Between Two Kings (35 page)

She pinched her cheeks to fill them with their own natural blush. She casually tugged at the stiff décolletage of her sweeping red gown with the low neckline and the jeweled front. She stood near the mirror for several minutes, as if to reassure herself of her beauty. She smiled at her own reflection. A knock at the door brought an even larger smile.

As François entered, Anne de Pisseleu smiled at him warmly. He looked at her with a smile and walked casually toward the fireplace. He settled in the armchair and stretched his legs on the floor.

«François!» Duchess d’Étampes cried out. “I am so happy to see you, 
mon amour
!”

The King of France bowed to her. “I have come because your lady-in-waiting passed to me your note.” His tone was formal, his eyes aloof.

Anne put her hand to her mouth so she would not scream. She was shocked that he had come because she asked him, not because he wanted to come. “Your Majesty, I thought that we could spend some time together.” She decided to speak in an official tone. “I think that you are working too much.” She came closer to him, from behind, and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Anne, please sit down there.” François pointed at the adjacent armchair. “What did you want to discuss with me so urgently?”

Duchess d’Étampes stepped backwards. She felt rage simmering in her blood. The king had distanced himself from her, and it was because of her, his wife. She was jealous and offended, not able to suppress her feelings.

“François, you are thinking about your new wife? I know that she is carrying your child and that you care for your child, but you shouldn’t ignore reality.” She raised her voice. “Your wife may be using you. You don’t know her. You just met her in Venice.”

François rose to his feet. “This is enough, Madame,” he warned curtly. His voice was abrupt and sharp. He glanced at the near-dead embers filled the fireplace. “You should return to France. There are too many unnecessary people in Piedmont,” he said stringently.

Duchess d’Étampes also leapt to her feet. “I would eagerly return to France if I knew that your queen loves you as much as I love you. But I fear that you won’t be happy with her as much as we were happy together.” She raised her voice. “Don’t you see that she must be using you for her purposes?”

François sighed heavily. “Anne, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I cannot give this woman the man whom I adore and worship the most in my life,” Duchess d’Étampes declared. “I don’t even know who she is.” She trailed off. “François, I love you so much!”

The King of France emitted another sigh. He didn’t move, although he knew that she wanted to see his reaction to her warm declaration. He couldn’t tell her that he loved her because he didn’t. He realized that he hadn’t loved her. They had spent much time together in Turin under the same roof, but he didn’t want to sleep with her and perceived her only as his friend. “Madame, never refer to the Queen of France as ‘this woman’ or use similar avuncular forms of addressing,” the king reproached sternly.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” she snapped, not meaning it.

“Anne, you should be reasonable,” he said in a persuasive tone. “It will be better if you leave Turin and Italy.” It was a hard task for him to maneuver between his rejection of her and his unwillingness to hurt her. “Leave Piedmont and Italy,” he repeated.

While Anne de Pisseleu and François were talking, another Anne, Queen Anne of France, was ascending a grand staircase. She was accompanied by Jacques de la Brosse and several guards. They had to use several corridors with dim light in order to walk to the destination and remain unnoticed. They crossed the hall with a high ceiling and went down the paneled corridor, shoe heels clicking across the intricate tile floor in the vast echoing silence. The lime-washed walls they passed were lined with massive tapestries and torch lights that flickered in the dim light of early evening as they neared the reception room in the east wing of the grand castle.

“Madame,” François said to acknowledge his intention to leave. When she didn’t reply, he bowed, linking his hands loosely behind him, ready to leave the room.

Anne de Pisseleu felt that she had been defeated by the unknown woman. It was so humiliating for her. She hated the new Queen of France at that moment. She struggled to retain her composure, but it was useless. Her François was slipping from her. “Your Majesty,” she murmured.

François turned around to face her, his brows arched in a silent question.

Anne de Pisseleu knew that he wanted to leave, but she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to struggle for her love.

A shadow rose behind them and froze at the doorway. As Queen Anne saw François and another woman, the tremor in her knees she felt at seeing them rocked her overwhelmingly. She hadn’t expected to see François with a woman. The queen guessed who the female companion was – the notorious Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly. As the queen listened to them, Anne de Pisseleu’s high voice gradually faded into a muffled, incomprehensible sound. Her attention focused on François who stood magnificently there with his back to her. As she overheard him ask Anne de Pisseleu to leave the court, she was confused.

“Good evening,” Queen Anne said calmly. Her voice resonated like the sound of a bell through the vaulted stone. “I am sorry for intruding.”

King François swung around to face the door his eyes meeting Queen Anne’s. Duchess d’Étampes stood frozen and abashed. Queen Anne of France fell into a deep and reverent curtsy before the King of France. King François smiled benevolently with a velvety, dazzling smile. His amber eyes grew bright now with the recognition of Anne Boleyn, his wife. He smiled and bowed to her.

Queen Anne stood rooted near the door. She looked breathtaking in her tight royal blue gown with long train, low square-cut neckline, and airy silk sleeves. The collar and the cuffs of the sleeves were trimmed with sable. François noticed that the design of her gown was loose so as to hide her expanding waistline. Her head was adorned by a hood edged in gold, with a light blue, hardly transparent veil clasped to it. Striving not to be recognized, she had covered her face in the German fashion.

The queen’s eyes scanned King François’ appearance. As usual, he was dressed extravagantly and with great taste. He looked a powerful monarch in every way. He wore a pale green velvet doublet with gold slashes over the emerald silk padded shirt with gold embroidery around the edges. His doublet was encrusted with jewels and ornamented with sable. His long muscular legs were enveloped by tight emerald knee breeches buttoned up the front and laced up the back. On his head there was a plumed black velvet flat hat studded with two large square rubies and equipped with the grosgrain ribbon around the brim.

Queen Anne smiled under the veil. “Your Majesty, will you introduce me to this Madame?” Her voice was soft and melodic. It was entertaining for her to see the face of the king’s mistress while the mistress could only guess how she looked like and who she was.

Without any introduction, Anne de Pisseleu knew who the woman in front of her was. She sank into a deep curtsy before the queen. The woman in front of Duchess d’Étampes was her main rival and the woman who had robbed her of the king’s love. She was his legal wife and a wife in the eyes of God. The mistress pretended not to watch, but out of the corner of her eye she could see that François’ eyes were shining as he looked at the Queen of France. She didn’t have any doubt that her François loved the queen.

The king marched over to the Queen. He took her hands in his and kissed each of them. He turned to face Anne de Pisseleu. “Madame d’Étampes, let me introduce my wife, Queen Anne of France.” His gaze drifted to his wife. “Anne, this is Madame Anne Jeanne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, Duchess d’Étampes.”

Anne de Pisseleu and Queen Anne studied one another like two prowling cats as they played at civility. They both were experienced courtiers and knew how to hold themselves.

Duchess d’Étampes curtsied. “Your Majesty, I am honored to meet you,” she said sweetly.

“And so am I,” Queen Anne answered ready to laugh at the ridiculous situation. She had finally met the infamous blonde-haired beauty, Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, the king’s maîtresse en titre for more than ten years. She knew that François had had many mistresses in the past, one of them her own sister Mary. In general, it wasn’t astonishing that his mistress was staying with him in Turin.

At the same time, there was some awkwardness in the situation as the queen had entered the room right at the moment when King François was talking to his mistress. Queen Anne wondered whether he had just set her aside and why he had done it. But did it really matter? She had arrived in Turin to perform a part of their deal – to be seen as the Queen of France with the King of France, letting him introduce the living fairytale and the king’s savior to his soldiers and the common people. Nothing else should interest her. Nothing else mattered as long as they were good political allies.

“Madame d’Étampes is departing to France tomorrow,” the king said formally. He couldn’t behave otherwise in front of his Anne. He wasn’t pleased that the two Annes were face to face with each other. He didn’t need Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly to be here. He had recommended several times she leave Turin, but she stayed, despite his formal pleas. Now he repented that he hadn’t removed Anne de Pisseleu from Turin earlier.

Queen Anne smiled under the veil. “Madame d’Étampes, His Majesty and I wish to welcome you here if you decide to stay. If you leave, we hope that your journey will be a pleasant one.”

Duchess d’Étampes smiled. “Your Majesty, thank you for your good wishes.” She curtsied before the royal couple. “Your Majesty, if you don’t mind, I want to retire now.”

François bowed. “Madame d’Étampes, we wish you to have a good night.”

As Duchess d’Étampes left the room, Queen Anne and King François were left alone. A small silence hung over them as each contemplated how to proceed with the conversation.

“Your Majesty,” the queen began. She made a deep curtsey to the King of France. She knew that her curtsey was one of the deepest and the most graceful the courtiers had ever made. Everybody had noticed that curtsey in Anne Boleyn’s performance.

François stepped closer to her. He didn’t want her to curtsey to him when she was pregnant. “Anne, please immediately rise. I don’t want you to curtsey to me in your condition and in an informal environment,” he insisted.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied steadily, albeit amazed with his care. Henry never cared for small trifles like deep curtseys when she was pregnant as the Queen of England.

He led her to the armchair and helped her to sit herself comfortably there. Then he raised her veil and looked into her blue eyes. “Anne, how did you come here? You didn’t send me notice. And Count Jean de Montreuil must be furious that you left Venice.”

Anne smiled. “Your Majesty, it was I who initiated the trip. Please don’t blame Monsieur de la Brosse as he was a wonderful companion for me throughout the past months. You are right that Monsieur Jean was displeased, but I persuaded him to let me go.”

“How are you feeling, Anne? How was the trip?”

“The trip was fine. Monsieur de la Brosse arranged everything. He also managed to take me inside the castle in a way that nobody noticed,” she replied.

“Well, given the events in England, I think we won’t need to keep our secret soon.”

The queen glared at him. “Your Majesty, I must express my sincere gratitude for what you have done for me,” she purred. She cast a grateful glance at him.

“Anne, I have done it for you with pleasure.” François laughed an easy laugh and reached out to touch her cheek. “You really are an exceptional woman, Anne. I am glad that you are here.”

Anne smiled at him. “I came here to fulfill my part of our deal. The people should see the king and the queen together before the battles after the New Year.” Her voice was cold and confident. “I didn’t forget that we are political allies.”

François smiled, whilst seeing her cold eyes and the chilly air around her. “Thank you, Anne.”

Night of the same day, December 1537,
Castello di Rivoli, Turin, Piedmont

After the meeting with King François, Queen Anne was immediately arranged in the bedchamber adjacent to King François’ own chambers. François’ trusted servant and the maids she brought from Venice helped her occupy the rooms. It was unknown so far in the palace that she had arrived there.

Anne found her rooms soothing. The chamber was decorated in the Renaissance style. The walls were hung with light yellow and lavender brocade. At the center of the bedchamber was a large mahogany bed covered in yellow tapestry. Along one of the walls, there was a collection of ivory tapestried couches and delicately carved gilded chairs. All of them were placed on large Italian carpets. There were tables inlaid with marble and tortoise. They were covered with silver bowls, candlesticks and flagons of wine.

As François entered the room, he saw Anne near her bed. She wore only her tight white silk nightgown. As the nightgown tightly enveloped her body, François noticed the changes in her slender figure as his gaze fixed on her belly swollen with his child. Warmth imparted into his heart and soul. He hurried to Anne and helped her put herself into the bed.

François sat on the edge of the bed. “What is it, Anne?” he asked as his gaze stopped on a pile of parchments on her bedside table.

Anne raised her head and looked at him. “Poems in English,” she replied.

“Read them for me, if you want,” he offered.

Anne was astonished as they had never talked in English since they met in Italy. “In English?”

He raised a brow. “Why not? We are alone here.”

“I will do as Your Majesty wishes,” Anne replied in an official tone. She started reading the poem that attracted her attention. “It is Sir Thomas Wyatt’s poem. He used to be a poet at the court.”

François smiled. “Go on, Anne.”

She read a poem aloud, her heart thundering in her chest in fear.

“I think it is a poem in your honor,” he said in English, as she finished reading the poem.