In the circumstances, François could not appear to give his public approval to our marriage, although he hoped we would continue to regard him as our very good friend.
“So,” I gasped, “there is to be no marriage.”
“Not here. We shall have to postpone it… but only for a short while.”
I was angry. Once more I was faced with frustration. I had been so certain that all would be well, and I should have security within a few days, and now to have it snatched away from me, just as I was about to reach out and take it, was more than I could bear.
“How dare he!” I cried.
“Sweetheart, he has good reason. It is true that, if he gave his outward blessing to us, the Emperor would take his revenge. We must see his side, my dearest.”
“He has tricked us.”
“No…no. It is the King of France of whom you speak.”
“I care not for kings.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked grave. He said, slightly coolly: “I trust there is one King you care about…”
I threw myself into his arms. He was very patient with me. I often marveled at that afterward. He stroked my hair. “You must not be distressed,” he said. “It is a bitter disappointment… but it is not the first we have had, eh? We'll get over it. Mayhap it would be better to be married at home. Doubtless there would be some to question its legality… if it took place here.”
There was some truth in that and I allowed myself to be subdued.
I had to forget my rancor and prepare for the entertainment we were to offer.
I had arranged, with the help of Wyatt and a few others, a splendid masque; and Henry was right, I must not show my animosity toward François. Henry gently reminded me that I was now dealing with a powerful man. I should have to be particularly gracious to him. So I must subdue my irritation—which he felt no less than I did, for by God and all his saints I could not long for my marriage more than he did.
So there was the grand banquet in that splendidly decorated hall. The food was served in a unique manner—in the French fashion for François and in the English for Henry. There were three courses; in the first, forty dishes were served, in the second sixty and in the third seventy. François declared himself to be amazed.
I and my ladies were not present at the dinner. This was because the ladies of the French Court had not accompanied François. Perhaps this should have made me doubt his sincerity, for he could have commanded them to come. I had thought that Marguerite might have been with him. She was now Queen of Navarre, having married again; she had always been so forward-thinking that I was surprised she should have found it impossible to meet me just because I was not yet married to the King. I tried to convince myself that it was for some other reason that she had not joined the expedition.
We came into the hall when the meal was over. We were all masked and our dresses were of a strange exotic style meant to imply that we had come from some far-off land. The gowns were made of cloth of gold slashed with crimson tinsel thread and laced with gold. They were very effective, I had made sure of that. Each of us was to select one of the French guests for the dance; and, of course, I was to choose François.
We would then dance together, and it would be assumed that the French did not know with whom they danced until that moment when Henry came to the ladies in turn and removed their masks. They would all express surprise—a gambit which had delighted Henry from those long-ago days when he had just come to the throne and had turned the somber Court of his father into one of merriment and laughter.
Through my mask I watched the King of France. He was not as handsome as Henry, for Henry was still a very good-looking man and had been particularly so in his youth. Some ten years ago the Venetian ambassador had described him as “more handsome than any sovereign in Christendom—much more handsome than the King of France—very fair and admirably proportioned. His beard looks like gold and he is an accomplished musician, good horseman, speaks French, Latin and Spanish, is very religious and hears Mass three times daily when he hunts and five on other days.”
That had been said before his obsession with me. I wondered what the Venetian ambassador's opinion would be now.
Still, if time had wrought some havoc on his looks, he was still a fine figure of a man—so tall and commanding, and above all he carried that aura of royalty which set him above other men.
François though had an incomparable charm of manner; he was highly intellectual; he had an air of almost weary worldliness, but his mind was alert; he was cynical, whereas Henry could at times be almost childishly simple.
One could scarcely imagine two men more different; and I decided that I was fortunate to have Henry.
François was studying me lasciviously.
“How fortunate I am to be chosen by you,” he said. “As soon as I saw you enter the hall, I thought, though I may not know the lady's name until unmasking time, I see she stands high above all others in charm and beauty. I was praying that she would select me.”
“The King of France would be the choice any lady would hope for.”
I spoke in French which I could do with as much ease as I spoke English.
“Then let us rejoice that you chose me, and if the choice had been with me, I should have chosen you.” He then complimented me on my rendering of his language. “You might be one of us,” he added, “but for the so slight difference which makes your speech entirely delightful.”
In spite of my anger against him, I could not be unaware of his charm. My mind went back to the days of my youth when those lascivious eyes of his were turned on me. I had heard stories of his conquests. He was ruthless in his pursuit. No matter whom he sought, he would employ any methods to satisfy his desire. There had been whisperings of girls who had been kidnapped and brought to him because he had seen them in the streets…in church… anywhere. I had heard that the daughter of an innkeeper had thrown acid into her own beautiful face because she feared that her soul would be damned if he forced her to be his mistress.
We continued with that light banter which was completely false.
“Would not Your Grace have been a little rash in choosing a woman whose face he could not see?”
“Some instinct tells me that her face will be as beautiful as that which I can perceive and which so delights me.”
“And the King of France, as all know, is a connoisseur of beauty.”
“I would hope that is so.”
“It amazes me that, with all the beauties of France ready to fall at his feet, he should be so ecstatic about one masked Englishwoman.”
“But such an Englishwoman! The Lady Anne is here tonight. I'll swear she could not match with the lady who had the goodness to select me for her partner.”
“She would not be pleased to hear you talk thus.”
“I had the pleasure of being acquainted with the lady… once.”
“That must have been a long time ago. And still you remember her?”
“She is making history now.”
“That surprises you?”
“It is not given to all to do that. She was an entrancing creature in those days. Such eyes! I remember them well. Black eyes…a witch's eyes.”
“You think she has bewitched the King?”
“Not I alone. The whole world knows she has bewitched the King. I long to see this face which has so enchanted my brother of England.” He leaned toward me, smiling that lazy, sensual smile which I remembered from the past, his eyes boring through me, through my mask, through my gold and tinsel.
“Do you know, mysterious lady, I'd wager that the Lady Anne is no more beautiful than you.”
“The King of England might be hurt to hear you say that.”