Page 17 of Love, Remember Me

How sweetly modest she is, the king thought, his good mood restored. Frightened by a strange man, and so brave, but then charmingly polite. What delicacy of manners, what. . . what. . .what a big woman!This was not the woman in the portrait! Henry Tudor was shocked when she arose to smile at him, meeting his gaze most directly. "Welcome to England, madame," he managed to say, manfully concealing his horror.

Hans von Grafsteen conveyed the king's greeting to the princess.

"Thank him for me, Hans," Anne of Cleves replied, distressed to see on closer inspection that her bridegroom was as fat as a well-fed hog ready for butchering. His clothing was magnificent, she could see when he tossed his cloak aside. Far more fashionable than anything she had ever imagined. Her own wardrobe would be most inadequate despite all the expense and preparations. It was certainly old-fashioned compared to her own attendants. She would have to remedy that, but as Queen of England that would be no problem.

His initial surprise over with, the king said, "Ask the princess if her trip was a pleasant one, Hans." The woman was too damned tall, and her nose was pointed to boot.

The page relayed the king's words.

"Tell him my welcome at Calais was more magnificent than anything I have ever encountered," she answered. "I am appreciative of the warm greetings of the English people. I have been well-treated." He is not happy with me, she thought silently, all the while smiling at him. I shall have to tread lightly with him else I end up without my head. Perhaps I can win him over, but do I really want to?

"I am touched by the princess's eagerness to reach me," the king said. Of course she was eager to get here, so she could bind herself to me in marriage.They have lied to me. They have all lied to me.Cromwell. He wanted this match to the exclusion of all others. He shall pay! And if there is a way I can extricate myself from this nightmare, by God's bloody bones I shall find it! I will not be shackled to this creature, though I cannot blame Holbein. He is an artist, and sees with his heart.

"Ask the king if he would like to sit, Hans. I can see he is favoring his leg, but do not say that. He will be sensitive about it. Old men are always sensitive about such things. Just say I would be honored if he would take a cup of wine with me, and if he accedes, then pour us some. He has ridden many long, cold miles, and as we can both see, he is not exactly delighted by my person, I fear."

"Courage, madame," the boy said, and then turning to the king, said, "The princess asks if you will take a cup of wine with her, Your Grace. She worries that you might catch a chill after your long, wet ride this day. She is a most thoughtful lady."

"Aye aye," Henry Tudor agreed. "A cup of wine would be good, lad. Thank the princess for her solicitude." Well, the creature had a kind heart. That was something, but not enough, damnit!

The princess beckoned him to a comfortable chair by the roaring fire, and took her place opposite him. Her clothing was appalling. Her accent was thick. Ohh, they were all going to pay for this debacle; Cromwell in particular. Certainly he had lied when he said that Mary of Guise and Christina of Denmark had refused his overtures. What woman in her right mind would not want to be Queen of England? Cromwell obviously had some hidden agenda, but his plans would not come to fruition. I will not marry this woman!I will not!

The young page brought silver cups of wine for the king and the princess. He stood respectfully, translating the careful small talk between the two until finally the king arose stiffly and turned to him.

"Tell the lady Anne I must now go. I thank her for her very gracious hospitality. I will see her soon." But not too soon, I hope, he thought. Then he waited while the boy spoke in his own tongue to the princess.

"He can scarce conceal his eagerness to go, can he," Anne said wryly, but her face was devoid of emotion. "Tell his grace my heart is full with his warm welcome, and if you laugh, Hans, I shall smack you. The situation is serious."

Hans von Grafsteen gravely told the king, "The princess says her heart is full with your warm and loving welcome, Your Grace."

"Humph," the king grunted, and with a sketchy bow to his bride-to-be, he hurried from the room. Stamping out into the corridor, he found Sir Anthony Browne awaiting him. His temper overflowed at last, and he snarled, "I have been ill handled, my lord! There is nothing in this woman as has been reported to me.I like her not!" Then realizing that he was still clutching the sables he had brought with him, he thrust them at Sir Anthony. "Give them to the creature!"

"You do not like the Princess of Cleves?" Sir Anthony's voice quavered.

"Have I not said it," the king thundered. "I like her not!There is a story of a swan who came down the Rhine to impregnate two Princesses of Cleves. Her line is said to spring from those maidens. I expected the silver swan of Cleves. What I have been sent is a great Flanders mare!I like her not!"

Nyssa, coming into hearing range, paled as she heard the king's words, and gasped. Both men turned to her, and she shrank back frightened, somehow remembering her curtsey to the king. His face softened when he saw her, and he held out his hand to her.

"Do not let my righteous anger make you afraid, my lady," he told her. "Ahh, Nyssa, be glad you are but an earl's child and not a king's. Kings may not marry where they please, but rather they must please their people." He sighed dramatically.

"Ohh, my lord, she is a good lady, the Princess of Cleves," Nyssa said earnestly. "I will soon teach her our tongue."

"Anthony! Anthony! Is she not sweet, the daughter of my little country girl? Her heart is a gentle and good one, as her mother's heart has always been." The king patted Nyssa's slender hand, and then to her horror he drew her against his massive gold-embroidered velvet chest, stroking her hair as he did so. "Dearest little Nyssa, may you never know the anguish of being forced to the altar, but nay! That shall not be your fate, my child. You will marry for love. I, your king, command it!" Then gently he set her back from him, and turning away from her, walked slowly off down the corridor.

"You will hold your tongue, girl," Sir Anthony warned Nyssa grimly. "This is more than a disappointed bridegroom."

"I am aware of the political ramifications involved, my lord," she replied seriously. "Though I be young, and new to the court, I have been educated, and understand that the marriage of a king is no simple thing. Besides, I would not hurt the lady Anne. I like her."

"So," the seasoned courtier said slowly, "you are not quite the little country mouse the king believes you are."

"Nor was my mother, sir," Nyssa said boldly. "She survived the court, and so I intend doing as well." She curtsied and then hurried into the bishop's presence chamber, where the princess still sat.

"She knows he does not like her," Hans von Grafsteen burst out as Nyssa closed the door behind her.

"Hush!" she warned him. "Sir Anthony Browne is outside."

"What will happen?" the boy asked her. "Will he kill her?"

"For what cause?" Nyssa demanded. "Because he is disappointed that she is not quite as Holbein portrayed her? 'Tis not her fault. She is a pawn on the political chessboard of Europe."

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