A canopy was held over the bride and one of the bearers of this was the Dauphin, the other the Duc d'Alençon, who was the husband of the Dauphin's sister Marguerite.

Thus Mary Tudor became truly Queen of France.

It was at this ceremony that I was first aware of the Princesse Claude, daughter of the King, for, to my amazement, I had heard that she was the wife of the fascinating Dauphin. What an incongruous pair! She was slightly deformed, had a limp and looked sickly. Her marriage had obviously been made by a treaty. François, the future King of France—providing Louis did not get a male heir—would naturally have to marry the daughter of the reigning King. It was all very neat, but I did wonder what the thoughts of Claude might be as she watched her fascinating husband, and even more did I wonder what was going on in François's mind. That he was ambitious, I had no doubt. So what would he be feeling now to see the King married to, and so enamored of, this beautiful young girl? If this marriage was fruitful, what of François's hopes for the crown?

It was an interesting situation and now I had recovered from that fearful sea crossing, I was beginning to feel normal again and most exhilarated to be here, away from those backwaters, Blickling and Hever, out in the world where extraordinary and exciting events took place.

There was a great deal of giggling and whispered conversation in the apartment that night. They were talking about the new Queen of France and the old King.

Lady Guildford was very sad. She had been with the Princess Mary from her childhood and regarded her as her own child. She spoke sharply to the ladies for she guessed the gist of their conversation and it upset her.

“They will sprinkle the bed with holy water,” said Anne Grey. “They will bless it and pray that it will be fruitful.”

“Just imagine her… listening to all that. It is a beautiful bed, they say, with a canopy of velvet and everywhere the golden lilies of France. They know how to make things look beautiful.”

“It won't make up for the man she has to share it with.”

“Well, what about François…”

They whispered together.

“Hush. Don't forget the little Boleyn. Why did they send babies with us?”

“Her father snatches every opportunity. He evidently found one here.”

“He is very sharp. He gets that from the silk merchants.”

I wanted to hit them. I wished I could. I was often impulsive and acted without thought; but I remembered that if I did anything like that I should be sent home immediately. Lady Guildford would be only too glad of the excuse to be rid of me. Simonette had often told me that I acted first and thought afterward, which was a very unwise thing to do.

So, as the last thing I wanted was to be sent home, I meekly hung my head and shut my ears; and I lay in bed thinking about the King of France and his new English Queen.

The next day a great shock awaited us. The ladies who had come from England to serve the Queen were all to be sent home.

There was great dismay in our apartment. Lady Guildford was too shocked to speak. There was chatter and speculation. “Is this how he intends to treat her? She will never allow it. She will storm and rage.”

I think they were right about that. But the King had great dignity and determination. I had heard before that when royal personages married into foreign lands their attendants were invariably replaced. Naturally, the Queen of France must not be surrounded by English attendants.

Lady Guildford was incensed when she recovered from the first shock. Had she not been with her Princess since her childhood? How could Mary manage without her?

But Mary did manage without her. She had to.

The strangest thing of all was that the King had said she might keep one of her retinue—the little girl. I could not believe it. I had been selected as the only one to stay! It was naturally because of my extreme youth for I would obviously be considered too young to indulge in political scheming and such like. So …I was safe.

Perhaps Mary was not sorry to see the last of her attendants—except, of course, Lady Guildford of whom, I was sure, she was genuinely fond. Mary, whom I was to know more intimately after the others had left, was tempestuous by nature; she would flare into anger but very soon afterward would have forgotten her rage; she was generous at times, mean at others; but there was a certain shrewdness in her which never really allowed her to forget what would be advantageous to herself; and whatever impetuosity she was involved in, she would always stop short of disaster.

I think she had made up her mind that the King of France could not live long; whatever she had to endure could not last and for this reason she was more amenable than she would otherwise have been, for when she was free of her husband she should have complete charge of her own affairs. Moreover, in place of her ladies, she had the Duchesse d'Alençon, that very talented and fascinating sister of François, and, as I was to learn later, her company was a great deal more enjoyable than that of the discarded ladies. The Princesse Claude was also sent to comfort her, and I think Claude did not displease her either. She was, after all, her step-daughter, and the fact that she was married to the exciting François did intrigue Mary a little. I was glad to discover she took a fancy to me.

“You are all they have left to me!” she cried, looking at me quizzically.

“I am sorry, Your Highness,” I said.

“Sorry! That you are to serve me?”

“Oh, no, no… sorry that I should be all that is left to you. Sorry for Your Highness, pleased for myself.”

That answer seemed to amuse her.

“Well, little Boleyn, we have to make the best of what comes to us, do we not?”

There were occasions when she was almost affectionate toward me. She would show me jewels the King had given her.

“Poor man,” she said. “He tries so hard to please me.”

She liked me to brush her hair. Then she would smile at me and let her thoughts run on. I think at times she forgot my youth. Very soon she was telling me about her lover—the incomparable Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk.

“There was never a more perfect man on Earth,” she declared. She invariably used exaggerated terms. “He is always the champion at the joust.”

“Does he joust better than the King your brother, Madame?” I asked innocently.

“Well, it is advisable for a subject to be just a little less good than a king. You should know that.”

“But what is the truth?”

“Ah, the truth! The truth is that my Charles is the most wonderful man on Earth and does everything better than anyone else.”

“So … he allows the King to win?”

“Little Boleyn, you are asking me to utter treason against my brother.”

I looked alarmed, so she took the brush from my hand and put an arm about me.

“I'll not betray you,” she said, her laughing face close to mine. “I'll not have you sent to the Tower. I'll not have you put on the rack, even. There, little Boleyn. I really think I have frightened you. Now … just within these four walls. Charles is the finest man in the world and nobody… nobody compares with him.”

Then she would sit thinking of him with a dreamy look in her eyes, and suddenly seem to remember that she was married to the King and her eyes would grow stormy with anger.

I used to sit watching her waiting for her commands; but sometimes she seemed to forget that I was there.

But in a way she was fond of me then; she often sent for me. She liked me to be there alone, I believe, so that she felt free to talk to herself— which was what she was really doing. I was too young to matter. I expect she felt a little lonely at times in a foreign land. I was after all the only English attendant they had allowed to remain with her. I liked to hear about her love for Charles Brandon. I had even on one or two occasions very carefully prodded her to talk about him when I saw her staring dreamily into space and would ask something about the Duke of Suffolk and she was only too ready to talk.

“I knew as soon as I saw him that he was the one for me.”

“Did he know?” I asked.

“He knows now.”

Then she turned to me and caught my arm. “One day, little Boleyn, Charles will be my husband. You see, a Princess must marry for state reasons… but when she has done it once… the next time she should be free to choose for herself. Do you agree?”

“Oh yes, Madame.”

“So shall I… when… when …” She put her fingers to her lips. “The King is very old.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“And I am young. Do you know, before I came to Court he used to go to bed at six…and now he does not go until after midnight. I arrange that. Would I want to go to bed at six… with him, do you think?”

“I do not think you would, Madame.”

“No. There are entertainments now. We feast… and there are balls, ballets and suchlike…as you know, do you not? Poor Louis…he has lived such a quiet life with his saintly Anne of Brittany, but he is not married to her now, is he? He is married to Mary Tudor and that is a very different matter.”

“Marrying Your Highness has changed his life.”

“And mine, little one.” She put her lips close to my ear. “We live merrily… but how long will it last, think you?” I was too astonished to reply and she went on quickly: “How long do you think it will last? Not forever. And then…I shall be free. And the second time I shall make my own choice.”

I learned a great deal from her.

She told me of the King who was so enamored of her.