? If the French were involved, why did the King of France want Cromwell to fall out of King Henry’s grace? Cromwell was puzzled.

King Henry began pacing back and forth in the room. Everyone watched transfixed at his nervous and angry displeasure. The king was dressed in a white silk shirt with a standing band collar and ruffles, silver pants, and a black satin doublet, lavishly embroidered with jewelry. In his luxurious day attire and with a golden crown encrusted with diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds and one large sapphire set in a Maltese cross at the top of the crown, Henry looked like a powerful, yet enraged monarch who was about to sign thousands of death warrants of his own subjects. Unfortunately, Henry didn’t know that the pamphlets were just gray shadows of revenge and he would have to deal with the darkest shadows of his past a little later.

Henry took one of the parchments from a large pile at his desk and read a pamphlet.

She was an incredible woman to die

An innocent victim of a wretched lie

An innocent tool of political struggle

She was brought down by a holy friar

A holy friar who belied his own Queen

A holy friar who fooled even his king

A liar embezzling the king’s money and treasures

A liar shaming his king and his country

And what is his name? What do you think?

He is Thomas Cromwell, a knave and a cheat

Born low, but climbed high through many dead

He is Thomas Cromwell, the king’s own right hand

As Henry finished reading, his face was red with anger and his aquamarine eyes had darkened. “I have many pamphlets in English. They were originally issued in French in Paris and distributed in France. Later they were translated into English and also distributed throughout England, not only in London! The pamphlets can be found in Dover, Yorkshire, Manchester, Oxford, and in many other cities. They are available even in the countryside.” His voice was a high tenor, edged with anger and exasperation. He came closer to Cromwell and threw the parchment on the floor at Cromwell’s feet. “Master Cromwell, how may you explain the existence of these pamphlets?” He flashed a dangerous look at Cromwell.

Cromwell shrugged helplessly. He did his best not to show his weakness and fear because what pamphlets were saying was the truth. “Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but I don’t know why this poet wrote these pamphlets and distributed them in England.”

Edward Seymour bent down and took the parchment in his hands. “Your Majesty, I believe that Master Cromwell doesn’t pretend. He really doesn’t know what is going on.”

Henry was very angry. He was also confused and humiliated because never had he fantasized that anyone would write pamphlets blatantly incriminating his loyal servant and major political brain Thomas Cromwell. The fact that the pamphlets proclaimed Anne Boleyn’s innocence enraged him to the roots of his hair. He hated Anne with all his heart, especially because she constantly haunted him in his dreams, during the dark nights, and often in the daytime as well.

“In this case why were these pamphlets issued? Who permitted the issuance of these dirty pamphlets?” Henry roared, pointing his finger at the pamphlets in Edward Seymour’s hand.

Cromwell signed heavily. “Your Majesty, Mellin de Saint-Gelais is patronized personally by King François and his sister Queen Marguerite of Navarre. They may know why Saint-Gelais wrote his pamphlets.”

“King François in currently in Italy,” Thomas Seymour remarked.

Edward nodded. “The King of France has spent much time in Venice, but now he should be in Piedmont, with his army. Our spies report that the emperor is gathering his forces and training his soldiers. The French are doing the same.”

Cromwell had to be bold. He knew that what had been said in the pamphlets was the truth. If he wanted to save himself, he had to act operatively. “Your Majesty, I beseech you not to blame me for what I am going to tell you. Perhaps, King François asked Saint-Gelais to create the pamphlets in order to provoke England for the war with France.”

Thomas shook his head in disagreement. “It is very unlikely because the King of France is currently preparing for the battle with the emperor. He is a clever man and will never make war with England while France is leading the Italian war with the emperor. There are rumors that the next battle with the emperor will be very serious and bloody,” he parried confidently.

Edward nodded. “I agree with my brother.”

Henry ran his eyes across the room. “Then why did François allow his poets to write and distribute these knavish, scurrilous pamphlets in his kingdom and in England?”

Cromwell shrugged. “It is equally likely that King François doesn’t know about these terrible pamphlets.” If he were honest with himself, Cromwell didn’t think this was true. On the contrary, he was convinced that King François had initiated the composition and distribution of the pamphlets.

Henry sighed heavily, his eyes still shooting daggers. “I admit that it may be true. Who is the regent of France while François is out of the country?”

“The regent is Queen Marguerite of Navarre,” Edward Seymour enlightened.

King Henry felt rushing blood thrumming in his ears. His hands quivered. A sigh escaped his lips. “We must send our envoy to Queen Marguerite and order her to arrest Mellin de Saint-Gelais. I want him dead. I want to see him hanged, drawn, and quartered, his four parts hanging somewhere in the center of Paris,” Henry announced angrily.

“My brother Thomas can go to France,” Edward Seymour offered.

Henry stared at Thomas Seymour. “Lord Sudeley, I am commissioning you to be our envoy in France. You must talk to the regent of France and present our claims against the poet who wrote the pamphlets.”

Thomas Seymour bowed. “Your Majesty, I thank you for this great honor.”

Edward Seymour also bowed. “We will do everything you wish, Your Majesty.”

Henry gave Edward a hard gaze. “Of course, Lord Hertford. I am your king.”

Cromwell felt as though he had been dropped into hell. He closed his eyes for an instant against the vivid images of his own black coffin. He wouldn’t need a coffin if he were executed. He could almost hear the human screams in purgatory, bellowing loudly like wild beasts. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. He was scared. “Your Majesty, if I may somehow help you, I am always ready to serve you,” Cromwell croaked.

Henry cursed under his breath, flicking his eyes heavenward as if pleading for divine intervention at the sight of Cromwell and the frenzy associated with those pamphlets. He lowered his eyes and stared at Cromwell. “Master Cromwell, you are banished from the court and all the offices until the clarification of some important matters. I don’t wish to have new scandals.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said quietly.

Henry sighed. “Master Cromwell, stay at home until my further instructions. Don’t come to the office before you receive a notification from me,” he commanded in a harsh voice.

Cromwell gave a curt nod with all the forced determination he could muster. “I will do as you wish, Your Majesty.” Inwardly he shuddered because he didn’t know whether it was the beginning of his own downfall which could possibly result in his death.

After King Henry had banished Thomas Cromwell from his offices and ordered him to stay at home till his personal instruction, Henry’s thoughts drifted to the French ambassador, Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion. Henry knew that Chabot was one of the most entrusted people in King François’ entourage. Although it was true that Chabot visited England twice on his diplomatic missions in 1533 and 1534, he wasn’t the type of courtier who the King of France would have sent to live at the foreign court permanently.

Philippe de Chabot was the member of the so-called
King’s Triumvirate
, consisting of the most influential and entrusted people in the King of France’s entourage, including Cardinal François de Tournon, Baron Anne de Montmorency, and Philippe de Chabot himself. Henry wondered whether François had charged Chabot with a mission aimed at disturbing Henry’s peace by bringing back the facts of the whore’s execution and life.

Yet, Henry’s people hadn’t reported any strange activities undertaken by Chabot in the past several weeks. It seemed that he wasn’t involved in the distribution of the pamphlets in England. Another variant was that Chabot and his accomplices had acted with excessive caution as they had thought out the plan in advance, in each and every little detail.

At the same time, King François had no serious reasons to blacken Cromwell’s reputation, Henry mused. Henry also knew that François had become very cautious and crafty after his defeat at Pavia. Although François was leading the same lavish, opulent life at the French court after he had been released from his captivity in Madrid, the King of France’s mind became difficult to read. In the past years, François acted as it fitted the circumstances, at times breaking his word when circumstances changed. Henry didn’t know what to make of the situation.

“Bring the French ambassador to me!” King Henry demanded harshly. “Bring him immediately!”

In half an hour, the French ambassador to England, Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion, stood in the presence chamber in front of King Henry. He bowed to the king and managed a smile on his face. Henry was still pacing the room back and forth, not looking at Chabot.