There was plague in some of the hamlets along the southeast route. A sign, said the people. There were all sorts of omens. People had dreams. Some saw a sign in the sky—a comet perhaps. But it was more likely to have been conjured out of someone's imagination. Someone else had seen a strange creature in the sea. It looked like a fish, but it was not. It had the face of a man. What its purpose was supposed to be, I had no idea— except that it was some dire warning because of our evil ways. And all these signs meant that God was not pleased with a king who put away his wife and flaunted his concubine—even before the eyes of the King of France.
In due course we embarked for Calais. We had a fair crossing in spite of the dire prophecies. A great welcome had been arranged for us. The town was en fête. The townspeople were gathered to cheer us as we went first to the church of St. Nicholas, where Mass was celebrated and we gave thanks for our safe crossing. After that we were taken to the lodgings which had been prepared for us. Henry's huge bed and furniture which we had brought with us had gone on before and were already installed.
They were wonderful days. Henry and I were together most of the time. He took great pleasure in riding the town with me. I was cheered by the people there. How different from the reception I had from the people at home! Perhaps the news had not reached Calais or perhaps they were so glad to have us there, with our ceremonies to enliven their days, that they accepted me as part of it.
It was wonderful to see Thomas Wyatt again. He was as handsome as ever and delighted to see me in such good spirits.
“Do you remember those days at Hever still?” he asked me.
“They will never be forgotten, Thomas,” I answered.
“I rejoice in your good fortune, but it is bad fortune for me.”
“How so?”
“Because you are lost to me forever.”
“Thomas,” I said seriously, “there must be no such talk.”
“Indeed not. Look what it cost me before! I still have the tablet.”
“Then do not let it be seen.”
“It was such a cause for royal jealousy.”
“Thomas, there must be no more.”
“Anne! Queen Anne! Well, you were made for distinction.”
“You too, Thomas.”
“You will be remembered as the Queen. I perhaps… perhaps not… as a poet.”
He wrote a charming poem at that time which was for me. I always remembered it.
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant,
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.
Forget not, oh! forget not this
How long hath been and is
The love that never meant amiss
Forget not yet.
Forget not now thine own approved
The which so constant hath thee loved
Whose steadfast faith hath never moved
Forget not yet.
It could not help but please me that a man such as Wyatt had loved me for so long. Yet I was a little fearful of him. He was very impetuous. But perhaps he had grown wiser now. He knew what it meant to offend the King.
Henry seemed to have forgotten the affair of the tablet and the slander which Suffolk had spoken against Wyatt and me. Now that we were lovers he was satisfied. I had managed to convince him that my passion for him matched his for me; and if I was less sexually ecstatic than someone like my sister Mary, he would regard that as evidence of my finer nature.
I was perfect to him in those days. Moreover, with François's approval we should soon be married. Then his conscience would be at ease, for Cromwell and Cranmer were working assiduously to prove that Henry's marriage to Katharine was no marriage, and soon he and I would be together without having to endure the occasional—very occasional now—twinges of that infuriating conscience.
After a week in Calais, during which preparations were made to welcome the French King there, Henry rode off to meet François at Boulogne. It had been decided, after a great deal of consideration, that it would be better if I did not accompany him, as we had been warned that the ladies of the French Court would not be coming with François. I did not like this, but I understood it. Until I was actually married to Henry, I could not be treated on ceremonial occasions as his Queen; and like Henry, I had no wish to meet the French Queen since she was Katharine's niece. It would have made a very awkward situation; but all this would soon be at an end, for Henry had decided that our marriage should take place in a week's time; and if François was a guest at the ceremony, that would mean a great deal to us.
Meanwhile I remained in Calais. I had devised several masques which I wanted to be considered witty, amusing and elegant, even to French tastes. Wyatt was present and he would write some of his verses, and everyone must admit that he was a poet of quality.
Henry had spared no expense in fitting out the castle's banqueting chamber, and it was hung with tissue of silver and gold, the seams of the material studded with glittering stones and pearls. The plate was all gold. It was going to be very elaborate and worthy of our guest, the King of France.
I was impatiently awaiting their return. Then the all-important ceremony would take place, and my fears would be at an end. I should go back to England as Queen.
The meeting of the two Kings had been, I heard, a glittering occasion. I wondered if they had both been reminded of that other meeting at Guines and Ardres. They embraced warmly, as though there had never been any enmity between them. François had arranged entertainments for Henry at Boulogne; but I knew he would be impatient to return to me, and I thought it was a pity the ladies of the French Court had not come, for then I could have been present. I tried to convince myself that it was really due to the fact that the Queen of France was so closely related to Katharine, and the last person she would want to see was Henry, who had just cast off her aunt.
So I supposed it was a wise decision, although a little galling, and it would give them the impression that they had not come because I was not Henry's wife.
I consoled myself that that would soon be remedied.
In due course the two Kings arrived in Calais.
I was received with the utmost graciousness by François. He soon dispensed with ceremony and told me that I had become even more beautiful than he remembered. I could hardly say the same of him with truth. A great deal had happened to François since those days of his early kingship. Those years of imprisonment in Madrid, where he had almost lost his life, had taken their toll on him. He looked debauched, which was not surprising after the life he had led; but François had an innate charm, and his graceful manners and general elegance could not fail to please.
There was to be a banquet in the splendidly decorated hall, but before that I had an opportunity of being with Henry alone.
He kissed me with passion and said the separation had seemed long, but I noticed that he was deeply concerned about something. As our wedding was to take place so soon, I felt a tremor of alarm.
And well I might.
It was not long before he was telling me all about it.
The wedding ceremony which we had planned could not take place. François, who had urged us to marry in France and return home with the deed already done, was now of a different opinion.
The Emperor Charles had defeated the Turks, so they were no longer a threat to him. This meant he would be free to turn his attention elsewhere. We could guess that that could mean France.