The Last Boleyn(7)
“You see, Mary, my lord, King Henry, has solemnly vowed that should I ever be widowed in my willing service to England as King Louis’s queen that I—yes, I alone—may select my next husband!” The words were quiet but fervent.
Mary sat wide-eyed and intent, the impact of being privy to such high dealings crashing with the queen’s passionate words on her ears and heart. “Indeed that is most generous and wondrous kind, Your Grace,” the girl was at a loss for proper words of comfort.
“His Majesty, my dear brother, generous and wondrous kind, ma cherie?” A musical chuckle floated to Mary across the chess board. “Well, maybe, but there is no way to be certain, you see, for it suited him well to give me that promise at the time. And if it suits him not, should I wish to collect on the strange bargain, the rhetorical question is, my Mary, will he even remember it? Will he honor it if I am needed to wed elsewhere? I tremble with the thrill of the possibility, but with the fear of it too!”
She held out her hand, palm up, fingers extended toward the girl and indeed she did tremble, and the carved queen piece quivered in the dancing candle gleams.
Her eyes seemed to focus on Mary’s earnest, lovely face. “You must understand the way of it, Mary. You may thank the Queen of Heaven—the first Mary of all Mary’s—that you are born to your lord father Sir Thomas Bullen, ambitious and clever though he is, and not to a blooded king.”
Mary’s mouth formed an oval of surprise before she could hide her feelings, and her blue eyes widened honestly. Though she had been taught to cleverly mask her feelings at the court of the archduchess as well as at this witty French court, she remained somehow too naive and trusting to master the art.
“Mary, hearken now. It is this way in our world!” With one graceful swoop of her silken arm, the queen cleared their chess board, scattering the pieces noisily onto the parquet table top.
“Forget the pretended chess rules, Mary. This is how the game is truly played. This great king can do anything he wills at any time it suits him.” She slammed her elaborately carved king piece down in the center of the board with such vehemence that the girl jumped. “And here, Mary, all the little pawns to be spent at his whim to win his daily games at court or at Parliament or between kingdoms or whatever.”
She pressed a little handful of the gaily painted and gilded marble pawns haphazardly about the loftier king piece. “Of course, the king is surrounded by a few knights, men who deem themselves great, not quaint horses as these. But though few knights realize it, they are only pawns. And you and even I, Mary, we are pawns to go here or there as the king piece wills it.” Her nimble fingers flicked the tiny pawns about randomly.
Finally, Mary found her voice despite this sudden strange behavior of her adored companion. “But, Madam, you indeed are this great queen piece and surely not a pawn.”
“No, Mary. I warn that you must learn the actual rules if you are even to survive at royal courts, be they in France or Belgium or fair England or far-off Araby.” Her lilting laughter filled the room again. “Kings may make certain pawns queens, but be assured they are pawns yet, and their only power comes in realizing this—yes, and in accepting it as I do!”
She slumped back, seemingly bereft of the mingled passions that had stirred her uncharacteristic outbreak, her raven locks dark against the crimson velvet of the chair back. Her eyes still narrowed in thought, her face flushed, her full breasts rising and falling steadily, she stared fixedly at the bewildered girl.
“I meant not such a tirade, Mary, and you must know you have nothing to do with my desperation. I usually control it under my smiles and nods and pleasant chatter. It is another lesson you must learn, petite Marie Boullaine.”
“Yes, my queen. I am learning, and I am grateful to my lord father that I may learn at your court and from your own lips.”
“It is not my court, Mary. Far from it. But, you see, I am most fond of you and would be sad to lose you, now more than ever since you have seen the real Mary Tudor and her heart’s secret and act as though you love her still.”
“Yes, my queen, truly!”
“Then, my dear, I hope I may keep you near me whatever befalls as it soon may.”
“I would stay by your side always.”
“But you are only of ten years, Mary, and ‘always’ is a good deal longer than that. I fear and pray I may not be queen here long.”
“Madam, I...”
“Hush, Mary. And vow never to speak of my fears and thoughts that you have shared here tonight, to no one, especially not your father, however much you adore him. And never to the charming Dauphin. He, too, waits and watches, Mary.”
Puzzlement creased Mary’s brow again, but she hesitated not a moment, “I vow it, my queen.”
The slender Queen of France nodded and rose, her hands on the corners of the huge chessboard. Mary knew she was drained of energy and emotion, and she stood waiting patiently to be dismissed. But the queen leaned close to her again, and her quiet words came at Mary like steel-tipped arrows.
“You must understand you are an entirely vulnerable pawn, Mary. You are so lovely and will be more so as you mature. As I have told you, you will be the image of your beautiful Howard mother when she first came to my father’s court on her new husband’s arm. All looked on her and adored her. All, Mary, for she even stood high in favor with my brother Prince Harry before he wed the dowager widow, Spanish Catherine.”