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?”