Chapter 26: Lovers' Intrigues
February 20, 1538, Cádiz, Andalusia, southwestern Spain
Eustace Chapuys breathed a sigh of relief as the large galleon anchored in the harbor. Situated on a narrow slice of land surrounded by the sea‚ Cádiz was a bustling port for international exploration and trade, boasting more than a hundred watchtowers. It was also the home of the strong Spanish navy, or what was left from it after the Turkish blockades and attacks.
The arduous voyage, which had lasted for nearly ten weeks due to severe weather, was over at last. At first, Lady Mary Tudor and the former Imperial ambassador to England, who had been disguised as a merchant and his daughter, had sailed from Dover to Calais; fortunately for them, they had been undetected by English flagships. In Calais, the Spanish trade galleon called the Savior had taken Mary and Eustace on board, Cádiz being their final destination.
Chapuys crossed himself. "Dear God! Thank you for protecting us at sea!"
The early morning was fresh and brisk, and the pale pink hue of the sunrise colored the blue water. The city had a wealth of fabulous vistas, incongruent with the views of the port that was filled with numerous vessels and cargo. On the Torre Tavira, which was used for spotting ships, Eustace noticed a man in the Duke of Alba's livery. This meant that his last missive to his master, sent during their short stop at Saint-Goustan in Brittany, had not been intercepted.
"All is fine," the diplomat said to himself. "The emperor has been awaiting us."
Having climbed the stairway to the wheel deck, the captain informed the crew about their arrival. As a chorus of Spanish cheers rang out in the hot air, Eustace strode across the deck.
Mary Tudor's cabin was located below the main deck. In the room's gray gloom, Eustace entered and paused near the door; he could dimly make out the bed where she lay asleep.
As if aware of his presence, Mary's eyes flew open. "Who is it?"
Chapuys apprised, "We have already moored in the port."
She blinked. "Have you just returned from His Imperial Majesty?"
"No. But the emperor dispatched his page to the harbor; I talked to him half an hour ago."
"Good. Is one of his trusted men in Cádiz?" Her voice slurred from sleep.
"Yes. I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to wake you."
Although he stood at the doorway, Mary covered herself with a wool blanket up to her throat. "It doesn't matter. You rescued me from the most miserable existence with that heretical Duke of Cleves, and I am forever in debt to you, Your Excellency."
"There is no debt, Your Highness. All I did for you was also done for Queen Catherine, who would never have allowed this ungodly union to proceed. I've always cared for you as well."
"My mother," Mary sighed in melancholy accents. "She could use the emperor's troops to attack England. However, she remained loyal to my father until her dying breath."
"King Henry was intent upon ruining your life, my princess. Queen Catherine would have wanted you to be reunited with your Habsburg family for your happiness."
She chuckled. "I'm so excited to see my relatives that I'm surprised I was asleep at all."
"I'll call for your maid to assist Your Highness in getting dressed."
Spinning on his heels, the diplomat bowed and marched from the cabin. A minute later, Agnes – a French girl whom Chapuys had hired in Calais – came to the cabin.
As Agnes aided her mistress to put on her clothes, Mary recalled the events of the past several months. Throughout the journey from Calais to Cádiz, Mary had been comfortably settled in the largest cabin aboard the galleon. Chapuys had sought quarters elsewhere, but in the daytime, he had assumed his duties as her interim guardian. In the hold were their few possessions, as well as the goods, which the vessel's captain intended to sell once the ship reached its destination.
While the Savior had been in the English Channel, the winter storms had been so bad that the captain had ordered stops at two French ports. The ship had been docked at Havre for repairs, so Mary and Chapuys had spent six weeks there. As soon as they had sailed from Havre, a new storm had caught the ship, sweeping unsecured cargo into the raging sea. The Savior had been forced to make another stop at Cherbourg, where they had waited for another two weeks.
During those days, Mary had imagined that she was in gave peril from the Boleyn harlot, who now resided in France. The abiding fear of being recognized had been eating her alive, and Mary had locked herself in her cabin, refusing to eat and praying every waking moment.
As the ship had navigated its way through the Bay of Biscay, the storms had subsided. As the vessel had moved closer to Spain, the weather had improved dramatically, and so had her spirits. During the last days of their journey, Mary had enjoyed promenades on deck with Chapuys. The old Spanish captain, who was unaware of the two travelers' real identities, had entertained them with jokes, showing them the porpoises that gamboled near the vessel in the water.
Mary wondered how King Henry had reacted to her vanishing. Had he sent someone to try and find his daughter? Had he cursed her and signed her death warrant for the escape that was treason in his eyes? Did he know that Carlos V, her cousin, had aided her to leave England? She feared that at any moment, the door might open, and the Tudor monarch would appear.
Agnes arranged Mary's hair in the style reminiscent of the female hairstyles worn at the Valois court. "Madame, you need to rest more after we disembark," she advised in French.
"I myself know what to do," barked Mary in the same language, which she disliked.
"I'm sorry." Agnes continued working on her curls and ringlets.
Mary perused herself in a looking glass. Indeed, she would have to rest a lot before her face regained its youthful charm. Gaunt hollows in her cheeks and lavender circles under her eyes testified to her restlessness, her agitation, and the strain she was constantly under.
As her dressing was finished, Mary stated, "Now go. My father will pay to you." Chapuys, who pretended to be her parent, would send the girl away after their arrival.
"Now I'll be able to feed my family for a year." A happy Agnes exited.
Throughout their voyage, the bastardized princess had not missed female companionship, for she had Eustace as her friend. Yet, the presence of her French servant irritated her, and she hoped that the emperor would allocate to her household some Spanish ladies. Maybe Mary would befriend Empress Isabella, whose gentility, beauty, and grace were celebrated throughout Europe.
Mary hurried from the cabin and found Chapuys on the main deck. For a long time, they stood at the railings of the galleon, staring at the brightening firmament. Finally, she realized that she no longer had to live in stark terror that at any moment she would be captured.
She looked up and pronounced a thanking prayer to the Almighty. "The sky is so bright this morning! My mother is sending so much light into my life from heaven."
Eustace's lips stretched into a smile. "Happiness is no longer out of your reach."
The deck became alive with activity. Eustace and Mary turned towards the harbor where a contingent of knights, each wearing morions, appeared, followed by a sumptuous litter drawn by horses caparisoned in azure velvet. Then came a squadron of a hundred horsemen and halberdiers.
Eustace recognized the cortege. "It is His Grace of Alba, the emperor's friend."
Mary's heart somersaulted in joy. "My cousin has kept his word!"
The captain saluted to his two passengers. "Goodbye, Don and Doña."
The travelers disembarked the ship and waited on the quay. Clad in a dark brown, waist-length jacket, padded and formed of beads on the sleeves, Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba, descended from the litter, then he strolled towards Mary and Eustace.
"Your Highness," Alba's voice rang out in front of Mary. "Welcome to Spain."
The man did not sound precisely friendly, but remembering Eustace's reassurances, Mary answered in Spanish, "Thank you, Your Grace. I long to meet with my relatives."
The Duke of Alba was surprised by Mary's poise and her knowledge of his native tongue. Her modest, elegant Spanish gown of butter-yellow damask was one Chapuys had given her for this occasion. Her elaborate hairstyle beneath her Iberian hood proclaimed the French touch.
The duke commented forthrightly, "His Imperial Majesty dislikes everything French."
Mary guessed his train of thought. "I'll gladly wear Spanish fashions."
Eustace emphasized, "Now Princess Mary is home, and we shall protect her. Without my interference, England would have been aligned with German heretics."
Mary was too fatigued to speak about politics. "Shall we go?"
"Yes," said Alba. "We will travel to Seville tomorrow, where His Imperial Majesties are waiting for Your Highness. Your whereabouts will be kept secret for some time."
The three of them climbed into the litter. As the procession began moving, Mary glanced across the expanse of clear, turquoise water, which separated her from England, her mood soaring like a seagull. She was no longer in danger, and her fate was finally in her own hands.
March 25, 1538, Leeds Castle, Kent, England
"Now she is in his bed!" Queen Jane Seymour paced her bedroom. "Our sister-in-law!"
Today, King Henry had cancelled his meetings to be with his new paramour – Lady Anne Seymour née Stanhope, Countess of Hertford. Smart and beautiful, Edward Seymour's wife was a marvelous flirt, and the ruler had fallen prey to her charms two months earlier. This time, the monarch had not chased after a woman: Anne Seymour had hunted him while twisting the situation into one that was seen in a different light – her resisting Henry before surrendering to him.
Since Christmas, the Tudor monarch had remained at Leeds Castle. Despite the Seymour family's fears, Henry had not summoned Princess Elizabeth from Eltham Palace. Now five months along in her pregnancy, Jane had been confined to her rooms for months in order to avoid miscarriage. Lady Dorothy Smith was the queen's constant companion; Lady Elizabeth Cromwell had retired to her husband's estates because she expected the birth of her child in May.
Jane complained, "His Majesty cannot see straight – he is infatuated."
Dorothy sat in a chair by a window. "Are you not indifferent to their affair, sister?"
For a short time, the queen halted. "I would be if his harlot were not my sister-in-law." Her pacing resumed, and she clutched her chest as tears began spilling over her cheeks.
"Think about the baby. Do not distress yourself."
"I'm fine." Jane dismissed her concerns. She pulled her rings off her fingers, tossing them on the floor. "I don't wish to wear anything the king has gifted me! I cannot even bear his touch after he forced himself on me. But his relationship with that Stanhope harpy is a different matter: she is my relative who serves only Edward's interests. Edward commanded his wife to entice my husband because he strives to stay afloat lest the king discards me."
"How do you know that?" Her sister was surprised by Jane's astuteness.
At last, the queen settled herself into a chair beside Dorothy. "I am not as well educated as our brothers are, but I'm not foolish. It is clear why our sister-in-law pursued the king."
Dorothy dipped her head. "You are right, Janie. But you must think of yourself."
"My dearest baby!" Her tension gone, Jane caressed her baby bump.
Humming to her unborn child, the queen smiled festively for the first time today. In her modest gown of raspberry satin, trimmed with black lace and white pearls, with her head bowed and her hand on her enlarged stomach, a relaxed Jane looked like a happy matron who was taking care of her new baby. However, beneath the surface, her emotions were a boiling cauldron.
As she envisaged the monarch parading his new mistress in front of the whole court, her mood swiveled. The king will not violate Anne Stanhope, or will he? Sensibly, Jane had long accepted his infidelities for the unimportant affairs they were to him, and she was relieved that Henry no longer bedded her due to her condition. Nevertheless, she could not bear the thought that the members of her own family were betraying her in such a vile way.
Dorothy contrived a speech that could lessen the queen's misery. "At least, now His Majesty does not hold that Bassett whore in highest regard, and she is often seen as gloomy as you. She accompanies him on official audiences, but he spends nights with Edward's wife."
"I don't care about Anne Bassett. I'm hurting that Edward is betraying me so."
"He looks out for himself. Don't expect him to try to ease his conscience, Jane. He and his wife care only about things that touch them materially or can give them more privileges."
After a pause, Jane speculated, "Maybe the king's infatuation with Anne Stanhope is not that bad. At least, he no longer frets that Mary betrayed him by fleeing somewhere."
"Indeed. This romance has diverted his attention from Lady Mary's situation."
The two women recalled the feast of St Stephen. On that morning, King Henry had been apprised of his eldest daughter's absence. In a nasty temper, the ruler had gone on a rampage and destroyed most of the interior in his quarters. Chapuys' disappearance confirmed that he had aided Mary, so the monarch had dispatched an envoy to the emperor. Charles Brandon and his family had been sent away from court, for they were suspected as Mary's accomplices. Mary Tudor had been declared a traitor, and Henry had confiscated all her estates and possessions.
Jane opined, "I believe that Mary is in Spain."
"Of course, she could not marry a heretic."
A knock at the door cut off their discourse. "Enter," the queen called.
The door flung open, and two women walked in. They were Lady Jane Boleyn, Viscountess Rochford, and Lady Elizabeth Holland. They lowered themselves into curtsies.
"Rise," the queen permitted. "Let me have a better look at you both."
Appareled in a gown of asparagus satin, Elizabeth looked downhearted, as if she were close to a breakdown. The simplicity of her outfit and the lack of jewelry astounded the Seymour sisters. The court overflowed with rumors that the Duke of Norfolk had dismissed his mistress. Despite everything, Bess was radiantly attractive, in the very noontide of her resplendent youth.
Lady Jane Boleyn was appareled in a gown of gray damask without any ornamentation, and its high collar was pinned with a silver brooch. Her garments were old-fashioned and countrified, for she lacked funds even for necessities after her husband George's execution.
Queen Jane commenced, "I was told that you want to be my maid, Lady Holland."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Bess Holland responded. "The Duke of Norfolk… left me…"
"What has happened?" Jane was abashed by the news.
Elizabeth's expression was a picture of torment. "Your Majesty, to answer your question, I'll have to forget the niceties. His Grace of Norfolk no longer fancies me, and so he cut off my allowance. He also beat me harshly, just as he did to his wife, Lady Elizabeth Stafford."
"Oh my goodness!" chorused the Seymour sisters. Everyone was well aware of Norfolk's estrangement from his spouse and the incident between them prior to their separation.
"My bruises have not healed yet." These two ladies were too proper to ask Bess to show the traces of her rough handling at the hands of Norfolk.
"But the duke is the first peer of the English realm," Jane grumbled contemptuously.
Dorothy shook her head. "Plenty of men abuse their wives and paramours."
The queen nodded sadly. "You are of course right, sister." Her gaze flew to Bess. "Lady Holland, you are safe in my household. I appoint you my lady-in-waiting."
"I'm most grateful, Madame," Bess pronounced in a honeyed voice that was not too sweet to appear servile. "I shall serve you loyally and with great pleasure."
Jane added, "If you need a doctor, call Butts."
"Thank you!" Bess exuded faux gratitude. "Bless you, our benevolent lady!"
Jane Boleyn spoke up. "I thought that she can serve Your Majesty."
"That is right, Lady Rochford." Jane then addressed Bess, "You can, Mistress Holland. You will be lodged in one of the rooms occupied by my ladies. Later we will talk."
Bess curtsied so deeply that she could lose her balance. "May God bless you and your baby! Your Majesty is an embodiment of purity and kindness." Then she left.
"Poor Lady Holland," Jane Boleyn said. Deep down, she felt that it was all a spectacle.
Jane growled, "Norfolk is a horrible man." The king was not a better creature.
"She will be safe here," Dorothy added.
At the same time, Elizabeth Holland walked to her new rooms. Norfolk and she had gone to a great deal of trouble to invent this little charade. Her lover had paid to his spies handsomely to spread gossip about their 'violent quarrel'. In fact, the duke's assignment had brought them closer than before, providing Bess with enough licentious daydreaming until their next rendezvous that now had to be clandestine. Let's hope our efforts bear fruit, Bess mused.
§§§
Lady Anne Bassett placed her full platter back on the table. She ended the pretense that she enjoyed the dinner and scolded the servants, but of course, the tastefully cooked meal was not the real reason for her foul mood. The king's affair with Lady Hertford abhorred her.
Lady Honor Grenville, Viscountess Lisle, said, "I like Leeds Castle."
In her late forties, Honor was radiant with health and fresh. Her fashionable gown was of blue silk worked with gold thread, and a gold necklace set with blueish moonstones glittered on her bosom. Wrinkles largely evaded Honor so far, except for a few creases around her eyes. Her hair had lost its copper hue and had turned golden, but not grizzled. Her eyes, an unfathomable blue-green, had a coolly calculating glint; her bearing was cold, restrained, and dignified.
The Basset family dined in a splendidly decorated room with walls hung with tapestries of picturesque panoramas of Leeds and the English coast. The Bassett and the Lisle coat of arms hung over the white marble hearth. The rosewood chairs boasted a detailed carving of entwined acanthus leaves; the tables with candelabra were all of black marble. Thanks to Anne's status of a royal mistress, their apartments were more luxurious than those occupied by others.
Chewing at a morsel of venison, Honor was absorbed in thoughts. Like her daughter Anne, she was displeased with the current situation while also displaying more sangfroid. Her other daughters, Katherine and Philippa, didn't interact either, despite their itching desire to chatter.
Honor inquired, "Anne, don't you find the meal to your liking?"
"What is the matter, sister?" Katherine joined the conversation.
Anne scrutinized the table where they all sat. "How is His Majesty not excessively corpulent yet? He eats great quantities of food and drinks copious amounts of ale and wine."
Her sisters burst out giggling at her sarcasm. Anne herself smirked.
"Enough!" Honor roared. "Jesting will not help us. And we can be overheard."
"But mama," Philippa interposed. "It is funny!"
Katherine opined, "His Majesty might grow ill if he continues eating so much."
"Silence!" Honor bellowed. She enjoined the servants, "More wine, and don't dawdle."
The footman rushed into the room to do his mistress' bidding, and another course was brought. It consisted of oysters, crabs, and periwinkles, as well as hazelnuts, raisins, plums, and cherries. For the rest of the dinner, they ate leisurely, going from one topic to another, but never touching upon royalty. Then Honor dismissed Katherine, Philippa, and the servants.
Anne stared into space. "I wonder what my father would have thought of me."
Honor's memories briefly toured to her youth. Her first husband had been Sir John Basset of Umberleigh in the parish of Atherington. In spite of him having been about thirty years older, they had had a good marriage and many children. After his death in 1528, Honor had mourned for him until she had become the wife of Sir Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount Lisle, in 1529.
At present, Honor's three daughters and her two sons were present at court. Her eldest son, John Bassett, had entered Lincolns Inn to train in the law and still studied there. Her two other sons, George and James, both served in the household of his stepfather – the Viscount Lisle.
Honor asserted, "He would have wanted you to become Queen of England."
Anne's brow arched. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, and I must tell you something else." Slyly, Honor leaned across the table to her daughter. "If a man is too lustful, you cannot change his nature. If you catch him red-handed, you should not confront him then and there, like Anne Boleyn did in front of the court. Instead, you must make your presence strong in his life and spend as much time with him as possible."
Anne blurted out, "The king is with that Hertford trollop."
Her mother purred, "I wish you to be especially pleasant to the King of England by giving him something that no wife has succeeded so far in doing for him."
A fissure of alarm slid down Anne's spine. "What, lady mother?"
As her daughter did not understand, Honor began her explanatory maneuver anew. "If a man does not visit your bed, it is cold only until you find a replacement. Better his relative."
The royal mistress blinked. "How do you know about…" Her voice failed her.
"Lord Exeter was a brilliant lover, wasn't he? I'm not angry with you for that liaison."
"I…. I…" Incredulity whitened Anne's visage.
"It means," her mother's voice took on a silky quality that unnerved her daughter more, "you need to be with him again so as to grant His Majesty something absolutely precious and by doing so, make the king worship you. Your stepfather and I have long debated over the subject of your future queenship, and we agree that you must take Lord Exeter as your lover again."
"Lord Lisle is aware of your schemes, my lady mother?"
"Naturally." Honor poured wine for herself and sipped from the goblet. "Arthur and I want you to succeed where each of His Majesty's wives failed. The Tudor seed is weak or cursed; alternatively, the king might be infected with some disease. The childbearing histories of his three spouses prove that. Our family longs to have you and your child on the throne of England."
"Your plot might be derailed as Queen Jane is pregnant now."
"It means nothing," Honor parried. "Queen Catherine and Queen Anne were with child. Where are their Tudor princes? The king could not sire them! The simplest of solutions occurred to Arthur, I must confess, and we expect you to do your part, Anne. Exeter is at court now."
Despite being shaken by her stepfather and her mother's order, Lady Bassett could not deny that she wanted the crown. There was a kernel of truth to what Honor had said about the ruler's procreative ability. Yet, Anne was in a haze of ambivalence until twilight descended.
§§§
The candles, placed upon bedtables, threw shadows on the tapestried walls, which were writhing upward like flames. As Edward Seymour shrugged out of his doublet and tossed it onto a nearby couch, Anne Bassett stepped into his embrace. They were sprawled on the bed, whose canopy was worked in misty blues, like those one could see on the canvas of a morning sky.
"Make me yours, Edward," Anne demanded.
"Mine," her lover's guttural voice resonated. His hands unlacing his hose, he covered her body with his, while her hands worked on the fastenings of his shirt.
The lovers wrapped each other in the heat of their limbs. Edward kissed her with a fierce passion he could barely control. Their clothes were stripped off her and tossed on the floor. Their actions were governed by physical instincts, their moans echoing in their ears. Edward and Anne were too aroused, so their lovemaking could not last long, and they quickly reached the pinnacle.
Edward pulled away from her. "You ought to dress, Anne."
She looked at him as though he had been a lunatic. "We have just started!"
He grimaced. "It is already over."
"Why?" Anne stretched her body against the mattress that still kept his warmth.
"I must go." He climbed out of bed and put on his shirt.
"Why?" She rose from the bed and reached for him, but froze.
Edward eyed her nakedness without a trace of lust. "This is our last rendezvous."
Anne raised her eyebrows a bit, but that was as close to censure as she came. "You must be joking, my Lord Hertford. Did you get off on the wrong foot this morning?"
"Get dressed." He shrugged into his doublet, fastening the tiny pearl closures.
She donned her nightgown of red silk. "I don't understand."
He stepped into his hose and pulled them to his waist. "We will no longer be lovers." He spoke so casually, as though they were discussing weather or other trivial things.
Lady Bassett turned her head away and stared at herself in a looking glass on a nearby mahogany table. The young woman who looked back at her appeared no different than she had been an hour earlier. Yet, there was something that she could not quite describe; she stepped closer to the glass and strained her eyesight to fathom the conundrum of her transformation.
"What are you doing?" He climbed into his boots and put on his toque.
"I can discern the change in myself." She stilled for a fraction of a second, then uttered in a melancholic voice that could pierce anyone's soul but her lover's. "Now I know what to do."
"Explain, Madame," a baffled Edward demanded.
This time, the royal paramour swung around to face him. "I'm glad that our liaison has ended. You worship only power and wealth. You are so cold and unfeeling!"
Edward darted to her and grasped her wrist. "Don't judge me!"
She tugged her hand away. "I don't want to see you again."
He warned harshly, "You will never speak to anyone about our amours."
Her eyes brimming with abject loathing, Anne Bassett hissed, "I swear that I shall never forgive you, Edward. And when your sister is discarded by the king for her inability to bear his son, I shall celebrate the downfall of your family from the Tudor good graces."
He shook her like a rag doll. "I might destroy you with ease, you whore!"
Edward shook his former mistress once more. Shocked, Anne moved in his hands like something lifeless – like a tablecloth having the crumbs jounced from it. As their gazes intersected, she discerned in him a ruthlessness that inspired fear and respect to him from others.
Nevertheless, intrepidity was etched into Anne's features. "You will never subjugate me, you buffoon! You will never harm me or any member of my family! Don't you ever try!"
His snickering hurt her. "You are nothing, Anne!" He released her and laughed again. "You are aware that my wife is now the king's mistress as well. You are a cheap royal harlot, one of the many women who warm His Majesty's bed only to be set aside later. You–"
She cut him off with, "What a cowardly and unmanly man you are, Edward, if you forced your own spouse to lure Henry into her bed so that you can control the king's will."
Anger flashed through him. "Don't pry into my affairs."
An acrid grin curled her mouth. "Leave me alone, Edward. Don't take a move against me or my family. Or I'll shout now that you have forced yourself upon me." She gestured towards the bed with rumpled sheets. "Everything in this room shows that the lovers coupled here a mere minutes ago, but nothing says that it happened with my consent – there are no witnesses."
"Oh, my dear." He let out a smile. "I like a rebellious side to you. You are an amazing and brave creature, but today you have made an enemy out of me. Be careful henceforth."
Without a backward glance, Edward Seymour quitted the chamber.
Anne slid to the floor and wept. Once she had thought that love in freedom – without bonds of marriage to some nobleman who would not rule her life like a husband always did – was a condition for her contentment. Edward's cruelty had made her pay for her naivete with anguish.
Honor's recommendations resounded in her daughter's head like an echo taunting her with promises about her glory. "His Majesty will marry me, just as my mother said."
Once her mind had repudiated marriage as a shallow mockery of happiness. Nonetheless, she had known that, one day her mother would find a suitor for her, and Anne would have to wed him. Despite her scornful attitude towards the idea of a woman's inferior status, she would have done that for her family's advancement at court. Nevertheless, now Anne resolved that she would enter into matrimony not with some noble, but with the King of England himself.
For the first time, Lady Bassett wished ill on Jane's unborn child. "If only that pale and undereducated bitch miscarried," she grumbled while changing into a gown the color of first spring flowers on earth. "Then His Majesty would have needed another wife to give him a son."
Her mind journeyed to her affair with the Marquess of Exeter. She had allowed him to take her maidenhood out of mere curiosity, and because Exeter had awakened desire in her. They had usually met during the gathering dusk in secret at court, and Exeter had taught her the art of physical love, making her knowledgeable of her own carnal instincts and of how to provide a man with the most gratifying pleasure. At present, Anne needed her first lover again.
§§§
Supper was an extended affair because King Henry ate a great deal of food, as always. Lady Anne Bassett sat in the middle of the women who surrounded him, including Queen Jane and Lady Anne Seymour, the monarch's new mistress. Henry spoke with his paramours from time to time, grinning lewdly at them, but he rarely glanced at his consort, as if Jane had not existed.
Anne Bassett observed the ruler lean close to Anne Seymour. "Lady Hertford, you are very attractive tonight," Henry murmured in adoration. "You are such a rare flower."
Lady Hertford laughed gaily. "I treasure Your Majesty's compliments."
The ruler drew her hand to his mouth. "Your husband does not object, does he?"
"Edward is a dutiful subject," the new royal paramour avouched.
Henry expelled a loud belch. "You will serve my pleasure tonight."
As the king kissed her fingers, Anne Bassett averted her scrutiny to conceal her repugnance. She listened to the inane prattle of courtiers flowing around her. Did they have nothing better to do than gossip about their sovereign's amours? For the first time, Lady Bassett wondered about the idle lives of these pampered aristocrats, and her train of thought went to Anne Boleyn's plans to use the proceeds from the Dissolution of monasteries for charity and education.
The Bassett family were religiously conservative reformists. Once Anne had managed to read accounts by William Latymer, a former chaplain of Anne Boleyn's, which portrayed her as a national heroine of the English reform. I agree with Queen Anne that the Catholic Church is too corrupt. If only I could influence the reform… Lady Bassett wished to become the next Queen of England with more fervency, but it all depended upon the birth of the queen's baby.
Her gaze rested on Henry Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter. "Hal…"
Exeter was handsome with a straight nose, lush lips, pale blue eyes, and a countenance full of intellect and calculation. Her former lover lounged at a nearby table and, if his expression were an indication, he felt as bored as she did. His habiliments were of yellow and blue – with his arms displayed on a jeweled chain. His azure velvet doublet was embroidered with a blue dragon and glittered with diamonds. His plumed cap of yellow brocade was ornamented with sapphires.
The Marquess of Exeter was the only son of Catherine of York, the sixth daughter of King Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. Almost a prince of the blood, he moved, ate, and talked with all his regal bearing. His girdle was narrower than the monarch's. Courtenay is an ideal candidate for my purpose. His body is far more pleasant to touch than the king's, Anne remarked to herself. Exeter's pale blondness and his slender build projected a gentleness irresistible to women.
Hal Courtenay approached the main table. Bowing gallantly, he greeted cordially, "Your Majesty! It is an enormous pleasure for me to see you so happy tonight."
The ruler stopped eating. "Hal, I'm delighted to finally have you by my side!"
Exeter's smile did not reach his eyes. "I've missed your splendid court."
Henry howled with laughter. "Hal, what can a man like you do for long in the countryside? You are merry, sociable, and devoted to the old way of life we both don't want to lose."
Lady Bassett and Lady Hertford nearly rolled their eyes. Jane looked embarrassed.
Exeter uttered, "Two of my stewards managed my affairs badly, so I had much work to do."
The monarch lauded, "You have always been a superb administrator. You have governed the west of England in my name for years, and I've never had any complaints."
"It is my most important duty to serve England and Your Majesty."
Henry regarded him in the same affectionate way he looked only at Suffolk. "Hal, you are my best friend, just as Charles is. Don't leave me for long, for you are irreplaceable."
Exeter smiled at his liege lord's praises. "I am exhilarated that I'm needed here. Being apart from Your Majesty is never easy for me, for I'd like to spend my whole life at your side."
The monarch pressed a hand to his chest. "You and Charles both have a special place in my heart." Then his countenance twisted into a livid frown. "Unfortunately, Charles betrayed me by helping my treacherous daughter escape. Don't do anything like that, Hal."
Exeter distinguished a threat in his sovereign's appeal. "Your Majesty, I shall gladly give my life for you – I'll remain loyal to you until my dying day." As he was worried about his friend, the Duke of Suffolk, he added cautiously, "If Charles was temporarily misguided or blinded by emotion, I am certain that he will see the errors of his ways and prove his fealty to you."
Henry continued, "I can forgive only two subjects for many missteps and mistakes – you, Hal, and Charles." His eyes narrowed. "But there are limits for everything."
"I know them," assured Exeter nonchalantly.
Anne Bassett was surprised with Exeter's self-control. He always kept his cool and never showed fear or doubt. "Do you, Lord Exeter? How can His Majesty be sure?"
The marquess veered his blank gaze to her. "These are not things for such young ladies."
Henry burst out laughing. "Oh, Hal! How perfect it is to have you back!"
Before Exeter could leave, Anne sent him an irritated look, but he did not react.
As the music signaled the dancing, Anne Bassett sprang from her chair in relief. The king remained at the table, chatting with the Countess of Hertford intimately; a sullen Queen Jane sat watching her husband's frivolities with her brother's wife. Anne did not pity Jane, sniggering at her rival silently. Her thoughts again went to Exeter, who came promptly to claim her on the dance floor, and as their eyes met again, her pulse leapt at the longing in his orbs.
As the pavane ended, Lady Bassett murmured, "I haven't seen you for ages, my dear lord. Let's meet in a more private locale." She told him where she would await him.
"I've missed you, Anne," Exeter whispered. He then led her to Lady Honor Grenville.
For the rest of the banquet, the Marquess of Exeter waited on the sidelines and sometimes observed the monarch's mistress dance. He feared to rouse suspicion or do something that could hint at his previous clandestine amours with Lady Bassett. He also danced with his wife, Lady Gertrude Courtenay née Blount, who was a plain-looking creature despite being clad in a pretty gown of white and black brocade, her stomacher of green silk adorned with precious stones.
After the festivities, Courtenay escorted his spouse to their quarters and left. The woman was aware that he had extramarital liaisons and bastards, so she swallowed her jealousy.
§§§
The Marquess of Exeter darted through the inner bailey and soon reached the place that his paramour had mentioned. In his eagerness to be with her again, his face transformed into a thing of beauty, his dreams of luminous happiness, even if it was to be short-lived, resurfacing.
The night was exquisite in its loveliness – the best time for two lovebirds to be together. This year spring had come early to England, and the mild climate of Kent had made the foliage blossom early as well. The walled garden was filled with the fragrance of honeysuckles and the song of a wakeful robin in one of the trees alongside the vibrant flowerbeds and the young grasses. The tops of the trees, silvered by a moon, waved in the breeze that was fresh but not chilly.
Anne Bassett emerged from behind a tall oak like the phantom of a goddess of night, a thundercloud darkening her brow. "You have made me wait for too long, Hal."
"I had to be careful so that no one saw me," Exeter explained. "During the whole evening, I was cautious not to betray my feelings, so I did not dare watch you in open fascination."
"Did you make love to that cow of a wife before going to me?"
His smile faded. "You know that I do not love Gertrude."
"Of course, my lord. Otherwise, you would not have come here."
"Touché!" An affable grin flourished upon his lips. "No man can forget you. All your other lovers – I'll wager you had many after me – should bow in deference to your beauty, audacity, allure, and astuteness, for it is a rare combination for a woman, I must admit."
In the spill of moonlight, her eyes flashed with ire. "We women cannot decide our own fates. Marriage is considered a woman's main vocation. We are expected to take care of the manor and the children, whom all men wish to have in abundance. Our life is a marginal existence, and even at royal courts, ladies are only ornaments, but their opinions matter nothing. Very rarely, a lady can be seen or heard expressing herself, and Anne Boleyn is one of such heroines."
Rushing over to Anne, Exeter knelt in front of her and clasped her hand in his. "My most beloved Anne, you are the mistress of my heart. If I only could divorce Gertrude…"
Anne eyed him condescendingly. "But you cannot because you are a damned Catholic who does not see that the Catholic prelates live in riches while the folk die of famine."
He kissed her hand. "Our religions are different, which cannot be changed." He sighed. "Did you ever love me, Anne? You abandoned me so quickly after you had caught the king's eye. Then I escaped to my estates so that I could not see you with His Majesty."
"You became a member of the royal inner circle years ago. Everyone knows that Henry and his close friends adore hunting parties in the countryside, where they taste sin of the flesh in the most wicked ways one can imagine." The disapproval sharpened her voice.
Exeter climbed to his feet. "But you are his paramour!"
Anne flung back, "You have no right to rebuke me for my affair, for you have never lived in celibacy. Your wife must have birthed you only one son because you whore yourself around so much that you have no strength left to bed her and sire another child on her."
Her words slapped him in the face. "That was callous, Anne."
"You are jealous of me, Hal. Is that why you are cold to your royal cousin?"
Exeter toyed with his rings. "Exactly. Stop tormenting me," he said with asperity.
Anne removed her gem-studded headdress that confined her tresses. She twirled in the breeze, her glossy blonde hair flying around her like a cape of white silk. "Now I feel free and light! It does not happen when I am with His Majesty! He is such a selfish and mercurial man!"
The wind echoed her words, which gradually softened to stillness.
"Quiet, my darling. The wind might carry your speech far and wide."
Her eyes began to sting. "I don't care."
Exeter pulled Anne into his arms. "I've dreamed of you days and nights."
"I remembered you, too." She shuddered like a leaf in a storm, clinging to him.
Her attraction for Exeter was burning in her breast like a funereal torch that could not guide her to light. Anne's transformation had indeed happened today: it was not so much a visual thing as emanation from within – she had become far fiercer and more desperate. To tie King Henry to herself, she needed a son – a York prince fathered by Exeter. A thought blazed through Anne's head: Hal Courtenay must impregnate me. King Henry will think that it is his child.
"I wrote you a sonnet." Exeter yearned to caress her breasts.
Anne licked her lips. "Your poetry was beautiful. I regret that I had to burn it."
"I can write more verses for you," he whispered into her hair.
She laughed. "Hal, kiss me and–"
His lips devastated hers before she could finish the sentence. Exeter's arms enveloped her like a shield of armor, protecting her from everything pernicious. The intensity of his sensual onslaught prompted her to forget her heartbreak and even her plans for queenship, for it was the kiss that left her boneless, breathless, and weightless at once. It was both tender and passionate, communicating the ardent sentiments Courtenay had for her in the most primal way.
Anne's blood roared. "Claim me. Now and here."
Raising her skirts, Exeter placed one hand between her thighs, while Anne undid his hose. After falling onto the carpet of daffodils, roses, narcissi, and anemones, they rolled over and over as he pumped into her with reckless abandon. For an hour, they made love in the garden, their bodies pierced by rose thorns. For Exeter, it was an act of love with the woman whom he dreamed of marrying, while Anne Bassett also felt something for him – deep and yet uncertain.
The desperation had driven them to forgo the inconvenience of their natural bed as they had pounced upon each other in the grip of abounding passion. Later, Exeter had rolled over the ground with Anne so that they lay on the smooth grass under a lime tree. With his one hand wrapped around her middle, he pulled her tightly against him, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
The full moon shone above, casting its pale glow across the garden. A vast shimmering entity that presided over all manner of life down below. An alley of woven trees lay to the right from them, with patterns in their weaving that the lovers committed to memory as a memento of their reunion. In the stillness of the garden, they talked in gentle intermittent murmurs.
Anne touched Exeter's face. "The full moon is always an interesting time. My mother says that it is typically associated with heightened emotions and friction."
His fingers combed through her hair. "That must be true. I've experienced the most intense emotions because I am with you, Anne. After nights of despair, now I feel complete."
Abashed, she took Exeter's face in her hands, her eyes searching hers. "How is that possible, Hal? You have always had many mistresses! Don't they satisfy you?"
The marquess gazed into her eyes affectionately. "They are not you."
She was silent for a long moment. In the moonlight, his handsome countenance was cast in silver and black, making him appear more a figment of her imagination than man. Yet, she felt his hands upon her skin, her hands cupping his face – they were breathing, their bodies warm.
Anne kissed him ardently. "How could a womanizer like you fall for me?"
The Marquess of Exeter said in the most emphatic accents, "Even a lustful man finds his true love sooner or later. I am hopelessly wrapped in the chains of my own heart, my dear. You broke our relationship, causing me great sufferings, but I'll not let you do so again. Now I can only turn away from you if you were to say that you could not bear the sight of me."
"No!" She drew a swift breath and patted him on the cheek. "I wish to be with you."
He leaned over, kissing the back of her neck. "I want to love you again."
"I'd like the consequences." At this moment, Anne did want to feel life growing within her, and she wanted the baby to be fathered not by the king, but by this man.
He arched a brow. "You used to take some herbs to prevent conception."
"Indeed." Anne had consumed them every day in order not to get pregnant with the king or Edward Seymour, but now she had other aims. "I did not drink anything before coming here."
Exeter was silent for a long time, nibbling at his upper lip. There was a strange and wondrous expression upon his face. It was usually impenetrable in front of the Tudor court, merry and good-humored with his friends, including King Henry, coldly indifferent when he faced his enemies or was up to a challenge, or almost disgusted whenever his gaze fell upon his spouse. Then his eyes sparkled with an inner fire – a pale blue flame of gladness rarely seen in them.
"Why?" Suspicion tinged his voice. "To have a bastard?"
"I want your baby, Hal." It was what a man in love craved to hear, and it was also true.
"I can read your mind, Anne." Exeter's voice turned chilly and clipped, his piercing gaze deadly. "Did your presumptuous mother command that you conceive my child and then tell the king that it is his? If Jane Seymour does not give him a son, he will set her aside and marry you."
Candor slipped out of her mouth. "And why not? The Tudor dynasty will end otherwise, and England will plunge into civil wars. Moreover, didn't the Tudors depose the House of York?" She pointed a finger at his chest. "Don't you want to have a York on the throne again?"
"Yes," was all the marquess said, then he was on her.
He kissed her face, mouth, and neck, pulled back that glorious blonde hair, placed his lips at her ear and told her that he worshipped her. Exeter was infinitely gentle until he entered her with an urgency they both required, and then they were savage in their needs, in taking and giving. They tried to stifle their moans as Exeter was thrusting into her faster. Anne grabbed his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his clothed back as he drove into her with feral intensity.
Anne had forgotten how good being with a man could be. Neither the Earl of Hertford nor the King of England made her feel so wonderful. In the moonlight, Exeter's face contorted in lust looked like that of a mythological faun. To her, their coupling was so right, and it filled her with completeness, as if she were giving him not only her body, but also her heart. It was all strange because Anne had never felt so before during her previous affair with the marquess.
"I love you," Courtenay whispered into her lips. "More than I imagined I could."
As he increased the rhythm, Anne peered up at the moon. "It is as bright as a beacon."
"That led you to me again." His lips meandered down her throat.
The roar of their blood in their ears and the thundering pounding of their hearts echoed within them like a symphony of something forbidden. He released his seed into her, and a spasm closed around him and shook his entire being, his hands firmly holding his paramour in place. I must get pregnant, Anne Bassett cried in her mind as she groaned in pleasure, arching her back.
Afterwards, they lay clothed on the ground, her skirts bunched up around her waist. At the sight of an elated Henry Courtney, Lady Bassett did not want to ever part with him, and a pang of loneliness speared her. Honor's suggestion to make him the father of her child was a genius one! The marquess was the monarch's maternal cousin, so Anne's baby could resemble Edward IV or his relatives, which would make it easy to pass the infant off as King Henry's prince.
Exeter laced his hose. "When will we meet again?"
Anne rearranged her skirts. "Very soon, Hal."
He drew her close and kissed her until her lips were clinging under his. "Our intercourses must happen as often as possible so that you can conceive. Tomorrow in the dead of night."
"Yes!" Her lips were tingling from the kiss.
"I know a place in the castle where no one will find us." He then outlined his plan.
Anne Bassett broached a serious issue. "Hal, do you understand that if I get pregnant and my plans come to fruition, we will need to end our liaison permanently?"
Naught could eliminate the feel of a lance through his bosom that had penetrated it because of her words, which, he knew, were correct. "I don't want to think about it now."
They hastened back to the castle lest someone found them in the garden. They parted their ways before each of them entered the grand park separately and then crossed it to the inner bailey. They returned to the palace undetected, and the night hid their sin with its opaque raiment.
I hope you are all safe from Covid-19. I'm still staying in lockdown in Tuscany. Be well!
Thank you for reading this chapter! Let me know what you think. As always, I recommend VioletRoseLily and EvilFluffyBiteyThing at AO3, as well as Secret-writer91 at . I recommend that you check the stories "Court of Thorns and Roses" and "Hourglass" by WhiteRoseQueen at fanfiction.
Now Mary Tudor is in Spain and will soon meet with Emperor Carlos and Empress Isabella. She will find herself in the center of the Habsburg intrigues and wars, although so far, she has no clue as to her own future. I cannot say anything else about Mary's fate now.
What do you think about Anne Bassett now? I adore her for the same reasons the Marquess of Exeter is in love with her. The Bassett family were the old English nobles; Lady Honor Grenville is power-hungry, cunning, and unscrupulous. Now the ambitious Anne is determined to become Queen of England, but as Honor tells her, it is unlikely that she can have a healthy son with King Henry. So, Anne renews her affair with Exeter, her first lover, who approves of her audacious plan.
Not a lot is known about Hal Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter. He was a York cousin of King Henry VIII, and for decades, he was the king's close friend and favorite. I do not believe that he was guilty of the Exeter Conspiracy of 1539, but even if he was, in this AU he has a different role and fate – he will be around for many years. In history, Exeter was born in 1490/1, but I need him to be younger for fictional purposes: here Exeter's year of birth is 1498, so he is François' coeval.
My Exeter is a contradictory character. He is a brilliant administrator, just as he was in history. He is a cunning, cruel, intelligent politician who weaves deadly intrigues, like a patient spider. He is a womanizer, just as he was in history. At the same time, Exeter has conscience and limits, and he is capable of deep feelings. Exeter really does love Anne Bassett, and it is clear from their scenes that she does feel something for him too. Exeter has an unconventional storyline!
Honor Grenville had three daughters: Philippa Bassett (born 1516), Katherine Bassett (born 1517), and Anne Bassett (born 1520/1). In this story, I've changed their ages: I need Anne to be Honor's eldest daughter. Now the list of the Bassett girls looks: Anne (1516), Katherine (1517), and Philippa (1520/1).
The drama is starting, and the serious storm is brewing – wait for chapter 28. Jane's situation became more complicated because Edward Seymour and his wife, Anne Stanhope, want to stay afloat lest Jane is discarded, so Edward and his wife put into motion their own plan.
Let's make each other smile! Let's review and favorite each other! I am continuing to review other authors, although it will take more time as I don't read quickly.
I have another poll about Mary Tudor's husband/husbands! Thanks in advance!
Yours sincerely,
Athenais Penelope Clemence
