Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII (8 page)

‘The more fool them if you don’t,’ Mother Guildford retorted. ‘Though your jewellery is too plain. We would not wish the French to think us paupers.’ She picked up a magnificent diamond and emerald necklace from the jewel casket and replaced the simple necklet. ‘Your flaxen beauty will outshine all the cloth of gold in the place, child.’ Lady Guildford’s face shone with proprietary pride as she studied Mary. ‘Are you ready, Your Grace?’

Mary straightened. She held her head high and nodded.

The ball was a glittering affair. The nobles of France had turned out in force to see her. And as Francis escorted her up and down the lines of nobles waiting to greet her, she was vain enough to be pleased at their response. Each glance told Mary she looked beautiful. The knowledge put a becoming colour in her cheeks and a new-found confidence in her step.

The courtiers, elegant in their brocades, silks and cloth of gold, made a shimmering spectacle in the candlelight. And as the flames flickered over the fire and ice of rubies and diamonds Mary was glad Lady Guildford had made her replace the simple necklet. The scene brought a poignant reminder to Mary of her last nights in England, but she forced such thoughts aside. She couldn’t lose herself in memories tonight. She came to herself just as Francis led her up to yet another dazzling courtier. She smiled as she recognised San Severino who had accompanied Francis when he had met her on the road. San Severino’s costume of cloth of gold lined with superb sables outshone everyone in the room. He told her of the difficulties such elegance had put him through. The material had only arrived from Florence the day before, he explained. The tailors had had to toil all night to finish, but he had been so determined to impress her that he had begged, pleaded and finally bullied the tailors till it was ready.

Mary laughed at his delight and knew she had gained another admirer. She finally came to the end of the long line of courtiers. Francis led her to the top of the hall to the king. Seated on a great chair of state, he greeted Mary warmly before signalling for the musicians to strike up. The crowd moved to the edges of the room as Francis led Mary on to the floor to start the ball. Louis led Claude and soon the room was filled with colourful dancing figures.

Francis, as Mary had expected, danced with ease and grace. She couldn’t help but compare him with Louis, whose dancing days were over, even though he stepped out bravely enough with his daughter, as eager to shine in her eyes as any even though his gouty limbs made him ill-equipped for the task. Bravely, masking whatever pain he felt, he took to the floor twice with Mary. But it was quickly apparent what this exercise cost him. She was thankful, for his sake, when with a pretended unwillingness, he gave leave to his young nobles to claim her hand so that he could retire to his chair to rest.

Mary had felt it kinder to dance very sedately with Louis out of consideration for his gouty limbs. But she loved to dance and once her hand was claimed by one after another of Louis’ young nobles, she began to enjoy herself. Francis claimed many dances, whispering compliments all the while. The hall was hot and Mary had drunk more wine than usual in an attempt to drown the thought that on the morrow she would be wedded and bedded with Louis. The hateful thought made her reckless. She smiled at Francis’ compliments, laughed gaily at his risqué sallies and danced more dances with him than a modest bride should. But tonight, she didn’t care. She ignored her Mother Guildford’s admonishing eye. Determined to forget what awaited her, if only for one night, she responded flirtatiously to Francis’ blandishments.

Encouraged by Mary’s wine-heady gaiety, Francis became bolder, touching her whenever he had occasion during the dance, searing her with heated glances from his glittering dark eyes all the while. Mary, her head turned by all the admiration she had received, far from home and separated from the man she loved, was filled with an even greater recklessness and encouraged Francis’ attentions all the more. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself before Louis claimed her for himself? she thought. Francis was young, like her, outrageous and amusing. He took her mind off the many things she did not wish to think about. She felt drunk not only with the wine, but also with the many conquests she knew she had made that night.

She was conscious of her aged bridegroom; his dull, yellowed eyes watched her all the while. She shivered and flung herself with even more abandon into dancing and enjoying herself, ignoring the tiny voice of caution that warned she might pay for her recklessness. Tonight she didn’t care. She didn’t care, either, to remember Lady Guildford’s advice that she should be careful of Francis. He might be only twenty, she had said, but he was already an accomplished seducer.

Mary had scoffed at this, saying that Francis wouldn’t dare to try to seduce her. Was she not the Queen of France and his mother-in-law?

Lady Guildford had replied that Francis was a young man who would dare much, especially for such a conquest as Mary. That she was his Queen and married to King Louis would be more likely to spur him on than otherwise.

Mary forgot Lady Guildford’s counsel and the eyes full of reproof each time she danced past. She had been forced to sacrifice the love of her life, so why shouldn’t she console herself in pleasurable dancing? The admiration she had received had gone a long way to bolstering her confidence and had resigned her a little more to the French marriage. She let herself hope that a Louis so easily tired by a few dances would be happy just to have her as a companion. He might even be relieved that his young bride expected nothing more from him. The sight of him looking so old and worn encouraged this hope.

The evening’s gaiety continued far into the night, lit by the flames from the candles and the fire they sparked from Francis’ eyes.

Across the river, in the poorer quarters of the town, other flames were flickering, concealed from the court by the thickly curtained windows. A small fire had started in one of the many wooden hovels. Increasingly high winds fanned the flames till they had consumed a large part of the district. The flames spread with terrifying speed and the people ran about hysterically hither and thither in their panic to escape the all-devouring flames. Their homes destroyed, many were lucky to escape with their lives and the rags on their backs.

Others weren’t so fortunate. Their cries for help went unheard. The King’s pleasures were not to be disturbed, so the tocsins were forbidden to ring to summon the desperately-needed help. Mary danced on, happily unaware of this latest tragedy her arrival in France had brought.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mary opened her eyes to greet her wedding day. The ball and its pleasures forgotten, she remembered only the importance of her new role. As her brother and Wolsey had impressed on her, not only was she now Queen of France, she was the first English princess to carry the title since the Norman Conquest over four hundred years before. That she was to be married on the day of St Denis, France’s patron saint, imbued the day not only with an historical significance, but a saintly one, also, and added to the weight of expectations of her.

Nervously conscious of what would be expected of her, her anxieties weren’t helped by the fact that her limbs felt heavy and reluctant and that her head swam from the quantity of wine she had unwisely drunk the night before. Mary consoled herself with the thought that she was unlikely to be the first Queen of France to greet her formal wedding day suffering from a gueule de bois after drinking too much wine.

There was no escaping it now. The day had already begun. Mary forced herself from the bed as she heard muffled whisperings beyond the bed-curtains. It was still early, but the day was bright and made her blink. Now, with the realisation of the onerous ceremonies the day would bring, and the reckoning for the previous night’s pleasures called in, she wished her dancing had been a little less abandoned, her drinking more abstemious. But the ball had gone on till late and yesterday, she had been only too willing to give herself to its pleasures. No doubt Lady Guildford would tell her such regrets were the result of foolish self-indulgence and that if she had paid heed to her wise words yesterday she would have retired earlier to be fresh for today. It didn’t help that the lady would have the right of it.

Mary and her party had been lodged on the corner of the street leading from the Castle of Ponthieu to the Rue St Giles. A temporary gallery had been made to connect it to the Hotel Gruthuse, the king’s quarters. But as Mary glanced out of the window, she saw that a pall of dark smoke hung in the sky across the river. On questioning her ladies, she was appalled to learn that a small fire started during the previous night’s ball had spread rapidly, fanned by strong winds. And when she asked why she had heard no warning tocsins, she learned that the king had given orders that nothing was to disturb the ball in her honour. This second bad omen cast an even darker pall over her wedding day than had the smoke from the fire. Mary gazed at the blackened and gutted buildings, whose skeletal fingers seemed to point accusingly at her. ‘You mean I danced whilst others were dying?’ Like Nero and his fiddle, she thought. Twice now, people had died because of this marriage; once by water in the shipwreck of The ‘Great Elizabeth’ and this time by fire. Mary wondered, if a third tragedy occurred, what force of nature would bring it about? Should she expect an earthquake next? Some dreadful disease? Fearing the answers should she pose these questions, she forced herself to ask another. ‘How many were killed in the fire?’

‘Not many. Most escaped,’ Lady Guildford assured her, before she added, less reassuringly, ‘but a few unfortunate babes and children lost their lives.’

Mary was beginning to think her marriage to Louis was truly cursed. How could it be otherwise? she reasoned, when her arrival in France for the ceremony had brought about the loss of so much life? She repeated her previous thought aloud. ‘It is a bad omen. Another one.’

‘Nay, put such notions from your mind,’ Lady Guildford told her firmly. ‘It is no omen, merely an unfortunate accident waiting to happen with so many wooden buildings packed so tightly together.’

‘What of the dead babes’ parents and the other poor people? To be homeless with the worst of winter coming on, what will become of them?’ For the moment, Mary forgot her own troubles and said, ‘We must send them some aid and—’

‘Calm yourself, Mary. You must try to curb this tendency to be over-emotional and dramatic. You will not find such inclinations a help in your new role. If you follow the example of Queen Catherine you will take no wrong steps.’

Catherine, serious-minded and as pious as her Mother Guildford, was known for her generous alms-giving and much respected for it. She was never frivolous as Mary had been the previous night. Mary was in no mood to listen to further chastisement as to her shortcomings, but thankfully, Lady Guildford said no more about that. Instead, she told her, ‘The King has sent men over to help. No doubt there’ll be food provided from the kitchens. Such flimsy structures will be built up again in a few short days, you’ll see, and you’d scarce think aught had happened.’

‘The parents of the dead babes and children will not think that, Mother, I’m sure,’ Mary gently chided. ‘When I think of the enthusiasm with which the people greeted me for all that I’m a stranger… They cheered me and gave me courage.’

‘Aye, well, mayhap their enthusiasm was their undoing. It seems likely all the drunkenness brought the fire in its wake.’

‘Still, it would never have happened but for my arrival.’

‘Now, my lady, we want no more foolish talk. This could have happened at any time. As I said, it is just an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more. Forget about omens and portents and other such superstitious nonsense. I will not have you feel responsible for a drunkard’s carelessness. I was talking to one of the French ladies earlier. It seems there are often fires across the river. These people build too close together and of the cheapest materials. It was only the high wind which made it especially bad this time.’

‘Perhaps they can afford no other material, Mother.’

‘Maybe. But if they didn’t spend their earnings on drink they would be able to afford more respectable housing.’ The abstemious and sternly-religious Lady dismissed the weak self-indulgence of the poor with the admonition that Mary should not waste her pity on them. ‘They are undeserving. I won’t have them spoil your wedding day. Come away from the window. We must get you prepared.’

The authority in Lady Guildford’s voice was, as usual, compelling and Mary turned sadly away. But whatever Lady Guildford might say, Mary felt in her heart it was an inauspicious start to her marriage. Long-dreaded and finally here, it had all seemed rather unreal till now. But reality was her standing here shivering in the cold light of early morning, waiting to be bathed and dressed and joined to the sickly Louis for life. Reality was grim compared to the hazy dream through which she had previously peered at her future.

Mary stiffened her spine as she gave herself up to her ladies’ ministrations. She had agreed to the match whether reluctantly or no and must now try to make the best of it. After all, she reminded herself yet again, this ‘marriage for life’ would only last as long as the term of years granted to the first of them to die, which might not be long at all. This last was becoming a daily litany. She had now seen the king for himself and it was true that his bones didn’t look likely to get a lot older. Mary shivered again as her night shift was stripped from her body. And as she stepped into the tub of hot water she asked God’s pardon for her wickedness, on her wedding day, in hoping for the demise of her bridegroom. What a sad reflection on the realities of marriage for such as herself.

It was some little time later that Mary, bathed and with her hair brushed till it gleamed, was assisted into yet another magnificent gown. The robe was of stiff, golden brocade, trimmed and lined with ermine. It matched her English hood, which fell in folds below her neck. Her jewellery for the occasion was equally as magnificent and very costly. But despite the beauty of her garments and jewels, Mary was conscious that she was not looking her best for the occasion. Her stomach felt queasy, whether from nerves, the excess of alcohol or a witch’s brew of the two, Mary knew not. Subdued, she allowed Lady Guildford to lead her from the chamber. She waited quietly while her lords and ladies and the rest of the wedding party, all in golden garments as wondrous as her own, formed up behind her in the gardens. As they moved off through the gate and made for the hall where the ceremony was to take place, Mary noticed that the pall of smoke still lingering from the fire formed a dark back-cloth to their golden ranks. The contrast made the figures in the procession glitter all the more.