They had already been waiting for an hour, and still there had come no word that the English King was approaching. King Fran?ois was in his tent. He would not ride out until his brother monarch was in sight. Anne’s eyes were fixed firmly on the horizon.
King Henry was coming now. She could see the banners and hear the trumpets, the tramp of marching men and the hoofbeats, as what seemed like a great army began its advance. And now King Fran?ois, with his magnificent train, was emerging from the other direction, across ground that had been leveled so that neither monarch should appear to be higher than the other. Cloth of gold dazzled, great jewels sparkled in the sunlight, and proudly caparisoned horses snorted as the two kings doffed their bonnets and saluted each other from their saddles, then dismounted and embraced.
Anne saw that Henry of England had broadened into solid manhood. She watched as he laughed and exchanged courtesies with Fran?ois, wondering—as she had wondered seven years before—why people praised his beauty, when really, bar a noble profile, he was just a rather ordinary-looking sandy-haired man with a ruddy complexion.
The greetings over, the two sovereigns passed into Fran?ois’s sumptuous cloth-of-gold pavilion, and Anne followed Queen Claude in their wake. She was surprised when she saw Henry’s Spanish wife, Queen Katherine, who looked so much older than her husband, and not by any stretch of the imagination the golden beauty whose praises had long been echoing around the courts of Europe. Of course, the loss of many children would account for her sagging figure and sad face. And, being Spanish, she would hardly look happy being obliged to consort with the French, her country’s enemies. But there was King Fran?ois, kissing her hand and doing her all honor—and there, in Queen Katherine’s train, was Mary, Anne’s sister!
Mary caught Anne’s eye and smiled. She looked happy, and Anne guessed that marriage must suit her. Mary had wed in February; her new husband, William Carey, was an important, rising man in King Henry’s court—the King’s own cousin, no less! Father had hastened home for the wedding, as well he might, for it had taken place in the Chapel Royal at Greenwich Palace, in the presence of the King and Queen themselves. Anne had stayed in France, not wishing to attend the wedding in case Father remembered that he had another marriageable daughter.
There would be time to catch up with Mary’s news and gossip later, but now the great glittering throng was moving toward the banqueting tent. Anne caught sight of her former mistress, Queen Mary, walking hand in hand with her husband, Suffolk, and looking radiant. Then she herself was swept along in the crowd.
—
They were calling this summit meeting the Field of Cloth of Gold, for the field in which it was set was ringed with rich pavilions of silk like fine burnished gold, all hung with marvelous cloths of Arras, and everyone, it seemed, was decked out in yards of the glittering fabric. Few were more gorgeously attired than the ladies attending the three queens, Claude, Katherine, and Mary. Anne thought that the English gowns, however gorgeous, looked less becoming than the French ones, and as the days went on she was amused to see her countrywomen hastily adopting the elegant fashions of France. No doubt many a maid had been kept up late, stitching frantically.
The kings had signed an everlasting treaty of friendship, and now it was time for everyone to enjoy seventeen days of indulgent revelry, banqueting, jousting, and disports. But no one could have mistaken the undercurrents of rivalry between the two courts.
Father was here, having been in charge of some of the arrangements for the meeting of the kings. Mother was with him. She held Anne closely when they were reunited.
“I cannot believe how you have grown up!” she said. “You are quite the lady now!”
It pained Anne to see Mother looking older and sadder, still mourning her lost sons, but full of praise for George, and how he was rising in favor at court.
In the short time Anne spent with him, Father said that he had something he wanted to discuss when there was time. God forfend it was not her marriage!
She sought out her sister, and found her at one of the booths set up in the camp by opportunistic traders. This one was selling an array of pastries, and Mary was buying some in company with a girl with slanting eyes and full lips upturned disdainfully above a jutting, determined chin.
Mary grinned when she saw Anne, and they embraced.
“Congratulations on your marriage.” Anne smiled. “I hear the King himself attended.”
“Yes, we were greatly honored,” Mary said, a trifle smugly. “Anne, may I present Jane Parker, Lord Morley’s daughter.” She turned to her companion, whose face was transformed by an attractive smile.
“You are also in Queen Katherine’s entourage?” Anne asked.
“Yes, as maid of honor,” Jane Parker told her. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and then the conversation dwindled. “You sisters must have much to talk about,” Jane said. “I will see you later, Mary.” And she took herself off.
Anne and Mary sat in the sun enjoying the pastries and beakers of the free wine that ran from a great gilded fountain outside the English palace, which was a dazzling, temporary affair of canvas, wood, and lashings of gold leaf.
“How is married life suiting you?” Anne asked. They were to watch William Carey in the jousts later that afternoon.
“I am content,” Mary said. She had grown sleek and complacent, and it was clear from the way she smiled that her husband adored her. And yet there was a wary look about her today.
“I did not look to find myself back in France,” she said, “especially with Will.”
Of course Mary feared to encounter her seducer, King Fran?ois, or risk Will hearing gossip about them. Anne took her sister’s hand in a rare gesture of affection. “You are hardly likely to come face-to-face with the King amidst all these thousands of people,” she assured her, “and anyway, that matter is long forgotten. I have never heard anyone mention it at court.”
Mary smiled weakly. She was eager to change the subject. “We shall have to find you a husband too, Anne, now that I am wed.” There it was again, that eternal rivalry. She had to remind Anne that she had first place as the elder sister.
“I am in no hurry,” Anne said lightly. “I am too busy enjoying life.”
“Were you hoping to snare some rich French lord and desert us for good?” Mary asked.
“That’s what Father wants, and I’ve had several suitors, but I am determined to marry for love.”
“Then you’re a fool! Father will never allow it. But tell me—is there someone?”
Anne laughed. “No one, I assure you. I await my knight on a charger.”
Mary was silent for a moment. “Actually, Father has someone in mind.”