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When the musicians took a break, Madame la Grande came up to Anne and said, “Madame la Reine, is it not time that you excused yourself and retired. Let me lead you to your dressing chamber.”
Anne was relieved for she felt exhausted. After signalling to the three ladies who had accompanied her from Rennes, she left the hall. She had not slept well last night in the strange chamber full of moving shadows and unfamiliar sounds and she had been on display since she rose. The wedding and reception had distressed her, and she looked forward to confiding in her principal lady-in-waiting, Lady Pernette de Montauban, after the draining day.
When she entered her room, it was crowded with most of the ladies who had attended her wedding. She resented them, for to reach the far end of the room where she could disrobe, she must thread her way through their ranks. They removed all her hopes for privacy.
Anne’s eyes wandered to the silky night rail1, sewn for the bedding ceremony, that lay on the coverlet of the canopied bed while Mme Pernette untied the laces of her jewelled hood, unpinned the heavy object, and lifted it from her head. Her maid released the nets that held Anne’s hair, allowing it to tumble down her back.
Then Anne stepped behind the embroidered screen, held out her arms, and stood with them stretched out as Mme Pernette and her maid, who had served her since she was born, unpinned and untied the many layers of wedding finery that weighed her down. She sighed with relief once they had disrobed her to her feather-light linen shift.
Putting a warning finger to her lips, she sank onto a cushioned stool and whispered, “Two weddings in less than one year. I fear this marriage is not licit in the sight of God. When I said so to Cousin Louis, he told me I must go ahead since by now, King Maximillian will have been informed of my flight.” Mme Pernette’s eyes widened, and she drew in a whistling breath.
Anne nodded. “For a certainty, he will be enraged for himself and his daughter.” She waved her arm towards women at the far end of the room. “Everyone insists it is necessary we consummate this marriage before his denunciation of the double adultery reaches Pope Innocent.”
Her hovering maid said, “Stop fretting, Duchess, and lift your arms. You are safe.” When Anne obeyed with a slight smile, her maid stripped off her charge’s shift and washed Anne with scented soap and water. Once her faithful maid dropped the soft silk night rail over her head and placed the matching open-backed slippers on her feet, Anne squeezed her hand, thanked her and sent her away. Then she turned to her oldest friend. “Tell me, Pernette, what should I do tonight?”
“What do you mean? You have no choice! The bedchamber is prepared, and your Breton witnesses wait behind screens.”
Anne put a finger to her lips. “Shush. That reflection was for you alone. I understand my duty.” No one else seemed to share her concerns. . . but their eternal souls were not at risk.
Pernette prodded her in the ribs. “I promise you after tonight this will be a duty you will be happy to perform.” She winked at her friend, who turned bright pink.
“It is a holy obligation,” she said.
“Holy Church does not say we cannot take pleasure in our obligations.”
Anne wanted no more of this talk. She rose and reached for her fur-lined dressing-gown. Pernette took it from her and helped her to don it.
When they emerged from behind the screen, Madame la Grande, officious as ever, came forward, took Anne’s arm and led her past the line of ladies who were rising from the stools, chests, and cushions at the far end of her chamber. Among them Anne noticed Countess Louise who pushed her way to stand directly behind Anne and Madame la Grande as the procession formed by rank to walk to the official bedchamber.
Anne stared at the grand state bed, part of her dowry, adorned with magnificent hangings that combined the emblems of France and Brittany. Her Breton workers had unearthed them from coffers in her château in Nantes. They must have celebrated some previous union, and she had decided they would serve equally well for hers and ordered them refurbished. She surveyed the room that would end her girlhood and seal her marriage. Close to the head of the bed, on the side with windows looking onto the courtyard, she noticed a table with a carafe of wine, two glasses, and a ceramic biscuit jar. Beside it, two high-backed armchairs with padded seats faced the dancing flames in the huge fireplace. The arrangement appeared private but did not deceive her. She twisted her neck to peer deeper into the room. There, in the far reaches, hidden by shadows, stood painted screens. Well, it was as she had expected. Crossing to one of the chairs, she sat and clasped her hands in her lap.
* * *
CHARLES AND ANNE LEANED against the pillows as the bishops blessed them and sprinkled their bed with holy water. Then they and the courtiers sauntered out, and Charles’s valets of the bedchamber drew their bed curtains closed and Anne nerved herself to the coming ordeal. They lay motionless, side by side in a cocoon as dark as a starless night under the embroidered coverlet until the sound of the heavy door thudding closed signalled that they were as alone as they would be that night.
Anne heard a slight huff of amusement. The mattress and coverlet shifted, and she felt Charles turn. She turned her head towards him. As her eyes adjusted, she saw he had lifted himself on one elbow, facing her.
“Finally, we are private, wife. Are you as nervous as I am?” He lowered his voice and nodded his head in direction of the screens they knew were there. His teeth gleamed, and she felt his other arm reach over to touch hers.
She did not respond. A little breathlessly, she said, “Husband, I have something I would ask of you.” Her tone sounded like a child’s pleading for a favour, which did not please her, but she could not undo it, so she plowed on. “The papal dispensation has not yet arrived. . . .” She paused, hoping he would share her reservations and finish the sentence for her. He did not. After he let the silence lengthen uncomfortably, she drew a deep breath. “So, I hoped you would agree that we should postpone the consummation until it does.”
Her new husband released his elbow and dropped onto his back, so he no longer looked at her. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded as cold as the ice in the courtyard. “I do not think that would satisfy your Breton witnesses. . . or my sister.”
Anne rose on her elbow and leaned toward him, her voice eager. “I am sorry, Charles. I did not explain myself well. It would be a secret between us. I would not shame us or them. There would be blood. Of course, I brought a tiny knife with me. I could make a slight cut under my arm or on my thigh and use that. I am sure it would work.”
Charles surprised her by rising to his knees and taking her shoulders. “Anne, you astonish me.” He kissed the top of her head. “That is a brave offer, but do you truly believe there is a need for such an action? Two bishops have signed our dispensations and blessed our marriage. Undoubtedly, by now the Holy Father has signed it, too. I do not doubt that my messengers are hastening it to us. We have not received it because of distance alone. But it is done, I assure you. My Cardinal has received signs. Did not your confessor reassure you also?”
Anne fingered her rosary. “Ye-es.” She hesitated. “But what if he does not? Then we shall both burn in hell. I fear for my soul and yours.”
Charles frowned and tapped a finger on his lips. “Would it not also be a sin to deceive our lieges who will return to our Estates in Brittany to swear we have done our duty? When we confess, as we must once we receive the dispensation and consummate our marriage, will we not have to admit the deception to them?”
Anne blanched at the thought. “We could do a penance instead, perhaps.” She felt herself weakening.
“But perhaps not. It would damage our authority. I could not do it.” Anne could hear the decision in his voice. She did not think she could do so either. Her most powerful vassals were already too insolent.
“Besides, we need an heir. Until I have an heir, France and Brittany are both in danger. So, the sooner we make one, the safer our lands shall be.” He removed the rosary, put his arms around her back, and nuzzled her neck. Anne abandoned her arguments.
When she opened her eyes again, velvety dark still surrounded her. She was not sure it was morning, but the air on her face and hands felt chilly, a sure sign that hours had passed. The rustle of sheets from the other side of the bed, coupled with the ache between her legs, sent memories rushing. She was no longer a maiden. It was too late to turn back from the path she had chosen less than a month previously. Pernette had been correct. Her deflowering had been much more agreeable than she had expected. Charles had told her she was beautiful, caressed her gently and taken his time. She thought she could learn to like this duty.
She reached out and touched the arm of the man lying beside her. His arm was much warmer than her hand, and it comforted her. Under her touch, he rolled toward her, yawning. Then he stroked her cheek. It was a soothing sensation. His voice whispered from the dark, “Beautiful Anne, my queen, you have delighted me. You are the perfect wife. I am certain we shall be the happiest couple in France.”
Anne’s heart felt as if it was melting inside her breast. At that moment, she discovered she loved him. Passionately. Tears popped into her eyes, and she snapped them shut. She waited until she could control her voice before answering. “Husband, I am pleased you say so.”
He lifted himself onto one elbow and gazed deeply into her eyes.
“Yesterday,” he murmured, “I kept watching your eyes. I could not decide whether they were green or gold. They kept changing colour. You have such glorious eyes. I feel as if I am sinking into them.”
The thought flashed that he was feigning, but she pushed it away as they gazed into each other’s eyes until she let herself believe she could see deep within him. She could trust him. He would take care of her.
He lowered his head towards her, and their lips touched. She relaxed and let the sensations take her.
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1 Night rail—the former term for nightgown.