Chapter 23: The Queen's Coronation
September 12, 1537, Basilica of Saint-Denis, near Paris, France
"Make way for Queen Anne!" the royal guards proclaimed as they were clearing the path for the litter where King François' new wife was seated. "Let the procession pass!"
On the monarch's birthday, the weather was pleasant. The sun shone down merrily, and the firmament was clear blue. No rain would foil this day for the Parisians who crowded the streets to watch Queen Anne's coronation procession that had made its grand entrée into the city through the Porte Saint-Denis, constructed as a gateway through the wall of King Charles V of France.
Queen Anne sat in a litter, draped in cloth of gold and drawn by four palfreys caparisoned in purple damask. She was accoutered in a splendid gown of purple brocade, dotted with golden fleurs-de-lis and trimmed with ermine on the sleeves and the bodice. Her husband had insisted that she wore the color purple to emphasize her royal status in France. With her raven hair flowing over her shoulders like a dark river, sparkling diamonds were woven into her hair.
The cortege was accompanied by the French royals and many men of the court. At the head were on their white stallions King François I and his sister, Queen Marguerite of Navarre. King Henri II of Navarre rode behind them together with Dauphin Henri. Foreign ambassadors, including the Imperial diplomat Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle, followed the dauphin.
Prince Charles, Duke d'Orléans, as well as Constable Anne de Montmorency traveled on horseback, together with Cardinal de Tournon and Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion.
Next succeeded several richly draped chariots, which contained Princess Marguerite de Valois, Madeleine de Savoy, who was Montmorency's wife, and Françoise de Longwy, Chabot's spouse, as well as Lady Elizabeth Boleyn and Lady Mary Stafford. Dauphine Catherine de' Medici and the infamous Diane de Poitiers, the dauphin's mistress, shared a chariot rather stiffly. Their expensive ensembles of white and blue velvet were ornamented with jewels, save Diane's gown.
As the procession moved slowly along the ancient route of the French kings, Anne could see countless spectators, who lined the streets while cheering the royal couple.
"The great King François saved the nation and France!"
"Our brave sovereign expelled the Imperial barbarians!"
"Long live His Majesty King François!"
Someone shouted, "Queen Anne helped our monarch save France!"
"God bless our chivalrous king and his wife!"
Prince Charles proclaimed, "Long Live King François and Queen Anne!"
The throng echoed, "Long Live King François and Queen Anne!"
The Queen of France wordlessly thanked her husband's youngest son, whom she adored the most among François' children with the late Queen Claude. As the people smiled and waved at Anne, her heart palpitated with delight, chanting a hymn of her victory over the pitiless fate that had degraded her into an exiled woman, labeled a whore and a witch over a year ago. Henry will learn soon about my coronation, Anne enthused. It is a pity that he cannot see me now.
About fifteen thousand people had gathered in Paris today. As part of the city's homage to the queen, many tableau vivants and mystères were performed where the royal party passed. Most of these sketches were devoted to their sovereign and his consort's chivalry. Staged in front of the Châtelet, one of them portrayed François dressed as a salamander under attack from an eagle, which implied the emperor, and the salamander was saved by a white-robed falcon – Anne.
In the squares, the fountains flowed with wine instead of water. Groups of women, garbed in Greek robes of golden silk, served it to the mob in golden cups as a symbol of France's future prosperity, that the sovereigns would grant the kingdom after the restoration of stability.
Near a bridge linking the Place Saint-Michel on the left bank of the Seine River to the Île de la Cité, the cortege commenced traveling at a slower pace. At the Pont Saint-Michel, the queen gaped at her surroundings. A cord had been stretched from the tower of the nearby chapel of Saint-Michel to the roof of the highest house on the bridge. All of a sudden, an acrobat appeared and walked along the cord, holding two candles in his hands and singing a song in Anne's honor.
Some call her the English Lady Anne Boleyn,
But we know her as the lovely Queen Anne,
As the heroic female warrior of France,
As the fairest lady since her return to us.
Amongst the many pillars of rock and death
She stands tall, proud, clever, and invincible,
Her head swaying to and fro as she greets her men,
Her soldiers of God for the glory of our land.
She leads her courageous warriors to her king,
To the heart of our home in the Loire Valley,
Amidst the beating of the drums and fanfares,
Her resolve to fight never wavering until finale.
Amidst the firing of musketry and guns,
Amidst the deafening din of shouts and steel,
The brave Queen Anne becomes a graceful swan
Dancing with her sword a military pavane,
Like Minerva, saving her husband-king from ruin.
Cheers met the song. "Lord bless the Knight-King and his wife-savior!"
The queen felt as if a fairy tale had come to life. François often composes verses and songs. He wrote a song in my honor! His name reverberated through her inner world like a bell of long-forgotten happiness. It was so incredible, yet real, and so endearing of him.
§§§
On the Île de la Cité, human masses greeted Queen Anne with earth-shattering applause. There were bells ringing from the steeples, sending birds clattering into the air. The curious faces of all those who strove to glimpse the new queen moved in waves like the sea.
At the Porte Saint-Denis Gate, several men emerged in Valois livery, carrying her arms joint with those of François – a phoenix rising from the ashes, crowned with a coronet adorned with a salamander. Anne's escutcheon as the French queen symbolized her transformation: her death in the web of calamities in England, and her rebirth in the fires of war in France.
Then came musicians playing on a long and elaborate fanfare. As they performed, a maid dressed as the Goddess Minerva welcomed the queen. The audience exploded with rapture.
King François slowed his stallion, caparisoned in purple silk down to the ground. As his spouse's litter reached him, he glanced at her. "How are you fairing, Anne?"
"I'm fine," his wife claimed. "This coronation is different from the one I had in England. Unlike the French nobles, commoners seem to be more accepting of me as their queen."
He lowered his voice considerably. "Do not antagonize our courtiers by arguing with me in public. Then all will be excellent. I shall cultivate your image as my heroic queen."
"You are right," she admitted reluctantly.
"I spared no expense for your coronation and the pageantry."
Anne laughed breezily. "I see that, sire." Her expression evolved into seriousness. "But you should not have done it, for France has been too severely affected by the war."
"François," he amended.
"Of course, François." There was a hint of a smile on her face.
"You will have a coronation of the utmost magnificence," he pledged.
She cast a questionable glance at him. "Do you like my new coat-of-arms?"
François nodded his affirmative. "It suits your perfectly well, my dearest phoenix."
"It symbolizes my death and rebirth," she whispered.
The monarch released a tired sigh. "I must confess that this triumph is also like death and rebirth for me. I've grown exhausted of the endless wars against the emperor, which were leaching France of its wealth for so long. Now the conflict is over, at least for a while."
"I understand." Anne dithered, then added, "Carlos will retaliate."
"He shall. Thanks be to God that Spain has no resources to attack us in the near future."
Then the monarch joined his sister at the helm of the procession.
The next tableau vivant occurred near a bridge over the Seine River – the Grand Pont. There was a castle on a small platform with the Holy Trinity. As the queen's litter was crossing the bridge, a maid in the costume of an angel descended by mechanical means and came through an opening of blue and white brocade hangings, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis.
The procession halted. The angel stepped forth and placed a diadem upon Anne's head.
"Our intrepid Queen Anne!" the angel declared, curtseying to the king's wife. "May God save and protect you! We all thank you for saving our great king from the invaders!"
Deafening cheers rang out like a thousand bells. "Long Live Queen Anne!"
Anne waved to the mob. True to his word, François is cultivating my reputation as his brave queen. I've treated him badly since our wedding, but he has done a lot for me. A familiar stirring of guilt twisted her gut, and she promised herself that the truce they had achieved on the night of her coming to his bed would last long, perhaps until he betrayed her in some way.
As the procession passed Notre-Dame Cathedral, the queen could see more human faces around her, which warmed her heart. Many Parisians flooded the streets and blocked the road, as they tried to catch a glimpse of their queen. Because of that, the cortege stopped for a short time, until the guards dispersed the throng to allow the procession to continue its movement.
It delighted Anne that her marriage to François seemed to be popular among the people. Not being political animals, many viewed her as King Henry's victim. Before the Franco-Imperial war, the French had not despised Anne, nor had they lauded her; after the invasion, however, her popularity had soared because of her role in the creation of the vital Franco-Protestant alliance.
More members of the Privy Council joined the cortege. They were the Lorraine brothers – Duke Claude de Guise, Cardinal Jean de Lorraine, and Count Louis de Vaudémont.
The procession stopped near the Basilica of Saint-Denis amid acclamations of numberless spectators and the fanfares of trumpeters. There were hundreds of the civilians on the square near this large medieval abbey church, along with members of the royal household, who were dressed in Valois livery and lined up to form the guard of honor on the other side.
§§§
Jean du Bellay, Bishop of Paris and of Bayonne, welcomed Queen Anne to Saint-Denis. She proceeded down the aisle together with King François, Queen Marguerite, King Henri of Navarre, Cardinal de Tournon, as well as the Duke de Guise and the Constable de Montmorency.
Pausing, Anne asked her husband, "Where are my mother and sister?"
François answered, "You will see them soon."
"Your Majesty, should we start?" prompted Jean du Bellay.
"Definitely." The ruler extended his hand to his spouse, who accepted it.
The crown before Anne, who walked under a canopy of cloth of gold, was carried by the Constable de Montmorency, her scepter by the Cardinal de Lorraine. Princess Marguerite carried her stepmother's long train with a coronet of gold on her dark-haired head; Ladies Elizabeth Boleyn and Mary Stafford, both of them smiling, supported the train in the middle.
The French royal family entered with a slow, measured gait. As always, Dauphin Henri looked somber, as if Anne were unworthy of being crowned. Dressed in black and white, Diane de Poitiers followed her lover. Prince Charles flashed jovial smiles in the direction of his father and his stepmother. Ignored by her husband, Catherine de' Medici disguised her sadness with a smile that resembled one of gratitude for this little bit of extra color in her routine life.
Next came the spouses of the ruler's favored councilors in magnificent attire of white and blue silk trimmed with ermine, bejeweled French hoods shimmering on their heads. An instant later, the queen's ladies followed, dressed in gowns of scarlet brocade edged with white fur, their bodices made of brightly colored silk, in imitation of the plumage of the mythological phoenix.
Then followed the monks of Saint-Denis, all clothed in rich copes of gold, with ten mitred abbots. After them came several bishops in splendid purple raiment, two mitred archbishops, and the clergy. They were singing praises of the Virgin Mary and Saint Anne, the queen's namesake. Then emerged a long line of other high-ranking nobles accoutered in the finest brocades, silks, satins, damasks, and jewels. Claude d'Annebault and Philippe de Chabot walked together.
The king and queen reached the altar; the others stopped behind them.
The Bishop of Paris asked, "Do Your Majesties have something for our abbey?"
"Yes, Your Grace." Anne offered him the diadem the angel had placed upon her head.
"Thank you." Bellay took it with a smile.
The queen ascended the altar, knelt, and prayed in silence.
King François remained near the altar. He eyed the assemblage and addressed them. "My beloved subjects! Today is a special day for all of us! My wife, Anne de Valois, will be crowned as your queen. From now on, she will be immortalized as the savior of France in the eyes of the people and the Almighty. Whatever your religion, pray for me, your king, and for her!"
Anne heard only one majestic voice that broke the reverent stillness enveloping everyone. No sooner had François spoken than the strains of soft, soothing harmony encompassed his wife. His speech fastened her life to France forever even before her anointing, and it told of her future, challenging and rich for events, of deeds that Anne would have to perpetrate as his consort. In his voice, she distinguished a note of absolute confidence in her destiny.
The gathering of clergy and nobility nodded. A myriad of contradictory emotions were colliding and recombining within them. Most feared having Anne on the throne because of her Protestant background. Many appreciated what she had done for their country and their liege lord, but their concern over her religion was an overriding sentiment among others.
"Pray for the Valois family!" Henry of Navarre affirmed.
"We shall!" the congregation promised.
As Queen Anne settled in her chair of state, the Bishop of Paris approached her. "Will you solemnly promise and swear to be a loyal queen consort to your husband, King François? Will you govern the people of France and her other territories according to God's and the king's will, the respective laws and customs? Will your serve the kingdom loyally and dutifully?"
"I solemnly promise to do so." This oath stressed the queen's subordinate place due to the ancient Salic law that forbade women from succeeding the French throne.
"Will you, to the utmost of your power and ability, maintain in France and any others lands governed by the King of France the laws of God and the Roman Catholic Church governed by the Pope? Will you keep and preserve the Catholic doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in the Christian world, as far as your conscience permits within the bounds of God's Holy Law? Will you preserve unto the bishops and clergy of France, and to the churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges?"
Anne's brow quirked, and she read the answer in the king's eyes. The queen's coronation oaths had been altered to take into account her beliefs, and to assuage the discontent of the nobility. Why didn't you warn me about it, François? Do you think I would not understand why I must give such an oath? This reminded Anne of distrust between them in spite of their reconciliation.
"All this I pledge to do," Anne declared.
The queen glided to the altar, almost shrinking from the Gothic grandeur, and melancholy tinged her footsteps. As the Great Bible was brought from the altar by Bellay, Anne knelt.
Laying her hand upon the Holy Gospel, Anne asserted, "I shall abide by my oaths. Help me God to be a good queen for France, for my lord husband, and for all my people."
Anne returned to her chair, her head high. Her gaze met François', but she averted it.
The monarch ordered, "Begin the ceremony."
The Bishop of Paris and mitred abbots anointed Queen Anne on her chest and her head, whereas a French king is anointed on nine areas at Reims Cathedral. Anne received the ring, the scepter of justice, and the crown, but not the grand scepter decorated with the fleur-de-lis.
At the end of the ceremony, François came to his wife. "God save our queen!"
"Long Live Queen Anne!" everyone intoned; some reluctant voices were heard.
Taking his hand, Anne let François lead head along the nave. She was the second woman in history who married two kings, like Eleanor of Aquitaine. Her entire being exuded a sensation of triumph that would never fade away, which was like sheer ecstasy. And as the queen stared at the ruler, wings of romanticism fluttered between them, making her see in him her heroic Knight-King who had rescued France from the Habsburgs and Anne from life in exile until her dying day.
"Thank you, François," the queen said in the most sincere accents. "For everything."
A grin stretched his mouth. "You are most welcome, my wife."
§§§
The Valois royal couple quitted the cathedral, the others trailing after them. Queen Anne surprised everyone, including her husband, when she halted on the square overlooking the west façade of Saint-Denis. The area in front of them was dotted with happy countenances.
"What has happened?" quizzed the ruler.
His consort surveyed the concourse with a look of genuine kinship. "My countrymen, I thank you for coming here to greet me on this wonderful day." Her voice took on a higher octave. "I grew up at your beloved king's court, and I've loved France since my childhood. But after my marriage into the House of Valois, France has become my true home!"
The roar of the crowd's approval was like a continual roll of thunder.
As a hush settled, the queen stated ebulliently, "It is a great honor for me to be your queen. I shall make King François, my lord and husband, proud of me. Remaining at his side in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health until death do us part, I'll work assiduously and tirelessly for the benefit of our realm. I have the body of a woman, but my heart and stomach are those of a Queen of France, who at the same time will obey her husband according to tradition and law."
Smiling at François and then turning to the mob, Anne resumed her speech. "His Majesty and I care for you more than our own. Unfortunately, the damage from the invasion appears to be significant. People need food and shelter, so let us make sure that everyone has them. There will be no coronation festivities at our court to save the funds in the treasury for our people."
The noise of their rapture was deafening. Many threw flowers, which had been cut a few hours earlier, at the royal couple, and soon an avalanche of blossoms covered the square.
"God bless Queen Anne, and grant her a long and happy life!"
"The Lord protect our benevolent queen and bless her!"
"Long Live Queen Anne of France! Glory to her!"
Well done, wife, François praised her. You have won more of their respect. He observed a flush of elation suffuse his consort's cheeks at the display of the commoners' affection for her. She had offered François to do that a week earlier, and he had approved of her plan; her sincere and yet theatrical manner of speaking made the masses glorify both of them.
For a couple of hours, François and Anne spoke to the Parisians, although the Scots guard remained nearby on alert. The monarch administered justice in person, listened to petitions, and dispensed favour. Finally, the shadows of the cathedral grew to gigantic lengths and grotesque shapes, for the rim of the sun was touching the roofs of the distant buildings.
The ruler told his spouse, "Congratulations, Anne! What a clever trick to make them adore you more! I begin feeling like a fish out of water, for it is usually I who has been known as the one with a penchant for public speeches of a spirited and eccentric nature."
At first, her countenance was all haughtiness, daring him to judge her or find fault with her behavior. Then she burst out laughing. "I daresay it must be your jealousy speaking."
His grin was impossibly wide. "I should make such speeches together."
"Oh, yes." Her laugh was like choirs of angels.
As Anne was climbing to the litter, she spotted the two men. Sir Nicholas Wotton, the English ambassador to France, was piercing her with his eyes full of disdain. His companion was Sir Francis Bryan, her distant cousin. Yesterday, François had apprised her of Bryan's arrival in Paris as the King of England's special envoy in order to attend her coronation.
Inside the litter, Anne leaned back in her seat. "That turncoat Bryan is here."
The monarch replied, "We will stick to our plan."
François mounted his stallion; his sister Marguerite and her husband followed suit. Loud fanfares were blown by a bevy of trumpeters stationed near the abbey's façade. The procession started its way back to Palais de la Cité, slowly blending into the busy streets of the city.
October 20, 1537, Eltham Palace, Greenwich, Kent, England
"So, that Boleyn slut was crowned," spat King Henry.
Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, dipped his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
In moody silence, his legs crossed, the monarch reclined in his armchair with an ornately carved back, portraying the exploits of Saint George. "Was the coronation lavish?"
"According to Sir Wotton, it was so grand that it seemed King François and his whore went wild with their preserved freedom after the invasion. They made a ceremonial entrée into Paris, and crowds cheered her. Unlike the mob, the French nobility decided to err on the side of caution around her, although they are happy to go from the dour days of war to peace."
The king's brow arched. "The people of France accepted the harlot as their queen?!"
"Yes." Charles nodded with distaste. "They view her as a heroine of France, the French Minerva who saved their king and aided the nation to eject the invaders."
Henry gave a hoot of acrid laughter. "The foolish commoners have such a short memory. They ought to remember that their queen is the scandal of Christendom. She can bring only shame on France and their king; soon they will shun her the way she was shunned in England."
"Perhaps." The duke shrugged. "Does Your Majesty need anything else?"
"No, thank you. You may go dine with your wife, Charles."
After Suffolk's departure, Henry sagged in his seat and stared at the ceiling. Memories inundated his head, rankling with his implacable enmity to his former wife.
On the Feast of St Hermias, four years past, the procession had taken Anne from the Tower to Westminster Abbey, and she had been entertained with amazing displays along the way. Anne's coronation had happened in the Abbey church of Saint Peter, and Henry himself had held St Edward's crown above her head as a sign of his affection for her. The English had given her the cold shoulder on that day, and it angered Henry that the French had welcomed her.
Elegant luxury surrounded the ruler, but it only added more to his severe distress. A thick red and black carpet covered the floor. The walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings by Italian masters he recognized as those Anne liked: Sandro Botticelli, Alesso di Benozzo, and Giovanni Alberti. Although the king had not frequented Eltham Palace in the last few years, he and Anne had stayed here with Elizabeth once or twice. At that time, she had ordered from France new furnishings, paintings, and ornaments for both her and Henry's quarters.
"Damn!" cursed the monarch. "I should have had these rooms refurbished long ago."
The herald announced the arrival of Lady Mary Tudor. As she entered and curtsied, her father gestured towards a high-back chair upholstered with high quality black leather.
Mary assembled her courage. "Your Majesty, I know you dislike when someone meddles in your affairs, so I apologize in advance. Rumors that England will ally with Spain against France are circulating around the court. As the emperor is my cousin, I may be useful to you."
Henry barely glanced at her. "This rapprochement is not possible at this point."
"But this alliance would please the nobility, the gentry, and the commoners."
He explained at length, "After the rebellion, we must revive the monarchy's prestige in England. We cannot achieve it by allying with the Habsburgs. We also need new friends! If the emperor has his brother released from captivity, and replenishes his treasury with gold to hire armies, Charles and I will be able to encircle France and launch another invasion."
"My cousin, Ferdinand, is a prisoner of war in France."
"François is giving the emperor's brother the best hospitality possible. This will humiliate Carlos, who threw François and later his two sons in the cold, damp dungeons in Spain."
Mary sighed with relief as to Ferdinand's fate. Suddenly, she protested, "My cousin could not be so cruel to a foreign monarch and two kids, much less royal children."
Her father laughed. "You do not know Carlos at all, Mary. The emperor acted so because his hatred for François is immense. Perhaps I would have done the same."
She measured him with a probing glance. "No, you would not."
The monarch compared the two Habsburg brothers. "Daughter of mine, you understand little in politics. I reckon that Carlos will abandon Ferdinand alone with his French troubles."
Mary's mouth was hanging open. "They love each other as brothers."
Henry shrugged. "Certainly, they have a brotherly relationship, but it is more affectionate on Ferdinand's part. I've watched François, Carlos, and Ferdinand enough." He paused to collect his thoughts. "When Carlos first arrived in Spain from Flanders years ago, the Spaniards loved Ferdinand more because Ferdinand grew up there. As the people wanted Ferdinand to be their king, just as the late Ferdinand of Aragon dreamed of, Carlos sent his brother away at first to the Low Countries and then to Austria. In fact, Ferdinand was kind of exiled from his native land."
"Carlos did what was necessary for peace and stability in Castilia."
"For himself and his reign," corrected the king. "Carlos hardly thought of his brother's hurt feelings when ejecting him from his homeland. I also recall that during the siege of Vienna by the Ottoman forces eight years ago, the emperor tasked Ferdinand to defend the city without providing him with any able-bodied men and funds. The Austrian armies, headed by Ferdinand and his generals, were helpless against the Turks, and only luck saved them from conquest."
Henry's gaze impaled Mary with its acridness. "Doubtless that the emperor has affection for his sibling, but he does everything for his own advancement and self-preservation. Ferdinand's allegiance has been staunch for years, despite the not always fair treatment of him and the offences of his royal dignity – Ferdinand is a monarch as well, and he deserves more appreciation."
"Carlos made Ferdinand King of the Romans and Archduke of Austria!"
"Indeed, at least something for such admirable and unwavering fealty."
Mary claimed, "The House of Habsburg will always be united."
"No one can guarantee it." Henry thought of the York sons who had all supported each other until each of them had begun to want the other's power. "The royal enmity between cousins and even brothers might occur under many circumstances. I doubt Ferdinand will always obey the emperor silently and blindly, for where did it lead him during the invasion of France?"
"The emperor will rescue Ferdinand!" She wanted to think so.
"Carlos has no money in his treasury. But even if his coffers had been full, François would not have liberated Ferdinand. On the contrary, that Valois fox would make his best to make Ferdinand his ally and try to begin slowly turning him against the emperor."
"You cannot know that, Father."
"It matters not." He focused on the topic at hand. "I'll contact German Protestant princes to prepare for the shift of power balance in Europe. Your marriage to one of them will help us."
There was a choke of shock from his daughter. "Whom do you have in mind?"
It was Cromwell's advice to have Mary marry into a Protestant noble family. "Duke William of Jülich-Cleves-Berge, and Duke Philip of Palatinate-Neuburg. A week ago, my envoy, Christopher Mont, went to Saxony and Cleves. Another man departed to Bavaria."
Duke William of Jülich-Cleves-Berge had inherited the lands of Cleves-Julich-Berg in 1535. In 1536, William had received the neighboring Duchy of Guilders, as his relative – Charles d'Egmont – had died childless. The Habsburgs had inherited from Charles the Bold a claim to the Duchy of Cleves, but at present, the emperor was preoccupied with his internal issues, so the matter had been postponed. Thus, the Tudor monarch could ally with the Duchy of Cleves.
A titular Count Palatine of the Rhine, Philip was a ruling Duke of Palatinate-Neuburg. It was a small territory in Lower Bavaria, part of the Holy Roman Empire from 1505. In 1529, he had successfully fought the Turks during the siege of Vienna at the head of two divisions, and after the victory of the Christians, he had been made a Knight of the Order of the Golden Fleece.
Mary failed to throttle an indignant exclamation. "They are heretics!"
His reddish brows knitted in a frown. "William of Cleves is an Erasmian reformer; his duchy has its own church order from 1532. Philip of Palatinate-Neuburg is a staunch Lutheran."
"No Catholic can marry a heretic. That would be an unholy deed."
Henry stood up and strode across the room to a table. "François is allied with the German Protestant States. That is why I need an alliance with them." He poured a measure of sack and quaffed it down. "There is also an opportunity to work with the Schmalkaldic League, consisting of the Protestant princes. This alliance will ensure that we can switch sides whenever necessary. The Franco-Spanish war devastated the country and its economy, but the nation is still strong after their victory and, hence, poses a threat to us." He strolled back to his armchair.
Mary recalled what Chapuys had once said: her father could negotiate several alliances, and then switch between them as he chose. "Your subjects want you to restore England to Catholicism. The Imperial alliance will signal that we are on the path to salvation, not to eternal damnation. Any treaty with the German States will give the opposite message."
He snickered at her flawed logic. "The invasion of France demonstrated how dangerous the Habsburgs are. The lack of the Pope's condemnation of the emperor's warmongering proved that he is a corrupted coward. Now many of my Catholic subjects understand that, and they would prefer the Church of England to remain independent from the Vatican."
Mary opened her mouth, but her tongue slid between her teeth. "Wrong..."
He gave a low note of warning in his throat. "Mary, I forgave you for your mistakes once. Now you must be an obedient and loving daughter to me."
"I signed the Oath of Supremacy." She shuddered at the memory of that abhorrent day. Having signed it, she had commanded Francis Bryan to leave. Afterwards she had cried on Chapuys' shoulder, imploring him to procure for her the Pope's absolution.
Anger roiled inside the ruler. "Mary, I'm telling you one last time. I had to put up with your mother's resistance to my will for too long, but I shall not allow you to manipulate me."
Nevertheless, his eldest daughter declared with shocking audacity, "I beg your pardon, but I shall not marry a heretic. I'll never jeopardize my immortal soul."
"Silence! I'll drag you to the church if I have to. Now get out!"
"Your Majesty." She curtsied and darted towards the door.
On the way to her apartments, Mary Tudor thought that fate was unfair to her. She was lovely, well-educated, and pious, spending hours at her Catholic devotions in her chambers. Being her mother's daughter, she could rule! She descended from the great Catholic monarchs – Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon. If she had not been bastardized, she would have been an ideal match for any Catholic prince, instead of for some insignificant heretical noble.
That Boleyn witch, she hissed in her mind. You must be held accountable for my mother's and my afflictions. Now she needed the emperor's assistance more than ever, and she hoped that Chapuys' resourcefulness would extricate her from this difficult personal situation.
§§§
At the herald's announcement, Princess Elizabeth entered the royal private chamber.
The candles flickered in the wall sconces, and King Henry, who sat at an ornately carved high-back chair, glanced at her from across the room. His fingers played with the rings decorating them, clicking the jewels together with annoying repetition. His gaze reflected his impatience at seeing his daughter, who had arrived at Eltham only a couple of hours ago.
"Welcome to court, Elizabeth," began the monarch with a tentative smile.
The princess replied, "I much preferred my life at Hatfield."
"You do not want to be here with me, do you?" A secret worry that his daughter felt only aversion for him swiftly assumed the dimensions of an actual misfortune. "Tell me!"
Once Elizabeth had loved her father because he had loved Anne and her, and she had believed that there had been a beautiful spirit within this red-haired regal man. Now, after he had taken her beloved mother away from her, the whole thing about having a happy family sounded like some invention of a feverish brain. After their unpleasant conversations about Anne, Elizabeth had comprehended that it would be useless to dispute the matter of their separation.
The princess would not be happy without Anne, but she would survive. Her emotions resurfacing, she regarded Henry with a sort of pitying awe. How could he have disposed of Anne, for there was no one better in the world than her mama?! Then an awareness of the peril she stood in seeped through to her mind. To the girl, her father was 'the king' and 'His Majesty'.
The girl refuted, "I'm delighted to see you, but I apologize for intruding."
"You are my most welcome guest," Henry underscored.
His daughter dropped her gaze. "Sire, you are too kind to me."
Henry scrutinized Elizabeth: she had evidently grown since they had last met. She looked charming in a gown of auburn brocade with golden sashing. Her triangular-shaped stomacher of black silk was embroidered with diamonds. Her long, red-gold, and glossy hair was swept up into a French-styled cluster of curls – another memento of Anne's style. Onyx earrings in her ears and an onyx necklace that cascaded onto her bosom matched Elizabeth's dark eyes.
He recalled the helplessness in Elizabeth's eyes as he had declared that she would never see Anne again, and that Jane would replace her mama. His daughter had rejected Jane and him, and his response had stayed away from the girl for months, keeping her at Hatfield. His anger with Anne for indirectly turning their daughter against him had boiled under the surface of his skin, along with the knowledge that if he had let it out, he would lose Elizabeth forever.
Is Elizabeth still my girl? wondered the Tudor monarch. Have I lost her, just as I lost Anne when I banished her from England? From her first breath, Anne loved their daughter. His former spouse had enjoyed spending time with the infant; she had even wished to nurse the baby. But although maternal separation could result in emotional trauma for Elizabeth, the monarch could not keep the Boleyn adulteress anywhere near their daughter.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and the king's musings.
Lady Anne Bassett walked in. Her gait was so smooth that she appeared incredibly light on her feet. Her lovely French gown was constructed from different swaths of red fabrics: some were silk and brocade, some velvet and muslin, and the bodice swooped enough to give everyone a frank glance at the delicate slope of the top of her breasts. Only Anne dared wear French attire at court, and she preferred the color red to remind others of the king's passion for her.
As she approached the throne, the royal mistress curtsied to her lover.
The waving of his hand permitted her to rise. "Meet my daughter."
Elizabeth looked curious, so Anne was proud of the reaction she had created.
"Madame," the girl said with restraint. "Everyone speaks highly of you."
Elizabeth regarded the woman with interest. When no one had seen her coming to her antechamber, her ladies' whines of embarrassment had aroused Elizabeth's curiosity. As a result, she had overheard many tales of the king's extramarital affairs in the company of Charles Brandon and his favorites. So, Elizabeth was aware that Anne Bassett was her father's mistress.
Anne bobbed a gracious curtsey. "It is my greatest pleasure, Your Highness, to finally meet you." She smiled sweetly. "You are a credit to His Majesty and England."
Her countenance royally cold, Elizabeth gave a barely noticeable nod. "We welcome you here." Her gaze flew to her parent, and a veneer of arctic politeness on her face cracked, giving way to scorn. "I hope that you, my lady, will soothe His Majesty's loneliness tonight."
The king's mistress twittered, "I shall do anything to make our sovereign merry."
"A subject behooves to please their liege lord," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"She is a truly delightful child," purred Anne.
"Thank you, my lady," Elizabeth responded evenly. "I bid you goodbye."
"Go play with your dolls!" the monarch shouted. "Get out of my sight!"
The princess sank into an elegant curtsey that resembled her mother's. Disregarding her parent's frowning countenance, she pulled herself upright with icy dignity. As she reached the door and exited, Elizabeth seemed to be gliding, like a swan moving over the still water.
Anne admired the girl's manners. "The princess is England's treasure."
"Elizabeth did not even flinch!" There was a tinge of wonderment in his tone. "So regal, so confident and enchanting in her bearing, so at ease in the world, but not in my presence."
She caught a note of sadness in his tone. "Her Highness loves you, sire."
"Does she?" Henry hobbled towards his throne and tumbled into it.
In the past several weeks, the pain in his leg had been rather bad. Once Henry had been so ill that he had been bedridden for days, until the ulcer on his right leg was more or less healed. Then he had risen from the bed, and now he was compliant with the medications prescribed by Doctor Butts. Yet, his ulcer never healed completely, and the king grumbled constantly.
Anne watched her lover's burly face contort in emotion. She no longer enjoyed being his mistress, for the monarch had gained some weight. He was becoming increasingly unable to participate in exercise and sports, but he kept eating the same amount of food. The royal paramour was afraid that she would feel too uncomfortable during intimacy with an older Henry.
His menacing growl snapped Anne out of her reverie. "My Elizabeth has taken too much after her Jezebel of a mother." The mistress saw Henry slam his fist into an armrest of his throne. "Jane or any other queen must birth me a son to carry on my legendary legacy!"
There was a glint in the mistress' eyes. What if that pale Seymour pathetic excuse for a queen fails to give the king a son? Her ambitious mother, Honor Grenville, had once mentioned that she should bear the monarch's male child, but Anne had dismissed it back then. What would happen if she got pregnant and if Jane miscarried again? Despite her disgust with the king's certain features, Anne would endure the torments of Tantalus to become the next Queen of England.
Henry grimaced as the pain in his leg intensified. "To hell with Butts and all his herbs! They are not helping! I should have that incompetent idiot and his assistants boiled alive!"
Anne strolled over to the throne and knelt. Her slender fingers touched Henry's face, and she felt the heat from his body. Her eyes locked with his, and their sharp aquamarine gaze impaled her. Smiling at him despite her fear of his inner beast that Anne could see in Henry's glare, the ruler's paramour stroked his red-gold hair, soothing him with gentle words.
He said hoarsely, "Your performance in my bed is always flawless."
Moments ago, she had thought she would be disappointed with a closer contact between them, but his presence was overwhelming. In disregard of his widening girth and his non-healing ulcer, Henry was attractive. His male prowess and the magnetism of his power bewitched her.
A page entered. Bowing, he handed to the king a letter, then left.
Henry scanned through the letter. "The Marquess of Exeter is coming back to court."
Anne swallowed her breath in astonishment and excitement. "Hal Courtenay?"
"Yes. I've missed Hal so!" Visions of his adventures with Exeter and Suffolk flashed through the monarch's brain. "Exeter and Suffolk have been my best friends for years. Although Exeter is less involved in state affairs and spends most of his time in the west of the country administering it in my and his own names, he has begun to spend little time at court. Hal's sudden departure to his estates over a year ago makes me think that he might be unwell."
"Lord Exeter must feel better now if he is returning."
"On Christmas Hal will be with me. With his arrival, my life will become merrier!"
The royal mistress compelled herself not to snap at him. Perhaps the whole of England knew about the extramarital escapades of the king, Exeter, and Suffolk. Yet, in the next instant, the light blue eyes of Henry Courtenay floated before her mind's eye, causing Anne to tremble from her toes to the fingertips. Exeter! A direct descendant of the illustrious Edward IV! My York prince… No, I should not think of my former secret lover, Anne prohibited herself.
Smiling, Anne climbed onto the king's lap before whispering, "There is authority in your bearing and a character etched into the lines of your fine-featured face. All women love it, and at your nearness, they dissolve into the veriest of ninny hammers." She laughed into his kiss.
"I like when you say that to me." Henry nuzzled the smooth skin beneath her ear.
She slid one leg around his. "I shall worship you like the God Apollo tonight."
He pulled away from her. "Come to me after midnight." He sighed either in annoyance or in anger. "I'll have to perform my marital duties prior. Jane owes me a son."
"Yes, she does," his paramour assented.
"Go sup with your relatives." He leaned so close that she felt his breath on her cheek. "My Anne! To me, you are far more beautiful and more intelligent than Jane."
She almost melted on the spot. "No lovelier than I am naked in your arms."
Jumping from his knees, Anne lowered herself into a curtsey in front of him. Henry was laughing at her as she marched to the exit, but his words held her in place.
"My earnest desire is to have a male heir. I shall give the very woman who makes my dream come true my heart for all eternity, and everything she wants and dreams of, and more."
A smile blossomed on her face. "Your Majesty's humility and generosity are immense."
§§§
King Henry summoned his chief minister to his private rooms. The ruler sat at a table with papers and ledgers; a chair beside his with the armrests in the form of lions was vacant.
"Come and sit with me, Master Cromwell." Henry did not look at the opening door.
Thomas Cromwell came breathless after his quick journey. Although his liege lord still blamed him for the Pilgrimage of Grace, now the ruler again favored him above others. As usual, his expression was reserved, but a hint of a smile betrayed how much he was enjoying himself.
"Your Majesty is most gracious." Bowing, the councilor eased himself into a chair.
Henry's gaze sharpened at the servility in his subject's voice. "Are you sure I've forgiven you for your radical religious decisions which made me unpopular among my subjects?"
A tide of color flashed across the man's cheeks at such a none-too-subtle hint. Cromwell was still in danger, so caution on his part was necessary. His mind drifted back to the dead man, who had aided him to start his career. Thomas Wolsey was my teacher in politics. He helped me, a talented upstart, to rise from poverty. He made me who I am today, Cromwell mused.
Memories swirled through Thomas' head like smoke. In the mid-1520s, Cromwell had helped Wolsey dissolve about thirty monasteries to raise funds so as to found The King's School in Ipswich and Cardinal College in Oxford. In 1526, Cromwell had been appointed a member of his council. By 1529, Cromwell had become one of Wolsey's most senior advisors. However, Thomas Boleyn and Charles Brandon had plotted to bring Wolsey down, and Cromwell had seen the king's obsession with Anne Boleyn, so he had switched sides and betrayed his master.
Henry's speculation jolted the chief minister out of his reverie. "You know, Cromwell, I've been thinking of Wolsey and you. You two share more than your humble birth."
Fear bleached Cromwell's features. "Your Majesty, I'm prepared to lay the world at your feet for merely a sign that you find me useful for England and your throne."
"The nerve of that baseborn man!" Henry stood up with the look of a warrior about to charge the foe. "You would do anything for power, never acknowledging a defeat."
As the ruler towered over him, the royal chief minister was biting his bottom lip.
"I love the magnificence of your personality and court, sire."
Henry burst out laughing, as if he were in a festive mood. "Such deadly composure! It is your weapon against your enemies, which aids you to destroy them."
Cromwell longed to slap the abhorrent grin off his sovereign's face. "I–"
"Like Wolsey, you are highly intelligent and ambitious, extraordinarily hard-working and cunning. In your career pursuits, you have acted like a spider who would form new webs within old ones in order to amass wealth and accumulate power." Henry raised his voice. "Wolsey was the controlling figure in virtually all matters of state. He was also powerful within the Church as Archbishop of York. But after his fall, I've learned one lesson: I'll never entrust another councilor with as much power as Wolsey enjoyed, even if he is as talented and skilled as you, Cromwell."
The chief minister paled. "Your Majesty was chosen by God to be our king and Supreme Head of Church of England. You possess complete mastery over the bodies and souls of all your subjects. I'm your most humble servant who lives to serve your pleasure."
Leaning forward, Henry patted the arm of the other man. "Calm down. Do not cross me and serve me loyally. Then your head will remain attached to your shoulders."
"I understand, Your Majesty."
"Excellent. I shall not repeat the terms and conditions of your survival."
Cromwell gritted his teeth at the monarch's satisfied look. "I'll work tirelessly to dissolve the rest of the corrupted monasteries and put all their wealth into the state coffers."
Henry's gaze slid to a wooden cross that hung over the fireplace. "Cromwell, you are so ruthless, smart, and resourceful that you are capable of turning any misstep to your advantage with spectacular success. But don't presume that you know my heart well."
The minister guessed where the conversation was going. "Your wish is my command."
The king glanced back at his subject. "I supported the religious reform when it served my purpose of divorcing Catherine and marrying the Boleyn whore. Yet, at that time, I didn't take the Reformation fully to heart. There were moments when I felt uneasy about the matter."
"And now?" Hope lurched in Cromwell's chest.
The hostile royal aquamarine glare was piercing Cromwell to the very soul. "I've always approved of the dissolution of all the monastic houses, but I hate the outcome. The people's resentment against the new regime among my subjects led to an uprising, which we suppressed." He pointed a figure at his minister in an accusing manner. "It is your entire fault! You should have implemented the reform in some other way. My trust to you was badly shaken."
Cromwell's heart, full of disquiet, felt every word of this statement. "Your Majesty, forgive me! I beseech you to grant me a second chance to prove my worth to you."
"Begging… It does not fit your personality, Cromwell."
"It does," his subject mumbled hastily.
"I'm grateful to you for many things. But no matter how high you have risen in my favour, you have never completely won my trust and affection in the way that Wolsey did."
"Of course, sire." The minister was offended and intimidated.
"The Duke of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner presented a series of arguments against your policies, Cromwell. However, the dissolution will be finished as initially planned; the reform will continue, but in a different way. Cranmer and you will work on the Act of Six Articles, which will reaffirm traditional Catholic doctrine on six main issues. The Church of England will remain separated from the Vatican, yet the existing heresy laws will not be reinforced so far."
"The Catholics must be appeased," Cromwell deduced.
"Yes, Cromwell. It is your and Cranmer's task to ensure that the document is drafted and enacted as soon as possible. We will have to return to more traditional religious practices. At the same time, we will continue spreading the Bible in English throughout the country. Our Church will be slowly transforming into a godly institution based on Protestant rituals."
It was not as bad as the advisor had feared before. "I'll take care of everything."
The ruler climbed to his feet. "England urgently needs a Protestant alliance, and that is your second mission. Don't disappoint me, or I'll have your head."
As Henry lumbered to the door, Cromwell was taking fortifying breaths to clear his head.
The minister thanked the Almighty that the fiery Tudor temper had not spiked to a deadly level today; it seemed that he would be able to handle the king's orders. He knew of the jealousies of the nobles, who called him a lowborn jackal. But they had no idea about the dogged hard work he had done to attain his superb skills as a statesman. It was exhausting to walk the line between preserving his positions and beguiling the courtiers into the belief that he was invincible.
Regardless of what they thought of him, Cromwell was a star at court, for as long as the king lionized him for his accomplishments. He would strive to rise further in his liege lord's favor, but he would be on guard every minute, fully aware of how quickly his luck could turn.
Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you liked it and will let me know what you think. Thank you very much in advance. I will try to review other authors more often.
Did you like Queen Anne's coronation in France? It was described as it usually happened in history. Anne's coronation vows were slightly altered to incorporate her Protestant religion so that they indicate that France is a Catholic country, and the queen cannot change that. François' song in honor of Anne's coronation was written by me.
King Henry is going to establish an alliance with the German Protestant States. It does not mean, however, that this will happen at this point, but Henry's intention to marry Mary Tudor off to a Protestant or Lutheran noble will have far-reaching consequences in the next several chapters. Mary has an unusual character arc in this AU.
Henry is watching the situation between François, Carlos, and Ferdinand. The facts about Ferdinand's relationship with Carlos are historically correct. Ferdinand appears in chapter 28. Attention! I added one Carlos/Ferdinand scene to chapter 2 to make something happening much later in story consistent with how everything was beginning. It follows the scene of the escape of King François from Arles (the second scene in the chapter).
Anne Bassett is becoming more prominent in Henry's life. Soon we will have another important character – Hal Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter, who will be around for a long time.
In real history, William of Jülich-Cleves-Berge inherited the lands of Cleves-Julich-Berg in 1539. The date was corrected for fictional purposes.
I recommend that you check the works of two wonderful writers: VioletRoseLily at AO3 and Secret-writer91 at . You will enjoy them!
A poll! I want to know something about Catherine de' Medici. On my profile! Thanks!
Yours sincerely,
Athenais Penelope Clemence
