My attitude toward my would-be suitors baffled them. They did not know that the shadow of my sister walked constantly beside me—a dreadful warning.

As soon as the festivities of the Field of the Cloth of Gold were over, the Court started its summer season of traveling throughout the realm. This was almost like a repetition of those weeks at Ardres; there was feasting and tournaments at every château where we rested.

François was perhaps a little subdued. He was too clever to deceive himself, and he knew that in the Emperor Charles he had a formidable enemy who seemed to flout him at every turn. It might be that all the expense incurred through the meeting with Henry was wasted, since Charles, lurking at Gravelines and with very little pomp and ceremony, had proceeded to undo all the good François had done. It had been a master stroke to offer to help Wolsey to the Papal crown; nothing could win over that wily statesman more than such an offer. François knew that in spite of his youth the Emperor was more than his match.

But at this time my mind was full of my own affairs.

Little incidents occurred which disturbed me. It was becoming clear to me that François's attention had alighted on me.

When I played the lute, he would compliment me in most fulsome terms; I would find him at my side; he often partnered me in the dance. A great compliment, some thought, but it filled me with apprehension.

I knew that François was not always scrupulous in courtship. On the surface he was the chivalrous knight; but he would employ all kinds of devious means to reach his desires. There was a rumor that his one-time mistress, Françoise de Foix, had been a lady of great virtue, having been brought up in the pious Court of Anne of Brittany; and a marriage had been arranged for her with the Comte de Châteaubriand, which had been a happy one. François had seen her, desired her and urged her to come to Court, but she listened to the entreaties of her husband and remained in the country. François had heard that her husband had a very unusual ring and they had made a pact that, if they were ever parted and he sent this ring to her, she was to come to him at once. François had a copy made of the ring and sent the Comte away on an embassy. Then he sent the ring to Françoise with the instruction that she was to come to Court without delay.

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

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

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

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

I was helped a good deal by Marguerite.

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

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

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

“Then why…,” I began.

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

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

“François?”

“He…he looks my way.”

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

“I do not want…”

She understood as she always did.

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

I shuddered.

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

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

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

“Yes, I believe that is so.”

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

“Fourteen.”

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

I drew back in horror.

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

I became alarmed.

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

I murmured: “How you love him!”

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

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

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