Henry was disappointed, and grumbled to his friends—Charles, Compton, Thomas Boleyn.

“Why,” he growled, “I had thought to go on to Paris, but it seems the Emperor does not advise it.”

Compton suggested that the French might put up more resistance for Paris than they had for those two border towns, and they had to remember that the autumn was almost upon them, and that the Emperor had warned them of the discomfort of Flanders’s mud.

Charles was overcome with a desire to see the boy who was betrothed to Mary and was not eager to continue with the war because, unlike Henry, he was beginning to see that Maximilian was not the friend the King so artlessly believed him to be; and it seemed that those two wily adventurers, Maximilian and Ferdinand, were of a kind, and their plan was to use Henry’s wealth to get what they wanted.

So he joined his voice to Compton’s, and Henry was not loath to be persuaded.

“I hear,” said Henry, “that the Lady Margaret is comely and eager to entertain us.”

The matter was settled. They would abandon war for the time being and give themselves up to pleasure in the Court at Lille.

The company was in high spirits. News had come from England that the Scots had been defeated at Flodden by what was left at home of the English army, and that James IV of Scotland had been slain.

Henry was jubilant even though James had become his brother-in-law by marrying his sister, Margaret Tudor.

“Never did trust a Scotsman,” he had often commented; and he was not displeased to have his doubts of them confirmed. For as soon as he had left England they had started to march against England. Well, they had learned their lesson. Conquests abroad; conquests at home; what better time for revelry?

And Margaret of Savoy had determined that there should be revels.

Margaret, twice widowed, was still young; being devoted to her nephew, the fourteen-year-old Prince Charles, who had spent much of his childhood with her, she was eager to learn something of the boy’s bride-to-be; and in any case it was always a pleasure to have an excuse for revelry.

When her father with his guests rode to the Palace she was waiting to greet them, her somewhat plump figure attired in regal velvet, her smile kindly; and with her was her nephew and the Emperor’s grandson, Prince Charles.

The boy was embraced with affection by his grandfather, then presented to Henry. Charles Brandon, standing behind his master, wondered if Henry was thinking the same as he was: Poor, brilliant, lovely Mary, to be given to such a weakling!

The boy’s picture, which Mary had come to loathe, had not lied; and he had changed little since it was painted. There were the prominent eyes and the heavy jaw, the mouth which did not close easily; there was the lank yellow hair, and the boy certainly seemed to have to concentrate with effort in order to follow the conversation.

And this was the greatest heir in Europe, the boy who would inherit the dominions of his Imperial grandfather Maximilian and his Spanish grandfather Ferdinand! The son of mad Juana!

Brandon’s indignation rose at the thought of Mary’s marriage.

Then he noticed that their hostess was smiling at him.

“My lord, Lisle,” she was saying in a soft and gentle voice, “it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to my Court.”

He took her hand and kissed it, and he fancied she lingered at his side just a little longer than was consistent with etiquette.

In the private apartment allotted to the King, Charles, with Compton, Parr and Boleyn, assisted at his toilet.

“The lady is not without charm,” commented Henry. “But the boy … ! It’s past my understanding how Max can feel so pleased with him.”

“He looks to be an oaf, Sire,” said Compton.

“Looks, man! He is. Did you notice how he stammered?”

“He has a great affection for his aunt and a respect for his grandfather,” added Thomas Boleyn.

“The boy’s in fear of his future, I’ll warrant,” said Henry. “He clings to auntie’s skirts, wanting to stay the baby forever. Ah! Has it occurred to you that Max won’t last long? He’s getting old. Ferdinand’s getting old. Then that boy will be one of the greatest rulers in Europe. Louis is no longer young; I hear he suffers from the gout and diverse ailments. But he’ll be of no account because France will be ours. That’ll put the long nose of that Dauphin of his out of joint. Dauphin! I tell you this, Francis of Angoulême will never mount the throne of France. There’ll be two monarchs standing astride the continent. The oaf and myself. I tell you, my friends, that gives me cause for great pleasure.”

“Your Highness will do with him what you will,” cooed Compton.

“So this is a happy day for me to see that young fellow with no more brains than an ass.”

“I am sorry for the Princess Mary.” Charles realized that he should not have spoken.

He had broken in on Henry’s pleasant reverie because he had reminded him of the Princess’s passionate pleas; and as Henry was fond of Mary, his pleasure in the apparent stupidity of Charles was spoiled by the reminder that his sister must marry the boy.

He frowned. “’Tis the fate of princesses to marry for reasons of State.” Then his jaw jutted out and he continued coldly: “Methinks, my lord Lisle, you concern yourself overmuch with this matter.”

It was a warning.

Margaret of Savoy having been twice widowed was no coy virgin and she was young enough to think now and then of another marriage, although her experiences of matrimony had scarcely been comforting. When she was three she had been betrothed to Charles VIII and sent to Amboise to be brought up to be Queen of France. But in order to link France with Brittany the marriage had been repudiated and Margaret sent back to Maximilian while Charles made a match with Anne of Brittany.

Later she had married the Infante of Spain, only to lose him and their child within a short time of their wedding. And after that she had married the Duke of Savoy, uncle of François, who was now Dauphin of France.

Her marriages seemed doomed not to last, for he too was dead and she once more a widow.

But she assured herself that did not mean that one day she might not find a husband with whom she could live in peace and pleasure. I have married for political reasons, she told herself; why should I not now marry to please myself?

When had this thought come to her? Was it when she had welcomed the King of England to her Court and found that his close friend was one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes on? Before his coming she had been eager to meet him because her agent at the camp of Thérouanne, Philippe de Brégilles, had written to her of Charles Brandon. “Lord Lisle,” he had written, “is a man who should interest Your Grace, for he is at the right hand of the King; and it is clear that Henry listens to what he has to say.”

And now he had come to her Court she found him the most interesting member of the party.

It was not difficult to arrange that she should be next to him at table or in the dance; she began by pretending that she wanted to question him about the Princess Mary.

“I ask you, my lord Lisle,” she said, as he sat beside her while the minstrels played and the food was served, “because I see how fond the King is of his sister and I feel his account of her might be affectionately prejudiced.”

“The Princess Mary is deemed to be the loveliest lady at the English Court, and reports do not lie,” Brandon told her.

“Then I am glad. But tell me, is she gentle and kind? You have seen my Charles? He will be gentle and a little shy at first. I hope the Princess will be ready to discover his excellent qualities which are not apparent to all at first.”

“I am sure the Princess will be patient.”

“Tell me, is she eager to come to him?”

Charles hesitated. “She is young … she is uncertain. She loves her home and her brother.”

“Poor child! Life is difficult for royal princesses. I remember my own fate.”

“It has made Your Highness tolerant?”

“I try to be. I am so anxious for the boy to be happy. He is a good boy and he will be a great prince. You do not believe me? Why, Lord Lisle, I had thought you would be a man to look below the surface. Charles is slow of speech because he does not speak without thought. Have you noticed that when he does say something it is worth saying? Do not underestimate Charles, Lord Lisle. And you should warn the King of England not to.”

“I will do so, Your Highness.”

“I am sure you will. Tell me of England. I long to hear what the Court is like. I have heard it is quite brilliant since the young King came to power.”

He talked to her of the jousts and entertainments while she listened avidly.

And when he and the King’s gentlemen were in Henry’s bedchamber that night the King said: “Did you notice that the Archduchess seems mightily taken with our friend Charles Brandon?”

Compton had noticed it; he tittered, while Henry’s laughter burst out.

“Well, well, he’s a handsome fellow, our Charles. A little different from theirs. The lady noticed it, I’ll swear. Why, my lord Lisle, ’twould be a goodly match for you if you could marry Margaret of Savoy!”

“Your Grace is joking. The lady was asking me about your Court.”

“She had her eyes on me, but she said to herself ‘He’s well and truly married.’ So she turns to you. You know you are a little like me, Charles.”

“I have heard that said, Your Grace, and it has given me great pleasure. I fear I grow a little more vain every time it is repeated.”

Henry smiled affectionately at his friend. “Well, ’tis true enough. We might well be brothers, and I’d suspect we might be, but for the fact that my father was a man who never strayed from the marriage bed.”