The Chateau of Briis Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Alison Weir

  The right of Alison Weir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in this Ebook edition in 2018 by

  HEADLINE REVIEW

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire

  eISBN: 978 1 4722 5300 2

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Alison Weir

  Also by Alison Weir

  Praise for Alison Weir

  About the Book

  Introduction

  1515

  1516

  1520

  Read on for a glimpse of:

  Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession

  Jane Seymour: The Haunted Queen

  About Alison Weir

  Alison Weir is the top-selling female historian in the United Kingdom, and has sold over 2.7 million books worldwide. She has published eighteen history books, including Elizabeth the Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, The Lady in the Tower and Elizabeth of York, and seven historical novels. Her latest biography is Queens of the Conquest, and her latest novel is Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession, the second in her Six Tudor Queens series. Jane Seymour: The Haunted Queen will be published in May 2018.

  Also by Alison Weir

  The Six Tudor Queens series

  Katherine of Aragon: The True Queen

  Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession

  Arthur: Prince of the Roses (e-short)

  The Blackened Heart (e-short)

  The Tower is Full of Ghosts Today (e-short)

  Fiction

  Innocent Traitor

  The Lady Elizabeth

  The Captive Queen

  A Dangerous Inheritance

  The Marriage Game

  Quick Reads

  Traitors of the Tower

  Non-fiction

  Britain’s Royal Families: The Complete Genealogy

  The Six Wives of Henry VIII

  The Princes in the Tower

  Lancaster and York: The Wars of the Roses

  Children of England: The Heirs of King Henry VIII 1547–1558

  Elizabeth the Queen

  Eleanor of Aquitaine

  Henry VIII: King and Court

  Mary Queen of Scots and the Murder of Lord Darnley

  Isabella: She-Wolf of France, Queen of England

  Katherine Swynford: The Story of John of Gaunt and His Scandalous Duchess

  The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn

  Mary Boleyn: ‘The Great and Infamous Whore’

  Elizabeth of York: The First Tudor Queen

  The Lost Tudor Princess

  The Queens of the Conquest

  As co-author

  The Ring and the Crown: A History of Royal Weddings, 1066–2011

  Praise for Alison Weir

  Praise for ANNE BOLEYN: A KING’S OBSESSION

  ‘This is Anne Boleyn as you have never seen her before. I could not put it down’ Tracy Borman

  ‘An unforgettable portrait of the ambitious woman whose fate we know all too well, but whose true motivations may surprise you’ Telegraph

  ‘A triumph of fine detail . . . a complex depiction of an endlessly fascinating woman’ Elizabeth Fremantle

  ‘The story of Boleyn has been told many times, and from many angles, but this could be the best adaptation so far. A cracking read’ Lady

  ‘Detailed, immaculately researched and convincing’ The Times

  ‘Alison Weir’s wonderfully detailed novel offers a spellbinding solution to the mystery of Anne’s true nature . . . At once an enthralling read, and a real contribution to our sense of the sixteenth century’ Sarah Gristwood

  ‘Alison Weir has brought English history’s most famous “other woman” compellingly to life . . . A must for all lovers of historical fiction’ Linda Porter

  ‘Simply a masterpiece’ Susan Ronald

  ‘Not only a world apart from any other novel on Anne Boleyn, it is also an exquisite work of literary art’ Nicola Tallis

  ‘Anne comes alive and leaps from the page, fascinating, enthralling, full blooded . . . A brilliant evocation of the period . . . Wonderful’ Kate Williams

  Praise for KATHERINE OF ARAGON: THE TRUE QUEEN

  ‘Well-researched and engrossing’ Good Housekeeping

  ‘Weir is excellent on the little details that bring a world to life’ Guardian

  ‘Alison Weir brings Katherine of Aragon dazzlingly to life . . . A charismatic, indomitable and courageous heroine’ Tracy Borman

  ‘Yet again, Alison Weir has managed to intertwine profound historical knowledge with huge emotional intelligence, to compose a work that throws light on an endlessly fascinating historical figure. Yet her real gift in all of this is making it feel so fresh and alive’ Charles Spencer

  ‘Alison Weir is in command of her detail . . . her handling of Katherine’s misery and dignified response to her predicament is very touching’ Daily Mail

  ‘Weir’s undeniable strength is her immaculate description, enabling the reader to be transported back to Tudor England’ Sun

  ‘A tender understanding of and genuine sympathy for this proud, much-loved and honourable Queen . . . I was gripped [from] start to finish’ Mavis Cheek

  ‘[An] ambitious, engrossing novel . . . Fascinating’ Sunday Express S Magazine

  About the Book

  ‘May I have the pleasure of your hand in the dance, mademoiselle?’

  1515 – Dressed in wine-coloured satin, with her dark hair worn loose, a young Anne Boleyn attends a great ball at the French court. The palace is exquisitely decorated for the occasion, and the hall is full with lords and ladies – the dancing has begun. Anne adores watching the game of courtly love play out before her eyes, though she is not expecting to be thrown into it herself. But moments later, a charming young man named Philippe du Moulin approaches to ask for her hand in the dance. And before she can resist, so begins Anne’s first lesson in love.

  Includes the first chapters of Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession and Jane Seymour: The Haunted Queen, the third novel in the Six Tudor Queens series.

  Introduction

  At Briis-sous-Forges, south of Paris, there is an ancient tower called the Donjon Anne Boleyn. No one knows how the tower got its name. Legend has it that Henry VIII’s second wife spent part of her youth there and the many theories as to when, and why, have breathed life into this tale.

  The du Moulin family owned the chateau. All its members mentioned in this story really lived. The ruined chapel in the woods exists, but it is at Bra
ntôme in the Dordogne. The love affair really happened, in another place, another time. The rest is conjecture . . .

  1515

  Freedom at last – if only for one magical evening! Anne Boleyn could hardly contain herself. Dressed up in wine-coloured satin, with her long dark hair loose, she was attending a great ball at the French court, presided over by King François and Queen Claude, her virtuous mistress. It was a heady experience – and a rare one, for the Queen usually shunned court entertainments.

  The palace of the Louvre was packed with lords and ladies, and the dancing had begun, led by the King and his latest mistress, on whom he was casting lascivious looks. Anne looked away in disgust, remembering what he had done to her sister Mary, and resolving to make herself scarce if he showed any sign of coming in her direction.

  She was longing for one of the flamboyantly attired gallants to ask her to dance. It was rare for her to be enjoying the opportunity of meeting them. Some were looking at her with overt interest. She knew she was attractive to the men, but it was the game of love she enjoyed. At heart – and at just fourteen years old – she was indifferent to them. She smiled at the sight of one of her fellow maids-of-honour simpering at her dancing partner. What a fool she was making of herself!

  It was not long before a well-built young man with pleasing features and long wavy hair was bowing before Anne.

  ‘May I have the pleasure of your hand in the dance, mademoiselle?’

  She looked up into warm eyes above a wide nose and smiling mouth, but the things she really noticed were his hands, which were large and shapely, and his sheer physical presence. He exuded masculinity, for all the glamour of his apricot damask gown and heavily embroidered doublet and bases.

  She had never thought to feel so attracted to a man, and as they danced and he asked her about herself, she began to feel very special indeed. It was easy to sparkle in response to such flattering interest and overt admiration.

  His name, he told her, was Philippe du Moulin, and he was seigneur of a place called Grigny, not far south of Paris.

  ‘But it is quite isolated, as it is far from any road. My family own many estates in the area, most of them richer and more interesting. When I am not at court, I prefer to visit them in their fine chateaux rather than going home.’

  ‘And what do you do at court?’ Anne asked, twirling under his arm.

  ‘Mostly wait for the King to notice me!’ he laughed. ‘Seriously, you may have noticed me serving him at table. It hardly covers me with glory!’

  Philippe was a good dancer. As they performed the steps, Anne was conscious of the nearness of his body and the scent of him, a blend of herbs and lavender oil. Where had she smelt that before? On King Henry of England, she remembered, when she had danced with him at Tournai. But the King had had only his crown to recommend him; Philippe du Moulin had so much more.

  He stayed with her all night, until the dancing broke up in the small hours. They talked and laughed, sipped wine and returned to the floor many times. It was as if she had known him always. She cared not a fig for the frowns of Madame d’Aumont, the Dame d’Honneur, who was watching them with pursed lips. And then Philippe took her hand and said it was hot and could they walk in the gardens, and she forgot about what had happened to Mary after being lured out of a court ball, and ran with him through galleries and deserted chambers. From behind closed doors came muffled sounds, giggles and gasps, letting them know that they were not the only couple seeking privacy.

  Philippe looked at Anne and grinned. Then they were outdoors in the sharp night air, a mantle of moonlight cloaking the lawns and terraces before them. They walked, holding hands, and talked, discovering a common interest in art and music and poetry.

  He did not try to kiss her, as she had anticipated, even under cover of the shadows beneath the trees, but he put his cloak around her, saying he’d noticed that she was shivering. Something inside her was powerfully moved by that. Then they walked back to the great hall, where Philippe fetched a platter of sugar comfits for them both.

  They did not have time to eat many.

  ‘The King is leaving,’ Philippe said, rising to his feet with the rest of the company. ‘I must go with him. Mademoiselle Anne, it has been a pleasure!’ His eyes were warm as his hands enclosed hers. ‘Please say you will allow your humble suitor to pay his addresses when you come to court!’

  Anne knew well how to play this game of love, for she had practised it often enough at the court of Brabant, when she had served the Regent of the Netherlands. But those early flirtations had meant nothing. This was somewhat different and unexpected, and she wanted it to go on. And Philippe had called himself her suitor, which allowed her to think that his thoughts were running in the same direction as her own.

  Well, she must bide her time and see what transpired. But, oh God, after he had pressed his lips to her hand and left, she could not still her wildly beating heart! How long would it be before she saw him again?

  Queen Claude was kind, but very strict, and this now filled Anne with dismay. With so little freedom, and constant chaperonage, how was she going to see Philippe? Had he been looking for her, asking after her whereabouts? Was he still interested in her? Had she misread the situation? Not knowing the answers to any of these questions was so frustrating!

  A month after the ball, when the land was basking in the June sunshine, the Queen announced that the King was leaving with an army for Italy, where he was to uphold the cause of his ally, Venice, against Spanish pretensions to power. He was holding a great feast on the eve of his departure, and Claude was to grace it with her presence. Anne was overjoyed to learn that she was one of the maids chosen to attend her.

  When they gathered in her great chamber, ready in their finery, the little Queen entered, richly clothed in cloth of gold, and, like a flock of swans in their white gowns, they all sank to the floor in their curtseys.

  Being Claude, their mistress had to deliver a well-meant homily to which few paid attention, for they were fidgeting to be off to the feast. Anne sighed as she was exhorted to guard her chastity and reminded that the court was a sinful place and they had best beware putting their reputations at risk. It called to mind the wan face of her sister Mary – a far more salutary lesson than any high-minded words. Even Claude’s vigilance had not been able to protect Mary from the lust of King François. But Claude had been newly wed then and had yet to understand her power, while Mary hadn’t been strong enough to stop François getting her alone and taking advantage. Outraged for her sister as she had been, Anne was sure that she herself would have fought back!

  The trumpets sounded and they followed the Queen into the magnificent hall where the long tables were laid, and Anne saw the assembled throng of lords and gentlemen. She cast her eyes around eagerly, searching for that one face among the host of gorgeously dressed young lords, who were all eyeing the Queen’s retinue appreciatively.

  ‘Mademoiselle Anne!’ Claude hissed. ‘A virtuous lady keeps custody of her eyes. She does not boldly stare at gentlemen!’

  Anne felt herself blushing, as her companions smothered titters and ranged themselves behind the Queen’s chair. The rebuke stung. A girl could look at a man and still be virtuous, surely?

  Another fanfare of trumpets announced the King, and everyone stood as François entered and proceeded to the dais, a vision of satyric, virile manhood in crimson satin slashed with silver. But still Anne could only feel hatred for him, for dishonouring her sister. She would not look at him, the beast, as she and her fellows moved to their seats at a lower table, and the first course was brought in.

  And there, wonder of wonders, was Philippe, serving the King his choices from the many succulent dishes that had been placed before him, and standing respectfully back behind the royal chair. It was then that his eye met Anne’s, and a slight smile illumined his handsome face. After that they exchanged glances often, Anne’s eyes
darting from his to the Queen, whose gaze was often on her and the other maids. Would Claude never relax her vigilance?

  It seemed that the meal would drag on for ever, but at last the King signalled that the dancing should begin, and the cloths were drawn up and the trestles carried away. Anne and the other maids hastened to see if the Queen needed anything. They attended her to the stool chamber, and when they returned François was already at the centre of the floor, partnering a buxom beauty in the midst of a throng of dancers. Claude stiffened, sat down in her chair and bade two of her ladies wait behind her. Poor lady, with her limp she could not hope to outshine her rival on the dance floor, so she must needs look on, as if nothing was amiss.

  Anne now sidled away, which was easily done in the press of people, and there was Philippe, waiting for her.

  ‘Mademoiselle Anne! I have been looking for you.’ His gaze was warm.

  ‘I have been serving the Queen, sir.’

  ‘Sir?’ he echoed, smiling. ‘I thought we knew each other better than that.’

  ‘Philippe,’ Anne corrected herself, loving the sound of his name on her tongue. ‘We should not talk here. The Queen is a kind mistress, but a strict one. She watches us all the time. To hear her, you would think that all men were savages!’

  ‘Oh, we are, we are!’ Philippe assured her, with a wicked grin.

  ‘Then can you be savage elsewhere?’ Anne riposted.

  ‘Is that an invitation?’ he asked, taking her hand.

  ‘It is nothing of the kind!’ she protested, laughing, as he led her through a door into a gallery thronged with courtiers, and then through another into a lofty room lined with books. It was dark and – praise God – deserted.

  ‘This is the King’s library,’ Philippe explained, lighting two candles. ‘Be seated.’ He indicated one of the chairs at the table in the centre, and took the one opposite himself. ‘His gentlemen are allowed the use of this room. Not that I come here often, but it will serve tonight.’