by G Lawrence
I sighed, enraptured.
“The holy lady went on to explain the tableau, saying it was the hope of London and England that the Queen would uphold the fertility of her namesake. The Queen’s children, you see, will preserve England against all horrors, and defend the faith. As the song came to an end, men hidden inside the castle began to work its machinery, and the stump began to pour with a flowing mass of red and white roses. A cloud opened, and from it a white falcon flew, taking a perch on the flowers. An angel descended from the heavens to place an Imperial crown on the falcon’s head, and as the crown was placed, a choir of children began to sing.”
Agnes nodded. “In the Annunciation, the bird is usually a dove, you remember, child? Here it was a falcon, Anne’s badge. The message was her child is blessed and will welcome in a new age.
“Near to the Conduit in Cornhill, there was a tableau of the Three Graces. Each came forth in turn, saying their graces were all to be found in Anne. At the Great Conduit in Cheapside a fountain plumed red and white wine into basins from which people were happily serving themselves. People were dancing, linking arms and skipping as music played.
“We rode past the Eleanor Cross, decked in flowers, blooms and branches, as well as ribbon and silk, where the Queen was welcomed by London’s Aldermen. At the Standard in Cheapside were more pageants. Jupiter granted Paris a golden apple through his messenger, Mercury. Paris was to give the apple to one of three fair goddesses, and there was much mirth as the goddesses competed, but it was granted finally to Venus. Paris turned to the crowds, extended a hand to the Queen, and sang, saying the Queen was too worthy for such a simple reward as an apple. A choir of children sang that Anne was the blessed child of God, a paragon of perfection; wisdom, chastity and fertility bound in one form.”
I thought my eyes might pop from my head. I could almost see her, see London, see everyone cheering for her.
“The streets were lively, music and song everywhere. Londoners put on dances, little performances, and recitals of passages from the Bible. There were tableaux of saints, and kings and queens from myth and history.
“At the gate leading into St Paul’s, there was a throne set high upon a platform, glittering in the sunlight. It was empty, awaiting its Queen. Around it was written, “Regina Anna. Prospere! Precede! Et Regna!”, “Queen Anne! Prosper! Proceed! And reign!” As the Queen passed, women threw flowers and wafers before her. Messages of trust, faith and adoration were written in gold upon them.
“In the great courtyard of St Paul’s School, two hundred children had gathered, in robes of purest white. They came forward one by one to recite passages praising our King and Queen. As the last one sung his verse, the Queen nodded. ‘Amen,’ she said, smiling, and behind her, the crowd echoed her word.
“At Fleet Street, a special tower with four turrets had been built, representing the Heavenly City, into which only the godly may pass. Four Cardinal Virtues stood, one in each turret, welcoming the Queen into the realm of grace.
“We reached Westminster Abbey late that evening, and although she was tired, she went to the altar that night and prostrated herself before it. No mean feat, for a woman six months with child. All night she prayed to God for guidance in her new role.”
I will remember that the next time someone dares call her a heretic, I thought.
“At seven the next morning, everyone began to assemble, but it was nine when she entered, glorious in a kirtle of crimson topped by robes of purple velvet, furred with ermine, with a cowl of pearls over her hair and the gold coronet on her head. In bare feet, she walked upon a carpet of blue ray to the altar, her train carried by me, and a canopy of cloth of gold held over our heads by the Barons of the Cinque Ports. The Bishops of Winchester and London followed us, and behind me walked all the Queen’s ladies and nobles of court, dressed in scarlet. Thirteen abbots accompanied us, along with all the monks of Westminster, the entire Chapel Royal and all the higher nobility. Before the Queen were the sceptre of gold and rod of ivory, topped with a dove. The Lord Great Chamberlain bore the crown of St Edward. Before that day, St Edward’s Crown had only been used to crown the reigning monarch, but the King requested its use for Anne.”
My grandmother looked down at me. “She was crowned as a regnant queen,” she said. “As kings are. Not even Katherine was granted that.”
“She is special, Your Grace.”
“And the King will make every man aware of that fact.” There was silence for a moment as Agnes stared into the distance, but she soon went on. “A special stand had been erected, and there was another platform to one side, with a screen, behind which was the King. He was not supposed to share this day with Anne, but had not wished to miss a single moment.
“The coronation Mass was sung by the Abbot of Westminster, but it was Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, who prayed over the Queen as she prostrated herself again before the altar. Once she had prayed, he anointed her with sacred oil, binding her to England. The sacred crown was placed upon her head, then Cranmer replaced that heavy crown with another, smaller one, and handed her the sceptre and ivory rod. A Te Deum was sung, and the Queen received the Blessed Sacrament.”
Agnes smiled. “She is as one with England, bonded to our land, to us. Nothing can wash the balm of anointment from her dark head.”
She reached out and stroked my hair. I almost jumped. Although my grandmother was not a cruel woman, I had received few gestures of affection from her. Lacing her fingers through my honeyed locks, she smiled wider. “We are now kin to royalty,” she said dreamily, “Queen Anne, and when her son is born, the King of England and all who come after. They are all ours. Howard blood will run with Tudor in the line of England from this day onwards.”
Such pride swelled in me that I almost ceased to breathe. In truth, I had only thought about my cousin becoming Queen. That was enough to capture my imagination. I had not even considered that from this moment on we Howards were kin to kings.
“With me holding her train, we moved back through the Abbey, past the clock tower where fountains flowed with wine in place of water, and into Westminster Hall. The Queen withdrew whilst the feast was prepared, for she, poor lady, was utterly exhausted.
“Only when everyone was gathered did she make her entrance. The Queen sat at the head of the great hall, at a table of glittering marble. She entered to the sound of wild cheering. The hall was magnificent, windows re-glazed, seating gilded, walls hung with tapestry. A blue carpet separated rows of tables, with diners arranged in order of precedence. The Queen was served by the Dowager of Oxford and the Countess of Worchester, with her sister, Mary and sister-in-law, Jane at her feet to do her bidding. Waited on by over one hundred and twenty servants, she ate daintily.
“Suffolk and my son, William, sat atop horses. Suffolk’s doublet dripped with pearls, and William sat on a horse in purple trappings embroidered with the white lion of the Howards. During the feast, they rode up and down, overseeing the celebration. Tom Wyatt was Chief Ewerer…”
“Is he the man they say loves my cousin the Queen, Your Grace?” I asked.
“Most men adore your cousin,” said Agnes, “but it is true, he fell for her when first they met. He wanted her, but she said no, for he has a wife and she would not be any man’s mistress. And you see why now, do you not? If she had not refused Tom Wyatt, then the King, she would not be Queen!”
I smiled, but I knew even then my cousin was extraordinary. I had heard tales. Most women who refused a man ended up hurt, or abandoned. Men did not like rejection.
“But all is done between her and Master Wyatt, of course,” she said, waving a hand. “They are friends, and he adores her, but she loves only the King.”
She went on with her tale. “There was such food, child! The Queen had twenty-eight dishes for the first course, with other diners receiving fewer, depending on rank. I, of course, was one with many. There were pottages of almond milk and fish, mutton and herbs, and beef marrow, followed by roasted pheasant, veni
son, boar and oxen, and peacock in ginger sauce. Conserves of cherries, roasted apples, and marchpane stained gold with saffron had been twisted into lovers’ knots and Tudor roses. Subtleties were brought out between courses, and ships carved from wax and sugar amazed us all. At nearly six o clock, the feast was done, but there were still ceremonies to attend to before the Queen could retire.”
“She was tired, my lady?”
“She was. She held her head up, the dear, sweet lady, and smiled, but a grandmother knows when her little ones are waning. Six months with child is a wearying state to endure all that ceremony and pomp, but she took spices from her sewer and hippocras from a golden cup. She sent wine to her ladies and servants, as signs of favour.” Agnes grinned. “A goodly cup was sent to me, of course.
“As the Queen processed towards the door, we knelt. She turned as she reached the edge of the hall. ‘I thank you all for the honour you have done me this day,’ she said graciously, and then went to retire. The King stayed up all night with his men, drinking and laughing. There were many pale faces and green the next morn, I may tell you. Then came days of celebration, which are still going on now.” Agnes sighed, her hand still entwined in my hair.
“A goodly time,” she said, “and when the Prince is born, more will follow.”
Chapter Eight
Chesworth House
Autumn - Winter 1533
“The King has forbidden appeals to Rome,” said my grandmother. “So now, if Katherine of Aragon complains, she can be arrested.”
“Would the King do that, my lady?” asked Joan.
It was early September and we were sewing in her chambers. Outside, the skies were blue and the air warm. The windows were open, and the scent of hay was on the wind, as well as dust, as crops were gathered in.
England was holding its breath, waiting for our Prince. My cousin, the Queen, as I now called her always, had retired to her rooms at the end of August. She was supposed to be in her lying-in chamber for a month before the birth, but Agnes, who had seen her at court before she had retired, thought she was farther along in her pregnancy than was said. Any day now my cousin, the Queen, would deliver our country from chaos and despair.
And England might need delivering. The Pope, upon hearing of their marriage and Anne’s coronation, had demanded the King set my cousin aside and take back Katherine of Aragon on pain of excommunication. The King had refused. War seemed possible, and Norfolk as well as his son Surrey, and the Duke of Richmond, had been called back from a trip to France with speed. It was said they had been recalled so that Richmond could contract his marriage to Norfolk’s daughter, Mary Howard, but not one person in the world believed that.
“He has Katherine all but prisoner already,” Agnes said, a hint of sadness on her face. For all her pride in Anne, my grandmother respected Katherine. “But the King has Cromwell now. Cromwell gets much done.”
Thomas Cromwell was a name I was hearing often. Some said he was a heretic, and he certainly had been a mercenary. He was of common blood, had trained as a lawyer and once had been of the household of Cardinal Wolsey. It was he, along with Anne, who had convinced the King that the Pope was a usurper, and King Henry himself should be King and Pope in England, as his ancestors had.
But there were darker rumours. As Cromwell rose in favour, Sir Thomas More was falling and it was said the King had no love for Bishop Fisher, who had defended Katherine at Blackfriars and beyond. And this was not all. Although I understood little of the laws the King had just commanded to be passed, it was said the King was now completely in control of the Church, answerable only to God.
The Pope had said the King would be excommunicated, but it had not been enacted yet, and people in the village and gathering the harvest were anxious, for they would be damned along with their King. If the King was granted a son, it was said, it would be shown he was righteous and the Pope was in error. To me, it seemed an awful lot rested on this child my cousin was about to birth.
But she will bear a son, I thought. To me, it was impossible that Anne could fail.
*
“Ned appears promised to a new lady,” I said to Kat, giggling as I shared the secret. “Once, he would see only Dorothy, but now it is Alice, Alice, Alice.”
It was true enough. Ned Walgrave seemed to be set to abandon Dorothy, and everyone was talking of it. Ned was a man we all admired. He was handsome and daring; always the first to steal the keys from Mother Emet, and always first up the lattice if keys could not be stolen. Dorothy would not join in with the circle anymore, for Ned was running after Alice constantly, telling her she was beautiful.
Alice, for her part, seemed bewildered. She was not overly intelligent in any case, but she was pretty with sweet blue-green eyes and fair hair. Dorothy would no more speak to her, even though Alice had done nothing to encourage Ned. It was Ned who had chosen to chase a new doe, but Dorothy did not blame Ned. Women were to blame for the sins of men, and that was what she believed. It was not surprising; it was all we heard from the priest, who seemed obsessed with the subject.
“Because he wants to indulge in sin,” said Joan with a naughty wink, “and cannot, so must act as though being pretty and agreeable is wicked so he can be free of sin whilst we carry his!”
“Joan!” said Margaret Smith. “That is a wicked thing to say of a priest. We cannot speak against the Holy Church.”
“I follow the example of my King,” she said. “He speaks against the Church, and a good thing too. We have a better Head of the Church in him than we did with Rome, and more English coin stays in English hands now. It all used to go to Rome, to feed the fat belly of the Pope. Now it is the King’s and I hear he will build hospitals and help poor people. And they say he is to look at the monasteries, and you all know they are full of fat monks who do nothing but eat all day and run after nuns, trying to see up their smocks!”
We all laughed, for we had heard stories of abbots and their mistresses, affairs with nuns, and the bastards who came from these illicit unions. Margaret, however, still looked shocked. “Look prim all you wish,” Joan said to her. “It is the truth, and it is a good thing our King has seen the problems in the Church. It is said the Queen speaks of them often, and I think her a good woman.” She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled as she bustled away to do her duties.
“It is wrong to speak ill of a priest,” Margaret muttered as she left.
“Perhaps it was,” I said to Kat. “But I think Joan is right. It seems to me that much men do is set on the shoulders of women.”
“As if we have not enough to carry,” said Kat, smiling, as we went to gather herbs for the winter stores.
*
“So it was a girl,” my grandmother said to my uncle Norfolk. “She has shown she is fruitful, and sons will follow.”
“So said the King,” he replied. “To her, at least… but later, in his rooms, he spoke of the curse, asking why God did not look with kind eyes on his second marriage.”
I concentrated on the strings of my lute, fingers flickering from one to another, my eyes on the wooden bowl at the centre. If they knew I was listening I would be sent out. Better to appear brainless, deaf, dumb and blind, so I might hear what was going on at court.
It was simple enough to accomplish. My grandmother thought me something to speak at, rather than to, and my uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, Agnes’ stepson, had no time for women unless they were more powerful than him, like my cousin Anne, or had something he wanted. My grandmother fell into the latter category. She had money.
They were speaking of my cousin. Despite all the prophets who had shouted Anne was carrying a boy, she had borne a girl, the Princess Elizabeth. Celebrations had gone on, but they were not as glorious as ones for a prince would have been. It was said the King adored his new daughter, but everyone knew how much had rested on a son. A prince would have been proof not only of his ability to make male children, which some questioned as he only had one bastard son to show from all his liaisons, or t
wo if you counted the son of Mary Boleyn, as no one seemed to, but also the King would have been shown as righteous. If it were a son, God was with King Henry and England. But it had been a daughter. A disappointment for any man, but a crushing defeat for our King.
It made me low, although not for the same reason as others. I thought little of the future. I felt low for my cousin and her daughter, because a daughter was considered such a curse. It had been the same for me and my sisters.
The Queen had rested a month in her chambers and then emerged, but it seemed she had come back to another world. The King was affectionate in public, but it appeared there were problems in private. My cousin needed to produce a son, and fast, for some said the King’s affections were waning, but Norfolk seemed to think there were issues.
I glanced at my uncle. He was an imposing man. Sallow-skinned and lean, he was a willow whip wandering about, cruel and sinewy, able to bend or be firm at the lightest touch. His hair was brown, thinning on top, as he was actually older than my grandmother, his stepmother. His eyes were small and round, like those of a rooster, but his nose was huge, like the beak of a vulture. He was always rubbing his belly or groaning. He had sharp eyes, always seeking advancement yet somehow my uncle never managed to rise as high as he might. Generations of pride and conceit swam in his blood, screaming from his flesh, but he seemed friendly enough with the lower orders, although he often switched between friendliness and cold indifference, which confused them. I suspected this was done on purpose to keep people on their toes.
