Gratefully, Mary introduced Anne to the duke and duchess. The dark-haired girl handled herself with skillful aplomb, again to the pleased surprise of Mary and the avid eye of Thomas Bullen.
“Shall we see you at court? Does she return home to England now, my lord Ambassador?” Princess Mary questioned Thomas Bullen directly to warm the icy air between her husband and her brother’s ambassador.
“His Majesty was just suggesting the idea, Your Grace. Perhaps if we could find Mary a suitable husband, she could live at court. She has never forgotten your kindnesses to her.”
“Then we shall see you, Mary. I shall urge my dear sister-in-law Queen Catherine to consider your service in her household, or maybe, even in mine.”
At that last suggestion, Thomas Bullen seemed to hustle his daughters away, but their proximity to the throne drew the king’s attention again, and His Grace rose to follow them into the crowd. For countless minutes Henry Tudor smiled, and cajoled, and flattered Mary, hanging on her every word and opinion of Francois and the French court. Mary smiled, cajoled, and flattered in return under her father’s watchful gaze. The time passed swiftly and Mary could remember little of it afterward, like a once-vivid dream that has flown by morn. All she could think of the entire way back to Guines was how William Stafford’s warnings could have been sound advice after all. She noticed Anne’s starry-eyed gaze and her father’s smug approval not at all.
CHAPTER TEN
June 16, 1520
Picardy
For ten days the plain of Ardres rang with trumpets, shouts and applause. The nobility of two realms swarmed among the gaily colored tents which studded the tiny parks and bordered the tilt yards, dancing greens, and wrestling circles. The great folk of the two nations intertwined even as did the Hawthorne tree of England and the raspberry bush of France in the golden tent where the blond and raven-haired royal giants had met and embraced to begin the festivities. Serious business was conducted at this entente cordiale: Wolsey met with Louise du Savoy; Suffolk met with Bonnivet; financial promises were made; and King Henry’s young daughter was once again engaged to the French prince. Each side eyed the other through the haze of laughter and tried to bridle natural suspicions behind forced smiles. Banter and joviality flowed as profusely as the wine from Henry’s fountains, but beneath the golden surface lay the stoney gray foundation of distrust.
For Mary Bullen, the days raced by as swiftly as the huge destriers which charged at each other along the gilded tilt rails. She mingled freely with both courts, but felt most comfortable with the English. Though she did not know them well, she made new acquaintances daily and was convinced their interest in her meant they could not possibly know of her besmirched reputation, which William Stafford had so cruelly flaunted in her face. The English king himself sought her out for conversation whenever he noticed her about, and a tiny plan began to grow in her mind. She would show King Francois how little she thought of him if she could arrange to be often near the great Henry. And indeed, if she were going back to England as had been hinted at and promised by both her father and the king, what had she to fear of reprisal?
Mary accompanied Princess Mary, Rose Dacre, and several English ladies past the tournament gallery decked in Tudor green and white on one side, and Francois’s tawny and white bunting on the other, toward the lawn where wrestling had been the favorite entertainment all afternoon. “My father has said that our king is a wonderful wrestler, Your Grace,” Mary offered.
“My dear brother is splendid at whatever he pursues,” said the princess proudly, “and as king he must surpass his nobles. Francois, as I recall, was most admirable, also. I thank the blessed Lord we have been able to keep those two from challenging each other at the lists or elsewhere. My Lord Suffolk jousted against Bonnivet and was victorious today. As long as we let their favorite courtiers represent them on the field or the list, I have hopes that we may keep this assembly peaceful.”
But how I should like to see them set on each other and Francois bested by our English king, Mary thought passionately. “It is said both kings will soon run out of champions to hurl at each other, Your Grace.”
“If they do, Mary, we shall be true patriots and challenge the French king’s powerful mother and sister or perhaps Francoise du Foix,” the princess joked, and Mary joined her in giggles.
“But, Your Grace,” put in Rose Dacre with a brilliant smile, “the Lady Mary Bullen has already challenged Francoise du Foix.”
Laughter froze on Mary’s lips at the barb and the princess came to her aid. “Rose! Mary was a dear friend to me when I was in sore need, and I will not have her teased for your silly amusement even though the times may be gay and frivolous.”