The Lady in the Tower (14 page)

Of course, if Françoise had been a truly virtuous woman, she would have gone straight home when she realized she had been duped and I am sure François would have been too chivalrous to prevent her. But one had to remember that François was a very attractive man—apart from his kingship—and the power which came from that made him irresistible. However, Françoise succumbed. She had three brothers who were hungry for promotion and François could give so much. So that was the end of the virtuous existence of Françoise de Foix.

There were many such stories of François and some may not have been true, but knowing him I guessed they had their roots in fact.

Thus, when I saw his eyes on me, I began to suffer small anxieties.

If I had been different, I might have been willing. After all, he was the King. I should never be like my sister, of course, but without her example might I have fallen into temptation? Should I have enjoyed flaunting my power at Court as the King's mistress? I was not sure.

I was helped a good deal by Marguerite.

She adored her brother and thought him perfect in every way, but that did not mean she could not see other people's points of view.

She used to read to me quite frequently. She was interested in me. In fact, there was a similarity between us. I lacked her erudition and her clever mind, but I found great pleasure in listening to her discourse.

It was she who kept me informed of events and one of her great fears at this time was that our countries would go to war. The meeting at Ardres and Guines? She shrugged that aside. It was merely two kings displaying their wealth and power. That was not how treaties were made. Did I think it furthered friendship? It was rivalry all the time. What are tournaments but competitions? When it is between two knights, that is very worthy, even though it engenders jealousy, but when it is between rival countries, then the danger is acute.

“Then why…,” I began.

She shook her head. “Who can say? It was a gesture… while it lasted. If it had been a meeting to discuss ideas…Oh, it was said to be so, but what was important? Who won at the jousts? Who won at the wrestling? Who had the greater strength? The greater power… the greater wealth … And all the time there is that young man… the most powerful man in Europe. He is young in years but in wisdom he is already an old man. I hate the thought of war.” Then she looked at me and said: “But you, Anne, have a distant look of late. Tell me, what is on your mind?”

I hesitated and she urged me to go on. I said: “It is the King.”

“François?”

“He…he looks my way.”

She nodded, smiling. “Ah, he is a lusty boy. He always was. He is strong… such a man. He adores beauty. He is going to build beautiful
châteaux
all over the country. You know he brought Leonardo da Vinci here. Poor man, his stay was short. Genius should be above mortality. It should be granted eternal life. He tried for Raphael. You see, he would bring all the great painters, writers and architects to France so that his country becomes the center of art. He lives for beauty and he sees that in women. Women are essential to him…as art is. And he has seen something in you which attracts him.”

“I do not want…”

She understood as she always did.

“I know. You are young. You are not of an amorous nature… like your sister.”

I shuddered.

She said: “Yes, I understand, Anne. You felt it deeply. It was a great disgrace and humiliation to you. Of course, she was young and innocent. There are others here who do all that she has done… and more…and yet here they live as respected members of the Court. Your sister was not clever enough; she was not devious; she was too open. She enjoyed sexual encounters so much that she could never resist them. There are some women like that. She became a byword at the Court, and that is what could not be endured. There are women at the Court who could not tell you how many beds they have slept in… they are so numerous. But here they stay while poor innocent little Mary is sent away. And the gentlemen… led by the King…if they have not a mistress, they are regarded with suspicion. Yet your poor little sister is sent away as a prostitute.”

“She was never that. She had numerous lovers…yes… but she gave all the time. She never asked for payment.”

“I know. And you think that since you are her sister it might be assumed that you resemble her.”

“Yes, I believe that is so.”

“My dear Anne, nobody could think you resemble your sister. You are a person in your own right. I cannot have you disturbed. I am not surprised that the King is attracted to you. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“It is a charming age. And you have never had a lover?”

I drew back in horror.

She laughed and said: “You have answered.” She took my hand. “Yes, you are indeed different from so many girls of your age. You have a dignity and respect for yourself. That is it. I shall speak to the King.”

I became alarmed.

“Oh, don't be afraid. You know of this special bond there is between us. We can talk intimately on any subject. It has always been so. I it was who taught him to read. We used to sit under the trees at Cognac and I would tell him stories I invented for him. He was such a beautiful child… clever too. We adored him, my mother and I. I would have done anything for him. I must tell you this little story about our childhood, and then you will learn something special about him. I was six years old; François was four. I had put away my dolls long before. François liked to look at them and he asked me why I no longer wanted to play with them. I said it was because I was too old. He replied that I wanted a real baby not a doll. Then he said he wanted one too…I to be the mother, he the father. You look shocked. It is hard to imagine
François innocent, but he was then. He thought that babies just arrived when people wanted them. He already knew that he was the precious one—my mother called him Precious and my King, my Caesar, even at that age. So he believed if he wanted a baby, he would have one.”

I murmured: “How you love him!”

“He is my life,” she said. “Nothing else means the same to me. I want all the best for him now as I did then. Outside the
château
there was a cottage, and before it a baby was playing on the grass. François said: “There is our baby.” So we picked up the child and took it into the
château
. We washed it because it was not very clean and I found some of François's garments. They were rather big but we dressed the baby in them. The child was soon missed and traced to the
château
, and when they wanted to take it home, François was so unhappy. He pleaded to keep it. It was his, he said. He was its father, I was its mother. It was our baby. The result was that the parents—who were very poor—realized what a good life the child could have at the
château;
and in the end we were allowed to keep her. We had nurses for her and we called her Françoise, which was the nearest we could get to François's name.”

“What a charming story,” I said. “What happened to the girl?”

“She was brought up in the
château
, and when she was a little older a home was found for her with some worthy people. That is not the end of the story. There was a very strange sequel. It is one of those coincidences in life which often bewilder us but which happen now and then. François liked to go about incognito, and he favored the dress of a student. One day he went to church in this guise and saw there a beautiful young girl and was immediately enamored of her. She was gentle, obviously not wealthy but of good breeding. He followed her to her home—a very pleasant house but quite humble, of course, compared with what he was accustomed to. He did not speak to her immediately but watched her. It was an exciting game to him. Finally she became aware of him and he spoke to her. He said he wished to be her friend but she replied that there could not be friendship between a humble girl and the Dauphin. You see, she knew him. Then she told him who she was. She was our baby Françoise. She insisted that there could be no love between them because she was a virtuous girl and could not be any man's mistress. François was desolate. He came to me as he always did when disturbed. I felt rather indignant with the girl for refusing him. It was always my desire to give François what he wanted—and I thought then that she should be proud to be loved by the Dauphin.”

She paused, smiling.

“I suggested that he should have her abducted and brought to him. When he had seduced her, she would forget her scruples. He was well versed in the arts of love. He would know how to please her. He was delighted. He embraced me and told me that I had always had an answer to his problems.”

I said in a shocked voice: “You could tell him that!”

“I did. You see, I believed that she must be happy and proud to be loved by François. I thought she just had bourgeois scruples which would be swept away by her delight in him. It would be such a beautiful ending to our story. It would make the whole thing full of meaning.”

“So you would abduct the young woman as you did the child.”

“I know you are thinking that I assume royalty has special privileges. Well, has it not?”

“People's lives are their own. They should decide what to do with them.” I spoke boldly, for Marguerite had always encouraged me to say what I thought.

“Sometimes they need a little guidance, a little push in the right direction. Shall I tell you the rest of the story?”

“Please do, Madame.”

“She was brought to him, and he told her he had fallen in love with her and how delighted he was that she was his Françoise whom he had named and who had given him such delight when he was a little boy. Then he sought to make love to her, to take her by storm. She wept; she entreated; she implored. François, as you know, sets great store by chivalry. He has always been the perfect knight. She declared vehemently that, if he dishonored her, she could not live; she would kill herself. François believed her. He saw that she was not feigning reluctance. He was immediately contrite and assured her that she had nothing to fear from him. He loved her and she should go on her way unmolested by him. She fell on her knees and thanked him. François was very touched. She went away. He has not seen her since, but always he inquires after her; and he will see that she is well looked after all her life.”

“What a happy ending to what might have been a sad story. I am so glad it happened like that.”

“I tell you this story so that you understand him. You know how I love him. Do you think I would give so much of myself to someone whom I considered unworthy?”

“No, I do not,” I said.

“I will tell him of your fear.” I lifted my head in protest but she waved that aside. “Oh yes, I will tell him. I will explain that you are not like so
many ladies at the Court. He will understand. I will remind him of the day we found little Françoise. I will say the little Boleyn is young yet. She is not yet a woman. Because she is wise beyond her years, you think she is. Physically she is immature, though mentally advanced. She knows what she wants. She will always know what she wants; and she is not to be trifled with.”

“You could say this to the King?”

“He is my brother first, my little François—the King second.”

I said: “Thank you. I shall always remember your goodness to me.”

She shook her head. “You interest me. I shall follow your future… wherever you are.”

François's attitude toward me changed after that. He regarded me with an amused glint in his eyes; he talked to me now and then—but I had the idea that he had ceased to pursue me; and I felt a great sense of relief.

The months passed. It was more than a year since the meeting at Ardres and Guines. There was a great deal of uneasiness, for the rivalry between François and the Emperor was growing dangerous. There was talk about King Henry, for much depended on whose side he came down. At this time he was hovering between the two—a very uncertain ally. True, the little Dauphin was betrothed to Henry's daughter, the Princess Mary, but everyone knew how easily such contracts could be broken.

One day the English ambassador came to see me.

He said: “I have word from your father. You probably know that war is imminent.”

“I have heard talk of it, and it does seem that France will soon be in conflict with the Emperor Charles.”

“It is more than likely, and for that reason your father thinks it is wise for you to leave the Court of France.”

I was overcome with depression. I had been here seven years. This was my home. It could mean only one thing: England would soon be at war with France.

I stammered: “Leave here…”

“It would seem to be wise. I am sending all the students home. Your father thinks that, now your education has been completed, you should return.”

“When?” I asked.

“It would be advisable to begin preparations at once. You should leave not later than January.”

Of course, I had known it had to come. I thought back over all those years, to my arrival here and how exciting it had been serving Queen Mary; and after she had gone I had settled into the household of Claude. I had learned to love the company of Marguerite. And now I was to be uprooted.

Those days were gone for ever.

I was desolate but there was nothing I could do. I must say goodbye to my friends at the French Court—to kind Queen Claude, to dangerous François and to the one I loved best—my teacher and mentor, Marguerite d'Alençon.

I realized fully then—though perhaps I had always known it—that I, who tried to regard myself as an individual, was nothing more than a pawn to be set on a checkerboard at the spot where I could be most useful to those who commanded me.

I guessed my return might have something to do with a marriage. I was at last being called upon to play my part in the family game.

I was apprehensive and very sad to leave; but there was no escape, and in January of that year 1522 I set sail for England.