At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (35 page)

If she was to convince him to be more circumspect, she would need help. She thought at once of Lady Anne. Although the duke’s sister was also a female, and the siblings had had their differences in the past, Edward respected Lady Anne far more than he did any other woman, probably because she was the only one who ever stood up to him.

Lady Anne was at court, for the moment out of Madge’s reach. She did not dare put her concerns into a letter. But soon—in less than a month—Lady Anne and Madge would embark for France and the meeting of the two kings. Surely sometime during the two weeks of festivities there would be an opportunity to speak together privately. Madge could confide in the duke’s sister and ask her advice. The burden of worry would not be lifted from her shoulders, but it would be lighter for being shared.

Much relieved in her mind, Madge retrieved her shopping basket and retreated to her own quarters to await the duke’s pleasure.

A
long with every other noblewoman who’d crossed the Narrow Seas with the king and queen, Lady Anne dressed in her finest clothing and prepared to cheer on the English knights who would tilt against the French. For once, the two countries were not at war. This was a peaceful gathering, planned for months in advance and running with the smoothness of a well-rehearsed play.

Over five thousand people had made the crossing to Calais on the last day of May, among them two duchesses, six countesses, Lady Anne and ten other baronesses, and a plethora of knights’ wives and other gentlewomen. Each member of the queen’s retinue had servants of her own. Baronesses, and those deemed to have equal precedence with baronesses—such as Bess Boleyn, as the daughter of a duke—were permitted two women, three menservants, and six horses apiece.

George Hastings was in attendance on the king and, like every other baron, had brought with him two chaplains, two gentlemen, eighteen servants, and twelve horses. That was nothing compared to the Duke of Buckingham’s retinue. Anne’s brother and the other duke present, the Duke of Suffolk—the Duke of Norfolk having remained behind to protect England in the king’s absence—were each permitted five chaplains, ten gentlemen, forty servants, and thirty horses.

The English party took up residence within the English Pale, as the land that included Calais and Guines was called. Near the Castle of Guines, an enormous temporary structure, a “palace” on a stone foundation with a base of brick and the rest of the walls of timber painted to look like brick, had been erected to house court functions. The roof was made of canvas but had been decorated to give it the appearance of slate. The four ranges of the building had been constructed in England and reassembled in the Val d’Or. Huge glazed windows gleamed in the sun and tall towers rose at each corner. A moat surrounded the whole, as well as a barricade of brocade with two entrances. There was also a gatehouse.

Inside this mock palace, on the ground floor, the king’s servants had their offices, just as they would in a real palace. On the first floor were lodgings for the king, the queen, the Duchess of Suffolk, and Cardinal Wolsey—three rooms for each. There were staircases and galleries, a great hall, a chapel, and a banqueting house. But luxurious as this mock palace was, the king did not sleep there. His Grace had more secure lodgings in the castle.

On this day of the first official meeting between the Queen of England and the Queen of France, Catherine of Aragon was carried in a litter of crimson satin embroidered in gold. The Duchess of Suffolk also rode in a litter, but hers was made of cloth of gold wrought with lilies. The letters
L
and
M,
joined together, and the porcupines in the design—the emblem of Mary’s late husband, King Louis—marked it as a possession she’d retained from the brief period when she had been married to the present queen of France’s aged father.

All the ladies of the court fell in behind the litters, some of them riding in wagons decked with cloth of gold and others on horseback. Eleanor, Duchess of Buckingham, and her two eldest daughters, the Countess of Surrey and the Countess of Westmorland, occupied one of the wagons together with George’s sister, the Countess of Derby. Lady Anne rode between her sister, Lady Fitzwalter, and Buckingham’s youngest daughter, Lady Bergavenny, who was expecting her first child.

Anne was well pleased to be mounted. She could see better from this high perch and, occasionally, find a breath of air. The crowding and confusion increased as their party approached the French queen’s retinue. The noise was deafening. Anne’s richly caparisoned palfrey shied when trumpets sounded a fanfare. It took all her skill as an equestrian to bring the animal back under control.

She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun to get a better look at Queen Claude. The French queen’s litter was cloth of silver decorated with gold knots and was drawn by two massive warhorses of the same type used in jousting. Her Grace of France was enthroned on a cloth of gold seat, dressed in a cloth of silver gown with an undergarment of cloth of gold. The precious stones in her necklace sparkled in the sunlight, but the most obvious fact about her was that she, like Anne’s niece, was great with child.

Anne had heard that the queen was due to give birth in less than two months. Her condition had been the French king’s excuse for insisting that this meeting take place no later than mid-June. King Francis had not been amused by King Henry’s jocular proposal that Queen Claude give birth during the conclave, so that he and Queen Catherine could honor the French prince or princess with their presence at the christening.

The French queen’s ladies traveled in three wagons covered with cloth of silver. Anne’s interest sharpened as one particular dark-haired young woman sent a brilliant smile toward the ranks of English noblewomen. Bess Boleyn returned it with one nearly identical. Maternal pride shone in her eyes.

The arrival of another litter, this one covered in black velvet, pulled Anne’s attention away from the Boleyns. It bore to the meeting the most important Frenchwoman in attendance—not the queen, but the queen mother. Louise of Savoy was reputed to have great influence over her son, even now that he was king. She was a straight-backed, stern-looking woman all in black, as befit a widow. Her ladies, however, wore crimson velvet with sleeves lined with cloth of gold. It was a fashion remarkable for its beauty.

The two queens left their litters and greeted each other. The French queen took precedence, by prior arrangement, because the lists that were their destination were on English soil. The entire party entered the royal chamber in the gallery to the right of the principal entry to the tiltyard. It was tiered and raised above ground level and the area where the queens and queen mother would sit was glazed and hung with rich tapestries. An exquisite piece of needlework, heavily embroidered and covered in pearls, hung over the railing in front of them.

Queen Catherine and the Duchess of Suffolk spoke enough French to converse with the French royal ladies as they waited for the competition to begin. Lady Anne was seated close by and could hear what they said, but she did not understand a word of it. Edward had always despised anything French. He had refused to allow the language to be taught to his sisters or his daughters.

Nan Boleyn, on the other hand, was fluent in French and, as Bess’s daughter, was permitted to sit with the English ladies to watch the jousting. Nan was not a conventional beauty. Her skin was too sallow, her hair too dark, and her build too bony. But she had an appealing vivaciousness about her and she was happy to translate when Anne asked her what the queens were saying to each other.

The young woman listened for a moment, her huge dark eyes unfocused, then wrinkled her nose as if she’d encountered a bad smell. “Of needlework. Of flowers. Of mundane and boring matters.” She gave a little laugh and caught her mother’s hand. “Now tell me all the news of home. Is Mary pleased with her husband? I hear he is a most toothsome fellow.”

The topic of Mary Carey, necessarily purged of any reference to her status as King Henry’s mistress, held no more interest for Anne than the queens’ talk of sewing. Nor did the tournament seem likely to enthrall her. The events had been so carefully orchestrated to avoid injury that they were devoid of excitement. The two kings were to participate, but not in any combat against each other. Against lesser mortals, both could be expected to emerge with high scores.

For a time, she found the display of color entertaining. The King of
France and his men wore purple satin embroidered with black ravens’ feathers enhanced with gold. The King of England’s coat featured a design of waves, wrought and friezed with damask gold. That was supposed to represent his mastery of the Narrow Seas, or so George had told her.

The expense of such a display was staggering, and the kings were not the only ones who had spent with abandon. The Earl of Northumberland’s retainers, recognizable because they wore his badge with the Percy crescent and manacles, sported ostrich feathers in their caps. Anne’s brother, the Duke of Buckingham, had silver bells sewn into his clothing.

Once the competition began, Anne had to fight to keep from yawning. She had seen similar displays so often at court that she’d grown jaded. When one of the forty or so gentlewomen crowded into the gallery handed her a flask, she put it to her lips and drank freely. Other flasks were also making the rounds, shared among the ladies. The one Anne had sampled had contained sweet Canary wine.

Mistress Nan Boleyn giggled. “The French noblewomen think this is most vulgar. They never share drinking cups, let alone flasks or bottles.”

“And why,” Anne’s sister, Elizabeth, asked, “should we care what the French think?” She took a healthy swig of the Canary and passed it back to Anne. When she’d imbibed again, Anne handed the flask on to Bess Boleyn.

“It occurs to me,” said a very plain little woman sitting behind them, “that it would be very easy to poison someone with a shared drinking cup.”

Anne stared at her in shock. “What did you say?”

“I thought the same when I first saw the fountains in front of the king’s canvas palace,” the woman continued. Her voice was low and there was action on the field. Anne did not think anyone else had heard her outrageous comments.

“That is an alarming idea,” she said. Those fountains ran constantly with wine. Silver cups had been provided for anyone to use.

“If someone possessed a vial of some deadly substance, it would take but a quick flick of the wrist and hundreds could die.” When the
woman smiled, the freckles dotting her complexion stood out in stark relief against her pale skin.

Anne was horrified by the notion and no less appalled by the audacity of this stranger in voicing it. “The king’s guards—”

“Would never notice a thing, especially if the poison came from a woman’s hand. But, in truth, I can see no advantage to killing so many, not when the object of the exercise is to eliminate only one person.”

A cheer from the crowd momentarily drew Anne’s attention back to the lists. When she looked behind her again, the woman had taken herself off to another part of the gallery. Anne caught Bess’s sleeve. “Who is that woman? The one with the freckled face.”

Bess had no difficulty picking her out. The mystery woman was glaring at them. If looks could shoot daggers, blood would have been pouring from a dozen wounds in Anne’s body.

“That,” Bess said, “is Lady Compton. Will’s wife.”

The rest of that day seemed endless. Anne did not understand the intensity of Lady Compton’s enmity. The woman had no reason to be jealous now. It had been years since Anne had been her husband’s mistress. Yet clearly, Lady Compton believed that Anne remained her rival. Anne wondered who had convinced her of that, and why. She was tempted to accost the other woman and ask, but no opportunity presented itself.

The contest in the tiltyard did not conclude until nearly seven that evening and only ended then because it began to rain. The heralds shouted “Disarm” in unison with trumpets sounding the call “to lodging” and the spectators fled to the shelter of the canvas palace. Even then, the day was far from over. The two kings and all those who had jousted changed their clothes and joined the queens and their retinues for a long evening of banqueting and dancing.

With everyone living in such close quarters, Anne thought it would be a simple matter to find Lady Compton again, but this was not the case. She did not even catch a glimpse of that gentlewoman until three days later, when the English contingent was once again gathered at the tiltyard.

This time Queen Catherine wore a Spanish headdress with her hair
down over her shoulders and a cloth of gold gown. The king’s costume was decorated with russet velvet and cloth of silver lozenges. Embroidered inside each lozenge was a golden branch of eglantine. In addition, the king wore one of the queen’s sleeves in his headpiece instead of a plume, a fashion he’d picked up from the French. Anne thought it looked rather foolish, especially since the day was windy and the sleeve kept slapping His Grace in the face.

Catching sight of Lady Compton at the far side of the gallery, Anne began to ease through the crowd toward her. She had not gone very far before she was herself accosted by Madge Geddings.

“I must speak with you, Lady Anne,” Madge said, clutching at Anne’s sleeve.

“Come to me later in my tent.” Anne tried to pull away, but Madge had a firm grip.

“It is important,” she insisted.

“Not now, Madge.” But she’d missed her chance. Lady Compton had seen her and taken flight. With a sigh, Anne shifted her focus to the woman still tugging at her sleeve. She did not trouble to hide her annoyance. “What is so important that it could not wait?”

Madge started to stammer an apology, but Anne waved it aside.

“You have my attention now. Tell me what it is that troubles you.” She had not seen Madge in person since the king’s visit to Penshurst, but they still exchanged letters with some regularity. Anne could not imagine that Madge had anything of earthshaking importance to say to her. Certainly nothing to compare to what Anne herself intended to say to an overwrought gentlewoman who’d all but threatened to poison her.