Free The Lady in the Tower by Jean Plaidy Page A

feathers.
    There was a hush as he appeared. I was sure none of these people had ever seen anyone like him. Very tall, athletic, yet perfectly graceful, he must have seemed like a god. He was indeed the supreme specimen of manhood—and most royal personages of the past had been small, sickly and even deformed in some way. The French habit of tightly swaddling their babies probably accounted for a certain stunted growth which I had noticed was rather prevalent. Following Louis with his swollen neck and protruding eyes, François was a glorious contrast. Louise must have made sure that her Caesar was not tightly swaddled in his babyhood; his limbs must have been free to expand as nature intended them to. In any case he was a magnificent figure. He had a natural elegance, as had quite a number of the noblemen who attended him. This was something I missed later in England where there was a decided lack of that quality and where people adorned themselves with dazzling jewels instead of using them with discretion as François and the members of his Court did. I learned to follow the French modes and that I think was one of the things which set me apart later on.
    The cheers for the King, the music from the trumpets, sambucas and hautbois were quite deafening and not always harmonious but one could not fail to be caught up in the excitement.
    The officers of the Crown in their cloth of gold and damask, the nobility in crimson and gold, the ladies in their litters, all passed below us. I saw Louise seated with little Renée, the late King's daughter; and in another litter was Marguerite d'Alençon with old Madame de Bourbon, who was the daughter of Louis XI.
    All this was to be the beginning of six weeks of festivities. François wanted the people to know that under him there would be no cheeseparing. His reign must be heralded by this indication of the good times he was going to give them.
    There was no doubt of their appreciation.
    During the procession Mary sat beside me, tense, waiting.
    And at last the moment came, for part of this brilliant cavalcade was the English embassy which had come to visit the King to offer condolences and congratulations and no doubt lay the foundation for further friendship between the two countries.
    The Duke of Suffolk rode at the head. He was undoubtedly handsome—tall as the King of France and as fair as François was dark. He did bear a resemblance to Henry VIII, and I could quite understand why Mary had become obsessed with him.
    He glanced up at the window as he passed and I saw the looks they gave each other. Mary was radiant. She was breathing deeply and her clasped hands lay in her lap.
    I hoped she would be happy. Perhaps she would take me back to England with her into her household. That would not be unusual. Young girls did go into households of noblewomen; and I believed that she did have a fondness for me.
    Events moved quickly after that. That very day there was a meeting between Mary and Suffolk. Afterward she was in a state of great excitement—of wild optimism and despair.
    They had had such a short time together, she told me; but that was going to change. “That arrangement with Elizabeth Grey is nothing… nothing. And I am free now. I tell you this: nothing is going to stop us.” Then she was sunk in melancholy. “There are so many against us. They know of our feelings for each other.”
    I thought: Seeing you, Madame, who could fail to be aware of it?
    But I said nothing.
    “They hate him. They are jealous of him. Who would not be? That is understandable. They will try to turn my brother against him. I do believe that Henry might agree to this match…if it were not for thosepeople around him. They think he would become too important… married to the King's sister. It is intrigue… intrigue. He loves me…as I love him. He said it might cost him his head if he married me. Wolsey is not against the match… and Wolsey and my brother together…who would dare say nay if