And that, Anne thought, disappointed, was all that could be said for him. He too had a high-bridged nose and firm chin, but his fresh face had little otherwise to recommend it. His eyes were narrow, his mouth prim and ungenerous. He had a mass of reddish hair, broad shoulders, and a manly bearing, but had he not been a king, she would not have given him a second glance. Those who had praised him were mere flatterers. Even Father—never given to flights of fancy—had said he was handsome in the sight of ladies, and had spoken nothing but good of him. He would—he had done very well at this King’s hands, and was accounted his friend.
As the Regent dismounted to be greeted by her father and King Henry, and her ladies and filles d’honneur clambered out of their chariots and formed a train behind her, Anne’s eyes lighted on the man who stood behind the English monarch. They could have been brothers, for the likeness between them was striking, yet in this face the firm nose, pursed lips, and narrow eyes were striking. By his rich dress, this gentleman was a nobleman; where the King was clean-shaven, he had a luxuriant chestnut beard.
“Your Highness, may I present my good friend Charles Brandon, Viscount Lisle?” Anne heard King Henry say, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. The handsome man stepped forward and bowed low over the Regent’s outstretched hand, which she seemed to withdraw with some difficulty. As Lord Lisle rose, his bold eyes met hers and Anne saw her cheeks flush.
The city fathers now came forward to welcome Margaret of Austria. Her delight was unfeigned when they presented her with a set of tapestries depicting scenes from Christine de Pizan’s Book of the City of Ladies. They could not have chosen a better gift. Anne was eager to see the tapestries when they were unrolled.
Escorted by the Emperor and the King, the Regent rode at the head of her vast company into Tournai as church bells rang out triumphantly and crowds swarmed in the streets. That night there was a lavish feast in the Bishop’s Palace. The Regent was seated between the King and Viscount Lisle, and Anne, from her place well below the high table, watched as the handsome lord flirted and laughed with her mistress.
Later, as they were preparing her for bed, Margaret was much animated, singing the praises of the English Viscount.
“Never since my dear Duke died have I ever met a man to whom I felt attracted,” she confided, as her hair was being brushed. “I feel I am no longer a lady of mourning but a lady with possibilities.”
Anne and her fellow filles d’honneur stared at each other, amazed. Their mistress had sworn a vow never to remarry!
The Regent smiled at them. “I know what you are thinking. But am I not allowed a little pleasure? Think you I do not know the rules of this game of love?”
There was more to it than that, Anne learned. Within two days gossip was rife that Lord Lisle had proposed marriage. The Regent said nothing; she just kept on smiling her secret smile and making out that the whole business was an elaborate play. It was what happened in courts, she said. But seeing her together with Lord Lisle, you would have thought they were lovers in every sense. When he jousted against the King, both of them resplendent in purple velvet trappings, Margaret of Austria gave him her scarf as a favor, rising from her seat on the high stand to bind it to his lance. Then she watched, hand to her mouth, her breathing tense, as the courses were run and the spears broken. In the end a tie was declared; the King and his companions rode around the tiltyard in triumph, doing great reverence to the ladies.
That night Anne was present at the sumptuous banquet hosted by King Henry in honor of the Regent and the Archduke Charles, who—miserable boy—looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. After his aunt frowned at him, he made an effort to be sociable, but it was obvious that King Henry was having to work hard with him.
Course after course was served—there must have been a hundred dishes, Anne reckoned—and the food was wonderful. After the banquet, at a sign from their mistress, Anne and the other young ladies rose with her and danced for the company, stepping out to the sound of vielles, shawms, and sackbuts in a stately basse dance and then proceeding to a livelier almain, which got the audience tapping their feet and clapping. It was obvious that the Regent was showing off her skills for the benefit of Lord Lisle, but suddenly King Henry was casting off his doublet and shoes and whirling her around in his stockinged feet, leaping like a stag, much to the amusement of his friend and the whole company.
After that, he and Viscount Lisle and several other lords and gentlemen disappeared for a time, and when they returned, wearing gowns and bonnets of cloth of gold, they performed a masquerade, in which they danced and sang. Afterward, they cast off their outer costumes and distributed them among the ladies. It was King Henry himself who handed his cap to a giggling Anne, who had drunk rather too much of the good Rhenish wine.
“And who are you, fair maiden?” the King asked. He was drunk too. She could smell it on his breath. Close up, he looked younger than his twenty-two years, and his fair skin was rosy and sheened with sweat. His blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. Still she could not perceive what it was that women saw in him.
“Your Grace, I am Anne Boleyn,” she said, executing the elegant curtsey she had now perfected. “My father, Sir Thomas, serves you as ambassador.” She placed the golden bonnet at a jaunty angle on her head above her pearl-netted caul.
“It becomes you,” the King complimented her. “Will you do me the pleasure of dancing with me, Mistress Anne?”
Anne curtseyed again, and he led her in a lively branle, both of them leaping and kicking as the courtiers formed a circle around them and clapped.
“Bravo!” cried the Regent, who was standing close to Viscount Lisle.
“Bravo, Harry!” echoed the Viscount.
As the music drew to a close, the King bowed, thanked Anne, and turned away. Later she saw him dancing with Etiennette de la Baume. She watched as his eyes held Etiennette’s, and saw him bend and kiss her on the lips. Anne frowned. Surely this was forbidden? Henry had a wife and queen, and no business to be playing the game of courtly love in this manner.
She thought no more of it, for she herself was swept away into another dance by one of the young officers of the Regent’s court, and then by many other gallants, until it was near dawn, when spiced wine and wafers were served to the company, the King bade farewell to his guests, and Anne went unwillingly to bed.
The next morning, after the Regent had risen late and was breakfasting on beef and manchet bread, she fell to discussing with her ladies the events of the previous evening. Lord Lisle featured prominently in her praise of the festivities, and well he might, Anne thought, for she had never left his side. The bells of St. Rumbold’s might soon be pealing in celebration of a wedding!
“You partnered the King well, Mademoiselle Anne,” the Regent said.
“Thank you, madame.”
The Regent turned to Etiennette. “You, young lady, overstepped the bounds of propriety. King Henry is a married man.”