He could not, it seemed, show affection to his children; but I think he must have suffered acutely over Mary.

“You are now a young woman… almost,” he said. “How old are you?”

Odd that he, who had begotten me, could not remember. “I am thirteen years old, father.”

“Growing up. Growing up. They have been good to you at the Court of France?”

“Very good.”

“And I hear that the Duchess d'Alençon has shown some interest in you.”

“She has been very kind to me.”

“You will be returning home…in due course.”

I lowered my eyes. I did not want him to see the apprehension in my face. I dreaded that summons home. It would mean either a life of boredom at Hever or Blickling…or marriage. But perhaps a place at Court? I wondered. Could Mary have disgraced us all so much that that would be impossible?

“I doubt whether I shall be coming with the King's party,” said my father.

I was relieved at that.

“I shall make the arrangements. I have certain discussions with the French foreign minister… and then I shall return home.”

“Yes, father.”

“Is there much talk here…of your sister?”

“She is hardly ever mentioned. It is forgotten, I think.”

“Idiot,” he said. “Well, she is off my hands now. Carey …” he grimaced with contempt. “She was lucky to get even him after her disgraceful conduct.”

“I don't think she realized…”

“I don't know how I could have offended God to be cursed with such a child.”

I knew it was no use trying to explain Mary to him. As far as he was concerned, she was a bitter disappointment, an utter disaster.

I saw him once or twice at Court; he was often hurrying to some meeting. I was relieved when he left.

That meeting between the two Kings, which is often referred to as “the Field of the Cloth of Gold” because of the lavish extravagance which was given to it, is well known in history.

I was old enough to be struck by the falseness of life at Court—and not just the French Court. I supposed that all courts were more or less the same. This meeting had not been devised so that two rulers with similar aims might be together in friendly fashion and talk of the peace of nations. It was an encounter between rivals, each eager to display his wealth and power to the other. While they talked friendship, they planned treachery, and the main object of the meeting was to show their successful rival, the Emperor Charles, that they would stand together against him.

My father had arranged that the two Kings should meet in France. There had been a certain amount of maneuvering about this, for Henry of England thought he might demean himself by crossing the Channel; François no doubt felt the same.

After much argument it had been decided that the meeting should take place in Picardy but that the headquarters of the King of England should be at Guines, which was not far from Calais and in English territory, while those of the King of France should be at Ardres, which belonged to France.

Preparations were extensive. I expected it was the same in England, for each King was determined to outdo the other. There was great consternation when it was learned that the Emperor Charles had landed in England in order to have a conference with Henry before he set sail for France, which made it clear that he must be disturbed to contemplate this show of friendship between the Kings of France and England.

There were always a great many secret missions going on between all countries; visitors arrived constantly at Court who were, I was sure, spies and they brought news of what was happening in England. It appeared that Henry had gone to Dover to meet Charles when he heard he was about to land and the two monarchs had journeyed to Canterbury where they visited the Cathedral and the shrine of St. Thomas àBecket.

The Cathedral was resplendent with all the precious gifts which had been brought to the shrine over the years, and it seemed that Charles was very impressed by such honor done to the saint—an indication, he said, of the piety of the nation.

There was a very disturbing piece of news which I heard Marguerite discussing, and that was that the Emperor Charles had made a friend of Cardinal Wolsey.

Wolsey was a name I had heard frequently whenever my country was mentioned. Wolsey, it was said, had the ear of the King; and Wolsey it was who kept a tight grip on affairs in England. The King honored him; he was a brilliant statesman; when one considered how England would act, one thought of Wolsey.

The Emperor, it seemed, had promised Wolsey that he would help him in his lifelong ambition, which was to become Pope. François had no such bait to offer him.

Everyone was talking about the preparations for the meeting of the Kings. Right from the beginning the rivalry was apparent. Henry had chosen eleven hundred workmen from Flanders and Holland—the most skillful in the world at their particular trade—to build a wooden palace in the shape of a quadrangle. On one side of the entrance was a fountain and in this a statue of Bacchus had been set up. Not water but wine flowed in this fountain. And on it was written in letters of gold: Make Good Cheer Who Will. On the other side of the entrance was a column held up by four lions and on the top a statue of Cupid, arrow poised. As if this were not enough, Henry had had a large statue placed opposite his palace depicting a Herculean figure with the inscription: He Whom I Back Wins.

There could be nothing more likely to arouse feelings of rivalry in the French and they set about scoring over the English, but with good taste to match ostentation.

François had had erected close to the town of Ardres a great tent, the dome of which was covered in cloth of gold. The inside was decorated with blue velvet spattered with stars so that it looked like the night sky. Though I did not see it, I heard that it was magnificent and made Henry's wooden palace seem vulgar.

However, a few days before the meeting was due to take place, a storm arose and the wind, being almost of hurricane force, tore up the tentpegs and ruined the cloth of gold, destroying François's magnificent tent. The superstitious wondered whether it was an omen.

François immediately took possession of a castle near Ardres and made light of the ominous event.

I wish I had seen that meeting of the Kings. It must have been impressive and at the same time a little amusing to see those mighty monarchs, so wary of each other and making such efforts to show what good friends they were—and thereby showing that they were not. There had been a great deal of discussion as to how the meeting should take place. Neither must give way to the other. There must be no sign that one side was the weaker.

They must have looked splendid; they were both head and shoulders above most men, both vain of their appearances and but newly come to kingship—and for neither of them had the possession of the crown been a certainty. Henry had had to take second place to his brother Arthur for years; François had lived in a state of anxiety even after the death of Louis. That must have made the crown doubly precious to them both.

They were to meet in a valley between Ardres and Guines. On the way there Henry's horse stumbled. I can imagine the consternation that ran through the English community. Was it a sign? Henry, however, ignored the incident as François had the destruction of his tent—and went on to meet his friendly foe.

They regarded each other for a moment or two. Knowing Henry so well now, I can imagine his little eyes taking in every detail of that truly elegant figure before him; and knowing François too, I could picture his cool assessment of his rival.

The two Kings greeted each other and embraced before they dismounted; and then arm in arm they walked to the tent where Wolsey and de Bonnivet—François's chief minister—awaited them.

Their words were, of course, recorded by observers and repeated.

“My dear brother and cousin,” François said, “I have come a long way and not without trouble to see you in person. I hope that you hold me for such that I am, ready to give you aid with the kingdoms and lordships that are in my power.”

Henry replied: “It is not your kingdoms or your divers possessions that I regard, but the soundness and loyal observance of the promises set down in treaties between us two. My eyes never beheld a Prince who could be dearer to my heart, and I have crossed the seas at the extreme boundary of my kingdom to come and see you.”

In the tent agreements were drawn up regarding the marriage of the Dauphin and Henry's daughter, Mary, who was just four years old.

It was a good beginning. I learned afterward, when I knew Henry very well indeed, that he had been greatly impressed by François's appearance, and it had depressed him a little because he always wished to shine more brightly than anyone near him, and he was afraid that François might be considered the more attractive. Then he remembered that François's legs were short. He looked at them and rejoiced. Of course François looked well on a horse. His own legs, he believed, were beautifully proportioned and François, being so slender, did not have that rounded calf which the King of England was so proud to possess. He often said much later when referring to François: “He had short legs and big feet. He was not quite perfect.”

Now I can imagine his feelings on that celebrated occasion. The celebrations were to last sixteen days and the time would not be devoted merely to meetings between the monarchs. There would be jousts and tourneys, such entertainments as had never been seen before. Neither King had spared his attempts to impress the other with his wealth and power. It was said that those nobles who had accompanied the Kings to Guines and Ardres carried their lands and houses with them, so had they impoverished themselves in order to make the journey.