In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,101

conversation. It was somewhat stilted, being in Latin, and very often caused us to smile; but I was gratified and content when he told me that he was falling in love with me.

He presented me with a diamond cross on a chain which he said I must wear for his sake.

Such an adventure was a novelty to me, and I enjoyed it without giving a great deal of thought to what a match with Bavaria might entail.

Chapuys came to see me. He was most disturbed about the Cleves betrothal but far more so with the proposed marriage of myself and Philip of Bavaria.

“You will be expected to embrace the Protestant Faith,” he said.

I stared at him.

“Had that not occurred to you?” he asked in shocked tone.

What a fool I had been! I might have known nothing could go smoothly for me. How could I expect to have the joy of a perfect marriage? I liked Philip. When I considered the kind of bridegrooms who were presented to some princesses, I had reason to rejoice. If only that were all. He was handsome, charming, a man whom I could like. But, of course, he was a heretic.

Chapuys was regarding my horror with some satisfaction.

“You could never marry a heretic,” he said.

“Never,” I agreed. “And yet … my father has allowed Cromwell to arrange this marriage.”

“My master will be greatly displeased.”

I might have pointed out that his master had done little to help in a practical way, being always too immersed in his own political schemes. They did not seem to realize that I was a poor desolate young woman with little power to act in the way she wanted, even though she might have the inclination.

“This marriage will be disastrous.”

“What of the King's?”

“The King's is not good. But you are the hope …” He did not finish but his words made me tremble. I was the hope of the Catholic world. Mine was the task to bring this country back to the true Faith.

How could I have been so blind as to rejoice because Philip of Bavaria was a young and presentable man… when he was a heretic?

I could not marry him. Yet it might be that I must. I prayed. I called on my mother in Heaven to help me. But what could I do? If my father—and Cromwell—desired this marriage, I was powerless to prevent it.

My dream of possible happiness was fading away. I was weak. I was helpless—and I was about to be married to a heretic. I did think about him a good deal. I had wanted this marriage…I was tired of spinsterhood. I had dreams of converting him to the true Faith. I encouraged that dream because I wanted to marry, and it was only with such a project in mind that I could do so with a good conscience.

ON THE 27TH of December Anne of Cleves left Calais to sail for England. When she landed at Deal, she was taken to Walmer Castle and, after a rest there, she proceeded to Dover Castle where, because the weather was bitterly cold and the winds were of gale force, she stayed for three days. Then she set out for Canterbury, where she was met by a company of the greatest nobles in the land, including the Duke of Norfolk. She must have been gratified by the warmth of her welcome and perhaps looked forward with great pleasure to meeting the man who was to be her husband.

Poor Anne! When I grew to know her, I felt sorry for her; and I often pondered on the unhappiness my father brought to all the women who were close to him.

He forgot that he was ageing, that he was no longer the romantic lover. He was excited. Pretending to be young again, going forth to meet the lady of Holbein's miniature and to sweep her off her feet with his passionate courtship. He had brought a gift for his bride: the finest sables in the kingdom to be made into a muff or a tippet.

It was at Rochester where they met. Unable to curb his impatience any longer, my father rode out to meet her cavalcade. He sent his Master of Horse, Anthony Browne, on ahead to tell Anne that he was there and wanted to give her a New Year's present.

I wished that I had seen that first meeting. I will say this in his favor. He did not convey to her immediately his complete and utter disappointment. He