Anne of Cleves has arrived in England to become the fourth wife of Henry Tudor. She and her retinue are resting at a house in Rochester 30 miles from London. A group of men arrive on horseback and come rushing into the room where Anne sits, with her shoes off and her head bare. It is King Henry himself with a party of his gentlemen who have come to surprise her with an unexpected meeting.

Now read on.

It was the king himself with some of his gentlemen who poured in through the door of the upstairs room of the house in Rochester where my people and I had been resting from our journey to London.

Stricken with embarrassment, I sat, my head bare and my shoes drying at the fire side.

One of the gentlemen presented himself as my groom-to-be, whereupon I smiled as demure a smile as I could muster and, sliding off my chair, curtsied deeply to the tallest man in the room.

Thanks to a small, recent likeness of him in my possession, I had the advantage of knowing what Henry looked like and smiled sweetly as the largest, richly dressed man swept off his cap and bowed low over my hand.

He gave a great shout of slightly forced laughter and turned to his companions, a smirk upon his bejowled face.

"Ho lads! The lady is wise to our prank! 'Tis indeed a queenly eye she has for her groom!"
I smiled up into his intensely blue gaze and saw a spark of interest as our eyes met.

He chivalrously offered his hand to assist me to rise, but his expression changed as I rose to look him levelly in the eyes instead of peeping up at him from somewhere around his belt buckle.

I introduced Dame Clothilde, who smiled shyly at him and attempted to address him in English as a matter of courtesy.

Her heavily accented English wasn't very clear, but I made some lightsome apology which Henry repeated to his gentlemen who all dutifully laughed.

One of the men in the king's party was tall and fair-haired whose face seemed mask like in its immobility. He rarely smiled or spoke, but stood close to Henry watching everyone who came near him.

Our gaze met once, briefly, giving me the impression of someone looking into my very soul with one rake of those clear, grey eyes.
His lips tilted at the ends in a small smile that lit his face like sunlight after rain, making my heart lift with a sudden glow of encouragement.

He avoided my gaze after that, although I felt his eyes on me more than once.
I was suddenly glad of the elegance of the black velvet gown I wore. Despite being old it was still a beautiful dress that fitted me perfectly, complimenting my fair hair and complexion.

The king introduced some of his companions, but I, becoming uncomfortable with the suddenness of his arrival, stumbled over the pronunciation of their names.

Dame Clothilde told me later she heard Henry excusing me because my English was "limited". We laughed about that, not knowing just how much of an asset it would be.

As I lay abed that night the face of the tall, fair-haired man drifted across my dreams and I slept sweetly and soundly until the morning.

The day of our nuptials arrived and I wore a gown of silver tissue over several warm petticoats and allowed the English ladies assigned to my suite to dress my hair with roses and a coronet of jewels.

I din't see Henry again until we met at the altar, but Jacques had been abroad and learned that Henry was most unhappy with my appearance, finding me unlike my portrait and "as tall as a Flemish mare".

The ceremony was beautiful and for a little while at least I was lost in the beauty of the sacred vows Henry and I uttered before God's holy altar.

I was allowed only two maids of honour, one of whom was English and so overawed by her position she left everything to my own Dame Clothilde.

Finally the service was over and we departed to the wedding feast.

The repast was sumptuous, prolonged and boring. After a while it began to sink to the lowest depths of degradation as some of the guests began making lewd jests and other suggestions supposedly appropriate to the connubial occasion.

I thought it best to pretend I didn't understand the remarks and maintained a slightly imbecilic expression during the whole ordeal.

Even the English ladies who had been assigned to wait upon me, were thoroughly embarrassed by the crudity of the so-called humour, or far worse, joined in and made as much of it as they could.

They watched me carefully to see if I understood what they were saying, but all I did was say "Pardone?" in a French accent and smile like a silly maid servant.

I took careful note of the most licentious of them, leaving deciding on a suitable revenge for later.

When Dame Clothilde beckoned me from a side door I took my leave, curtseying to the king and favouring the drunken assemblage with a vague, polite smile as I left.

Mariposa was waiting at the door of the bridal chamber and swept me a curtsey as I came in.
When no-one was looking she closed one green eye in a swift, conspiratorial wink. I knew then that the instructions I had left for her would have been carried out to the letter and rewarded her wink with a hidden smile.

They helped me out of the intricately laced silver gown I had worn all day with all the petticoats and left me in my shift and stockings.

Removing the coronet and the flowers left my head tousled and untidy, so I took the brush and began sweeping it through my unbound hair. It fell in warm tresses around my shoulders, perfumed with a scent of my own making.

The room was warm with a log fire blazing cheerfully in the fire place sending shadows dancing up the walls.

They brought my night gown and wrap and helped me into them and then stood at the door with armfuls of silver tissue and lace petticoats.

"Good night, dear ladies," I said, as they sank into deep curtseys. 'And thank you for all you've done this day."


"Good night your Grace", they chorused and the door closed behind them.
At last I was alone to prepare for what lay ahead. As a queen and wife of England's king Henry Tudor.

My heart constricted with momentary fear as I thought of the three queens who had preceded me.

I clasped my hands together and sent out a prayer to Saint Anne asking for wisdom and courage to sustain me through the ordeal that confronted me.

"Please let me not fail to please him. Give me what I need to be a wife to this great, hulking ox of a man. Surely he is only a man after his finery has been laid aside. A man. A king, but still just a man."

As these words came to me an idea flashed through my mind .
Suddenly I knew how to treat Henry and I caught a glimpse of myself smiling through the mirror.

It was a mischievous, rosy cheeked girl who smiled back at me and I picked up the brush again and applied it with renewed vigour.

It was a habit from childhood that always brought me a sense of comfort and reassurance.

I needed that greatly as I waited for the king to join me in our nuptial chamber.


To be Continued