This is just a bit of background story, really, to introduce the characters. Next chapter will be set in proper Tudors canon.

The Field of Cloth of Gold

~o~

Cathérine de Stafford

"The palace is made of painted canvas." Catherine told Anne as they led their horses towards the huge building. They were surrounded by French courtiers, two English maids of honour to the French Queen.

"I want to see the Queen. Is she really so beautiful?" Anne asked. Catherine tried to remember. It had been a while ago.

"She is quite beautiful." she decided. "But she is far older than the king. Six years. And she had-"

"Will you stop your gossiping, young ladies? It is most inappropriate. Lady Catherine, Mistress Anne. I do not want to report to your noble parents…"

The governess, Lady Carter, was half English, half French, and two halves strict. Anne and Catherine kept their mouths shut and smiled.

Anne's father was the ambassador in France, so he rode with Francis I. Cat's father was the highest peer in England and he rode at the king's side. His left side, for at the king's right rode a tall, handsome man dressed in velvet with a heavy golden chain of office. This must be the arrivé that Father talked about. The son of a knight had received a dukedom years ago. He was the king's closest friend...and his good brother. He had married Mary Tudor, the king's beautiful sister. She was not here, though. Cat had heard rumours about her marriage...and the reasons why she chose to live in Suffolk and not at court.

Next to her father and the upstart, two dozen other noblemen rode in their finest velvets and silks with jewelled caps.

"They look like wild animals in a menagerie." Anne whispered and she was right. With their feathered caps, their fur cloaks and colourful doublets, the dukes and earls and knights looked exotic. The Queen of England rode a little behind, with her own trail of noblewomen, amongst them Catherine's sister, Elizabeth and her good sister, Ursula. Useless Ursula. That's what they used to call her, Mary and Cat. She would have to remember to call her Countess of Stafford now. Cat looked hard but she couldn't find her sister Mary amongst the Queen's ladies. Is she ill? Mary was self-opinionated and haughty but she could also be funny and entertainingly foolish. She loved playing truth or dare...and she loved to play with boys. Men. Elizabeth was just as haughty, even more so since her wedding. But she knew no jokes, hated playing and liked embroidery and soft harp music. She was ten years older than Cat and had always reminded her of that. Henry was only a year younger than Elizabeth, and he was kinder but had never shown much interest. She was only a little girl, after all. He was already an earl. Earl of Stafford, the king had named him on his wedding day. Cat caught a look from her lord father and focused. I should not dream so much.

She looked at the king, the English king, and smiled. An empty smile, her courtier smile. She had practised it in front of the mirror half a million times. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled, not quite like emeralds but maybe like pale jade. She was the only one with light eyes in her family. Her mother's eyes had been blue grey, but her father's were a reddish earthy brown, and all her siblings had inherited that. Elizabeth and Henry had the Staffords' dark hair, Mary and she had the Percys' blonde hair, the colour of wild honey, not quite gold, a little darker. May bug blonde, her father's baseborn daughter had said, Margaret. Mary had pulled Mag's long brown braid for that.

"I greet you, brother." Cat's thoughts flew back to the present.

"So do I greet you, brother." Francis and Henry faced each other, both were grinning- the grin of lions before they started a fight to the death. Francis was tall, dark haired and comely but for his nose which was far too long. Henry was taller even, with light brown hair and enigmatic blue green eyes. He was truly handsome, Cat thought. His doublet was red and gold, his cap set with rubies and emeralds. Francis was just as richly dressed in blue and golden brocade with a black velvet cap.

Both men laughed. Is this what peace looks like?

The palace of canvas was splendid. Cat's chestnut mare was dried off by a stableboy and she said goodbye to Anne to look for her lord Father. She had not seen him in more than half a year.

"Catherine." his voice was cool. what have I done now?

"Or do you call yourself Cathérine now? You look like a Frenchwoman." His dark eyes went over her Tudor green dress, made in the French fashion, the tiny, lightweight hood that covered only the back of her head, the pearls around her throat and the tudor rose brooch that was pinned to the low neckline.

"Father." Catherine curtsied, the heavy English curtsy, not the provocative French one.

"You said I should make friends amongst the French." she said, now, her heart pounding in her chest. "I have to be one of them to make friends."

"Pretend to be one of them, Catherine." Edward Stafford said, still not appeased. "Your mother would not be proud of you if she saw you now. French. With a Tudor rose pinned to your chest. You make a fool of yourself. You are no Tudor, you are a Stafford. You are a descendant of John of Gaunt through two lines and a descendant of Lionel of Antwerp through your mother. Take that thing off, Cat. You bear the golden lions of England in your heraldry. Not a flower." For a moment, she wanted to be defiant. But she also wanted to know where Mary was. She took it off and hid the jewel in her hand.

"Where is Mary, my lord?" she asked but that wasn't right either. Her father flinched.

"Your sister brought shame on her family. That is all you need to know. Go now, Cat. Dance. That is what you are supposed to do."

Catherine was on her way to the feast when Anne stopped her.

"Cat! Have you spoken to the Duke yet?" she asked, flushed and out of breath.

"I have-"

"Your sister, Mary-"

"She is not here."

"I know." Anne took her arm and pulled her to the side. "I heard something. It is terrible."

Cat felt sick. "What is it, Anne?"

"They say that she...you know. She let a man visit her chamber." At first, the shock was heavy on her stomach. But she was not so surprised. Cat remembered a nasty tale about Mary and some stableboy.

"Which man? And what happened?" Small wonder that her father did not want to tell her.

"The king's best friend. Charles Brandon." Cat remembered the tall, good-looking man. Yes, that might be true.

"Has someone… seen them?" she asked, both shocked and fascinated.

"No. But your father knew there was someone. He asked your sister- and she admitted everything. Some say her nose bled for a week." Edward Stafford was a man with fury and without consideration.

"What happened to Mary? She is not in a convent?" Mary would hate that.

"No. She was married to a Northern baron. Bergavenny. As his third wife. Far below her station but-" She was no maiden. She was lucky.

Anne did not say it but Cat knew the truth.

"I will never forgive him. Brandon, I mean. Mary was always… But I heard tales about him. Rumours."

Anne nodded.

"So have I." she, too was fascinated. They were both young, clever. Both thought that such a thing would never happen to them.

They hurried over to the dance with swirling skirts.

~o~

Charles Brandon

This was a farce. But the wine was good. Charles took another swallow. Quite good.

"Don't drink so much, Your Grace." Compton mocked him. Anthony Knivert followed his friend.

"Is this not a paradise for you, Your Grace? All these ladies…" Indeed. One more tempting than the next.

"My wife, the Queen of France, waits at home." he said, with dignity.

The look in his friends' eyes made him feel bad. I have been unfaithful to her, too. Mary had given him everything, had give up everything for him - and yet, he could not remain faithful to her. He had wanted her once, back then here in France. But as everything, she had lost her appeal over time. Mary was beautiful but proud and self-opinionated. She liked to be Queen- and he found it hard to be a step behind her all the time. He was relieved that she had chosen to stay in England.

The king made his way over to him.

"Charles." he grinned."Is this not the most imposing feast you have ever seen?"

Charles grinned back." Your Majesty, I am not sure whether it is the wine I am drunk on or the scenery."

Henry chuckled and looked at the dancing ladies. "I know full well what you are drunk on."

Charles knew the game that followed. "Which one, Your Majesty?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Do you see the lady in the light yellow dress?" He did. Beautiful, with brown hair and light eyes, pale skin and a shapely body.

"I have been present at her wedding. Mary Boleyn. She's William Carey's young wife."

"A waste." Charles said and Henry chuckled.

"Some say that Francis had her." He does not want her so much. He wants to have what Francis had. Henry was not good at being somebody's equal. He was a most generous to his friends, jolly, funny, entertaining - but they were all inferior to him. The French king was not. And Henry was not used to being jealous.

"I will send for her. Tonight. But first, I will dance with her."

Henry moved forward, cut his way through the dancers until he reached her. Charles watched from the side. A king always got what he wanted.

A young girl in a green dress walked past him. The gown was French, the hood pushed back far to reveal her dark blonde hair. The girl was beautiful, young still, not older than fourteen, but tall, with a pretty face and a womanly body.

"Mademoiselle? Voulez-vous..." he offered her his hand. French was not his strongest point. The girl looked up at him first with confusion and then with contempt.

"I am Lady Catherine Stafford." she said, in a surprisingly dark voice. Her eyes were a dark greyish green and they were ice cold. "And no, I do not have the slightest wish to dance with you."

The girl did not look much like her sister. And she was not much like her sister. Mary Stafford would have been in his arms before he could have finished the question. Does she know? Judged by the look she gave him, she did.

"I will try and forgive this slight, Mylady."

"I hope you don't." Just like her father. Buckingham was proud and haughty without being clever or cunning. He had no redeeming qualities but his blood...and this little doll did not seem to have redeeming qualities apart from her looks. As he watched her disappear in the crowd, he thought of Mary, his Mary, not Stafford's. She would be relieved now. The thought displeased him greatly.

There are other pretty ladies.

Three weeks later, Catherine

All in all, the whole affair had been rather disappointing. The pageants and buffets and dances had been splendid. But Elizabeth had been rather cool towards her, her father had reprimanded her every day and Henry, her dear brother, had never been more than cordial. Ursula had pretended that she was not existent and Catherine thought about a few new names for her, all of them far less kind than the first one.

Anne had introduced her to her elder sister, Mary, who was quite a few years older than Anne, a woman with a husband, and she was far more beautiful, too. Cat had seen the way men looked at Mary. She had heard rumours about her time at the French court. Some called her "The English Hackney" and said that they had ridden her. Cat knew what that meant. She had asked Anne about her, but her friend had just shrugged.

"Many ladies do that, Cat. It is quite foolish, indeed. None of those gentlemen ever gave her something for it though, I think, so they are wrong to call her a whore."

To herself, Cat thought that it must have been quite hard for Anne to grow up in her sister's shadow. She was not half as beautiful as Mary- but on the other hand, she was more than twice as clever.

It had not taken Catherine long to realise that Mary Boleyn Carey was quite simple. Not a fool or a simpleton, but without the spirit, wit and quick mind of her sister. She was kind enough, though, danced with grace and liked to flirt. Her husband was a lucky man, many agreed.

"Mary was never ambitious, she never thought about the future. She is content to be happy in the here and now and rarely worries about anything. And she falls for men like an oak tree falls for a lumberjack."

"They fall for her too, though." Cat observed.

"Not for long. They are content to have her, to bed her- but they would never wed her."

Anne spoke quite sharply about her sister and Cat decided to change the topic.

" My sister Mary is like that, too. Maybe it's in the name. You know what happened to her afterwards. An aunt of mine was sent to a convent for adultery. I will never let any man use me." she explained. "But father said that I might not have to marry a Frenchman. He said the the meeting of the two kings had no effect and that King Henry went to see the Spanish Emperor, the Queen's nephew Charles, just a week after he feasted with Francis."

That did interest Anne.

"If he no longer supports France, we are going to be ordered home." she said, quite matter of factly.

Cat had thought about that, too. She loved the French court and she loved the freedom she had here. In England, she would have to marry or she would have to live at Thornbury and wait for matrimony. Surely, her lord father would not allow her to stay at court after what happened to Mary. And she would not be able to see Anne. Her father did not like Sir Thomas because he was only a knight without noble ancestors. But Anne was far quicker, far wittier, far more spirited than the ladies of noble birth Cat had met. And she loved her dearly, sometimes she thought that she loved her more than Elizabeth or Ursula, maybe even more than Mary.

"In England, I will rot in Thornbury until my father finds me a husband. And after he had to waste Mary on that country baron, he will surely look hard and long for a good match for me."

Anne flinched. "I might have to marry a cousin in Ireland. My father claims the title Earl of Ormond and a marriage might appease my Irish relatives. I would be Countess...but in Ireland."

That did not seem to excite her greatly. I wouldn't like to be in Ireland, either, not as Countess nor Duchess nor Queen.

"Maybe we should pray for peace." Anne suggested slyly.

"We should try to bring about peace." Cat replied and they both smiled. Men were often easy to influence.