anything but what they deserve? If there is one grain of sense left in your addled pate, you would remove yourself from my presence without delay, for the sight of you so sickens me that I wish never to look on your silly face again. And I tell you this: If you repeat to anyone the lies you have told me, you will ere long have no tongue with which to tell even the truth, if so be you have a mind to it—which I doubt.”
“My lady Mary …”
She went toward him, her hand uplifted to strike him. The friar hurried from her presence.
When he was gone, she threw herself onto her couch. So many enemies, she thought. Powerful men against us. Where will it all end?
But not for more than a moment would she allow her confidence to desert her.
There was another interview with Charles.
She faced him triumphantly.
“I have the answer,” she told him. “Henry made you swear not to influence me. Well, you have kept that promise. You did not influence me. My mind has long been made up. He made you promise not to induce me to plight my troth to you. Well, have I? Did I need any inducement? Now, Charles, you have kept your promise. But I insist that you plight your troth to me. I command that you marry me.”
Charles shook his head sadly. “I fear it will not do.”
“But it shall do,” she insisted.
“And afterward?”
“Oh, let us not think of afterward. I will deal with that if need be. I will make known to Henry that I was determined to marry you and commanded that you should obey me. Oh Charles, why do you hesitate? Do you not want to marry me?”
“More than anything on earth. But I want to live with you in peace and comfort for the rest of our lives. I want us to be able to watch our children growing up. I do not want a few short nights and then a dungeon for us both.”
She took his hands and laughed up at him. “I would not think beyond those few short nights,” she answered.
Then his emotions seemed to catch fire from hers. He seized her hungrily and they remained close.
Then she said: “If you do not marry me, Charles, I shall go into a convent. I’ll not be thrown to that other Charles. Oh my dearest, have no fear. I will face Henry. He will never harm us. He loves me too dearly and has often said that you are his greatest friend. What do you say, Charles?”
“When shall it be?” he asked, his lips close to her ear.
“As soon as it can be arranged. Francois will help us.”
“Then,” said Charles, “we will marry. And when it is done, together we will face whatever has to be faced.”
“I promise you this, my love,” she told him solemnly. “There will be no regrets. As long as I live there shall be none.”
In the oratory chapel of the Hotel de Clugny a marriage ceremony took place in great secrecy.
Only ten people were present, and the priest was a humble one who had no notion, when he had been summoned, of the people whom he was to marry.
And there Mary stood, blissfully content, for this was the ceremony of which she had dreamed over many years.
The nuptial ring, the nuptial kiss—how different this occasion from that other in the Hotel de la Gruthuse—how simple this, how elaborate that!
She smiled to think of the cloth of gold she had worn, and all the glittering jewels; they served their purpose for they did hide some of the bitter dejection, the melancholy which was then in her heart.
Now there were no jewels and the ceremony was simple; yet she wore her exultation, her supreme happiness more proudly than she had worn the costly treasures of France and England.
And as she stood beside her bridegroom, one of the spectators, smiling down his long nose at the bridal pair, cynically told himself that he was a fool to pass over this radiant girl to a rival. Yet it gave him pleasure to contemplate his own chivalry, and he would always remember the grateful glances of the bride.
The ceremony was over, and Mary Tudor was married to Charles Brandon.
The King of England might be furious, but at least they had the blessing of the King of France.
The English SCENE II
The Return
THE COUNTRYSIDE was at its most beautiful when Mary and her husband returned to England, for the spring was well advanced. What a joy to be riding once more through the country lanes of her native land with the man of her choice beside her.
Charles was the perfect lover, the perfect husband, as she had always known he would be, simply because she had long ago decided that he was the only man for her. He was more uneasy than she was, particularly since they had crossed the sea. He was apprehensive, thinking of facing the King.
As they came near to London, she said: “Charles, whatever happens now, it was worth it.”
He turned to smile at her. Her recklessness amused and delighted him while it often startled him; and when he thought of the honeymoon and the singleminded passion of his wife, he could say honestly that it was worthwhile and he would do the same again.
