Secrets of the Tudor Court (12 page)

France is going to be wonderful!

We arrive in Calais, England’s last French holding, and I feel a freedom not known at home. I find myself laughing and joining in the mindless chatter as never before. The people of the town greet our procession with mixed feelings; some cheer
“Vive le roi!”
while others remain silent, guarded, unsure why they should pay homage to a king who does not speak their language altogether well or respect their long-held religious values. I do not allow myself to be vexed by those who are less than enthusiastic at our arrival, but get caught in the joy of the adventure.

I ride in a litter with Anne. She peeks out of the curtains, tossing out handfuls of coins here and there. A triumphant grin lifts the corners of her mouth. “This is the first step,” she says.

Anne’s mood changes abruptly, however, when we reach our quarters in the castle, where she is informed that we will not be permitted to go to Boulogne after all. The queen of Navarre has taken ill, so cannot attend Anne.

“Pah!” Anne cries, throwing herself on a chaise. “So Henry is to go dine with King François without me! All this way—for nothing!” Her little hands ball into fists, clenching the rich blue velvet of her gown.

It doesn’t seem for nothing when Anne receives a beautiful diamond from King François. Her angled face softens; the storm in her obsidian eyes calms.

“Oh, Lady Anne, it is so grand!” I cry. “He must hold you in high esteem.”

She casts a sideways glance at me and chuckles.

When King Henry returns from the French court he brings Anne an even bigger surprise: King François himself.

An extravagant entertainment is held for King François, with masking, dancing, and fine food. Anne glides across the floor, making the king of France another slave to her charms.

I am thrilled to be masking like a grown-up lady. I have never participated in one before. Now, swathed in gold and white, I dance before two great kings, all thoughts of Norfolk’s warning that I am being watched forgotten. Norfolk is far too occupied with the kings, and I am acting under Anne’s orders. Anne, our future queen. He cannot hurt me here.

Harry Fitzroy encircles my waist with his slim arm and leads me in a dance. “Who can this great lady be?” he asks.

I giggle. “I am a Muse,” I say.

“A Muse with hair like flame,” he says, his blue eyes boring into mine.

My cheeks grow hot. My steps falter.

“Now, who is the lady behind the masque?” he asks, pulling my wrist down to reveal my face. His smile is kind. “Mistress Mary…”

“Harry,” I breathe. For a moment I cannot speak. At once I am struck by the boy’s handsomeness, a picture of the king in his youth. His looks are enhanced by his sincerity and I am touched. I clear my throat. “Doesn’t Lady Anne look beautiful tonight?”

“I cannot see her,” he says. “My view is obstructed by a beauty as blinding as the sun.”

I burst into laughter at this. Harry’s eyes reflect genuine hurt and I am quick to cut short my giggling.

“Oh, Harry, I am sorry,” I say. “It is you who has the poet’s heart. Thank you for your lovely compliments.”

The dance ends and Harry bows. I curtsy.

“I hope we see each other again before you leave,” he says, pressing my warm hand in his cool one.

“I hope so, too, my dear lord,” I say, my smile effortless and genuine.

My opportunity to see Harry comes in the form of a storm that delays our departure to England. The ladies are occupied with embroidery and reading, King Henry has whisked Anne away somewhere beyond my hearing, and I wander the halls of the castle without accompaniment, a rarity that my father would stridently disapprove of. But then Norfolk is occupied with his duties and hasn’t bothered with me throughout the whole of our trip, which makes me fear him less.

I know not to go too far. I’ve heard tales of girls who met grave misfortune when wandering the dark halls of castles. Rapes, even murders occur. To the infinite convenience of the evildoers, there are never any witnesses.

I meet Harry, who is accompanied by my brother, some other young courtiers, and liveried attendants. He breaks into a smile when he sees me, takes off his cap and bows. His cheeks are flushed. I see the merry effects of fine French wine sparkling in his eyes.

“How now, Mary?” he asks. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I was only taking my exercise,” I tell him. “I can’t go outside what with this weather.”

“Nonsense,” Harry says with a laugh. “We’re about to do just that, aren’t we, lads?” There are a few grunts and laughs. “We’re going to ride down to the beach and watch the storm.”

“Oh, my lord, you mustn’t!” I cry. “You could catch a chill and His Majesty wouldn’t like it at all!”

Harry winks. “His Majesty is occupied….”

My face burns. I blink several times, not knowing how to respond.

“Come with us, Mistress Mary,” Harry says then.

“I can’t go unaccompanied!” I laugh.

“Your brother is with you; he’ll protect you.” Harry laughs in turn. “Come along! If it makes you feel better, fetch some of the ladies. We’ll make a party of it.”

I hesitate, knowing no ladies will want to come and soil their pretty gowns. It is such an intoxicating offer, the freedom of riding in the tempest, the rain biting my cheeks…

“They won’t,” I say in defeat.

“Then you will,” Harry says. “Come now. Let’s ride!”

Well, my brother
is
with us after all. It isn’t as though I am completely without a chaperone. And the Duke of Richmond is almost a prince. It wouldn’t do to disobey him. I follow the little group to the stables, where we mount horses that Harry assures us are ours for the borrowing. There is no sidesaddle for me and I am not in a habit, so must make do with what is provided. Harry himself helps me up and I offer a pretty courtier’s smile of gratitude.

The group rides through the town, the sound of the horses’ hooves on wet cobbles music to my ears. The rain pelts against my face and neck and I relish in it, just as I thought I would. The wind whips my hair about my shoulders in a honeyed mane and I laugh out loud.

“What a sight you are, Mary,” my brother says. I cannot discern whether he is pleased by what he sees, however.

The beast beneath me is magnificent; the feel of her muscles stretching and working invigorates me and I employ her full potential as we ride along the turbulent surf.

“It’s so beautiful!” Harry cries as we bring our horses to a halt to watch the waves raging and crashing against the shore. The rain falls in a torrent; does it come from sky or sea? I tilt my head back to catch some of the drops in my open mouth. They are salty sweet on my tongue.

Harry rides closer to me. “Look, Mistress Mary! A rainbow. Do you see it? Oh, there’s every color…red, violet, even Tudor green, I daresay!”

I scan the gray horizon where sky and sea frolic together and merge as one, coupling as I imagine the gods to do. My eyes fall upon the rainbow, a great arch across the sky. “God’s promise,” I say in soft tones.

“What?” Harry leans in.

His proximity startles me and I draw back with a nervous laugh. “His promise to never punish us again with a flood…his promise for brighter days filled with color and beauty.”

Harry smiles, reaching out. I think he may touch me, but he strokes my horse’s silvery mane instead. His expression is dreamy. “Oh, Mistress Mary, such are the days we shall know.” He tosses his strawberry blond head back, laughing. “Isn’t it wonderful to be alive?”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Yes. It is wonderful to be alive.”

My sopping wet gown I explain away as having been a result of my brother pulling me out into the deluge to see the magnificent rainbow. No one questions me. Everyone is caught up in the latest gossip.

“She was with him all night and the better part of this morning,” Madge Shelton whispers.

“Do you think…?” another speculates.

Madge smirks. “How could she not? It’s been six years now…”

I don’t want to participate in this conversation. I take off my gown and let it dry by the fire, then dress in a warm wrap and lie abed, dreaming of the storm on the beach, the rainbow, and Harry’s smile.

I have never been sorrier to say good-bye to a city than I am to this fair port of Calais. My heart lurches as we traverse the channel, and I find that without Harry and my brother the crossing is dull and I am prone to retching over the side of the rail. When the captain encourages me to go down to the cabin I shake my head. I want to look at the sea. I want to remember the storm…

Norfolk’s face is impassive when we arrive home. Dropped is the façade of amiable courtier, gone is the smiling man who eased Anne’s tension by gambling with her on our trip. I expect he does not have to pretend now. He is only with me, after all.

He guides me to his apartments by the shoulder, his grip unrelenting.

Once we are alone in his privy chamber he sits behind his desk, folds his hands beneath his chin, and stares at me, saying nothing for a long moment. I am unsure if he expects me to speak first, so I smile.

“Wasn’t it grand, Father?” I ask in delight. “All the food and entertainments—”

“It sounds to me as though you kept yourself entertained well enough,” he says. “Riding alone with Fitzroy, for instance.”

I lose expression, feeling the color drain from my cheeks. I know lying is useless. “Henry…Lord Surrey was with us. I wasn’t alone. And there were others.”

“Other men.” Norfolk’s voice is sharp. He rises, circling the desk to stand above my chair. At one time I might have described this as his “towering pose,” but now that I am growing taller I realize Norfolk is small and slight compared to his peers. If one didn’t know him one wouldn’t think to be intimidated by him, based on his unassuming stature. Of course, that’s if one didn’t know him.

I look up at him. “We were in broad daylight, Father. It was an innocent jaunt in the rain.” I find myself getting caught up in the memory. Roses bloom on my cheeks. My smile is dreamy. “It was so lovely. There was a rainbow and the waves were so tall—”

“Are you daft?” he demands in his soft voice. “Really. I need to know. Do you lack some basic element in your intellectual abilities?”

I know now there is nothing I can say to save myself.

He continues. “Mary, you are getting older. You are marriageable now. You cannot go about alone with boys whose blood runs hot in their veins. And you can’t depend on your hotheaded brother to protect you. It was he who made sure the incident was reported to me!”

“Surrey?” I whisper. Tears sting my eyes. “Henry?”

“He says you are growing quite bold in your opinions and your actions,” Norfolk says. “You seem to have a reformist bent to your religious convictions and you flirt openly with the gentlemen. Is it that you are inspired by your cousin Mary Carey?”

“As if Mary Carey is my only example!” I cry in a sudden rush of bravery. “I am surrounded by whores!” I add then. I clamp my mouth shut, stunned at my outburst. Before I can offer a word of apology, my cheek feels the heat of his blow. I am knocked to the ground, chair and all.

Norfolk pulls me up by the arm. I feel a slight pop in my shoulder as he jerks me to my feet. “Do you think I raised you to talk like a common barmaid and behave even worse?” He tears off his cloak in one wild movement, tossing it on a chair. “When I tell you something, Mary, I make good on it. I have never uttered an empty word in my life.”

My heart pounds in sheer terror as I stare at this man who sired me, his chest heaving as he grabs my neck from behind and pushes me facedown on his desk. His voice is still calm, though his breath is short. “I warned you of this. I warned you before we left. Now you will have to be taught to heed.”

With deft hands he unlaces my gown and chemise to the waist. I hear him working at his belt. Once free it whirs through the air as he brings it across my bare back. I cry out. He leans over me, clasping a hand over my mouth. I want to bite him but dare not. Maybe he will kill me. He wouldn’t do that; to think so would prove me as daft as he believes. He has too much to lose, and killing one’s child certainly doesn’t look good. Of course he could cover it up. He is the master of plots…No! Oh, here it comes again. It hurts…Five, six, seven lashes. When will he stop?

As the belt laps across my back I wonder how I am going to hide it from Anne and the other ladies. I will not be able to dress in front of anyone. Or I will have to keep my chemise on at all times and wear it until my wounds heal over. That is what I must do. Of course they may think me priggish, but…

He stops at ten lashes. He is breathless but ever calm as he puts his belt back on. I lay atop the desk, weak, exhausted. Tears fall slick between my cheek and the wood surface. It feels slimy and at once I am filled with disgust.

Norfolk is busy behind me. How much time passes I do not know or care. I hear him call for a basin of hot water, a posset, and some salve. When all is delivered, set behind his door, which remains unopened until he is certain the servant has departed, he retrieves it and sits behind me.

“This should help,” he says in an offhand tone as he dips a cloth in the hot water and covers the welts that have arisen like fat red snakes on my skin, pressing it carefully against my back with the same hands that just beat it. He holds the cloth in place a while, and when it cools removes it, dipping it again and repeating the process several times. I feel my shoulders shake with silent sobs. His gentleness in the wake of such violence hurts worse than any beating.

After the hot cloth is removed, he applies some salve. “There is no bleeding. You’ll not have any scars.”

“You think of everything,” I say in bitter admiration.

He does not lash out as I expect, as I almost wish, so that he might end my pain forever and in it bring about his own demise. Again guilt surges through me. He is my father. I must honor him. I did not. I brought him shame. These are the results. Norfolk takes my hand and winds my arm about his shoulder, reminding me of the pain in my throbbing arm.