Shadow of Persephone

by G Lawrence

  “Here is where you will be handed the Queen’s food,” she said as we stood in one of the galleries. “Men will bring it from the kitchens, and give it to you here, at the doors to the Privy Chamber. The same will happen with clothes ordered from Her Majesty’s wardrobe, and you must check they are clean of dust and pests. We clean them each week, ridding furs of moths and other insects, but always check them carefully when they come into your hands. It would be a scandal to put them on the Queen and have her swamped by flying beasts or wriggling worms!”

  As we walked along the gallery, Anne indicated to a chamber. “In here, is the little chapel; a private room with an altar and a prie-dieu for Her Majesty to pray in each morning. We will hear Mass here with the Queen during the day. Only in the morning and evening will she go to chapel, unless she decides otherwise.”

  “How many times will we hear Mass each day?” I asked. I had thought most people did as at my grandmother’s house, and heard it twice.

  “It depends how many times the Queen wishes to hear it,” said Anne.

  “Katherine of Aragon heard Mass ten times a day, so said my mother,” said Katherine Carey.

  “And if the Queen wishes to do the same, we will all spend a great deal of time in church,” said Anne. “So make sure you are wearing warm clothes in winter. It is cold in the chapel.”

  Inwardly I grimaced, hoping our new Queen would not make us spend all our time in church. The more I heard about religion the more I thought it was a great deal of trouble and danger, with one side saying this was the only way, and the other that. I was not sure God cared about the things people argued about. I had read the Bible many times now, for I had an English copy. What I remembered most was Jesus saying we should be kind to one another, yet that seemed to be the least followed rule of all.

  And then I remembered the Queen’s faith was what I was supposed to be spying on, and felt troubled. What if I told my uncle something that got the Queen in trouble? Some said my cousin had been accused of evil because she influenced the King too much in faith. What if I said something that would harm this lady, who was my reason for becoming free?

  “The Queen’s priests and chaplain are not supposed to come into the inner chambers,” said Anne, “for they are not part of the Privy Chamber staff. There is a separate space for them in the gallery, here, where they may talk to the Queen. On saints’ days there will be a grand procession from the Queen’s rooms to the chapel, where she will meet the King and hear Mass in public. All other days, it will be more intimate, with less ceremony.”

  “You must remember who is allowed into which room, for it is our task to make sure no one is in here that should not be. We are all signed in and out, so there are always the correct number of ladies and maids waiting upon the Queen. The same is done in the King’s chambers. And you must be well-presented each and every day. Hair combed and under a hood, hands and face washed, and your gown pretty and clean. We must always be as a complement to the Queen; looking fit to be at her side, but never to outshine her. That is most important. Our gowns will never be as rich as hers, but you must be careful with new clothes. Do not wear anything above your station, or you will be punished.”

  We nodded. We all knew the sumptuary laws.

  “We receive ten pounds each per year,” Anne went on. “A generous sum, but take care and make it last. Other gifts come as well if the Queen is generous; combs, fans, handkerchiefs and even cast-off gowns from her wardrobe. Most go to ladies of the Bed and Privy Chambers, but the more she likes you, the more you are likely to be rewarded.”

  Inside, my heart was beaming. I still owed money to Dereham, but if I was careful with this coin I could pay him back swiftly and be no more in his debt.

  “There can be no dishes left on tables holding food when the Queen or the King are finished with them,” Anne said, a stern note entering her voice. “So call for chamberers to clear them as soon as possible. The King is most fastidious, and cannot abide ill odours. We must ensure pet hounds of the ladies-in-waiting do not cock their legs on the furnishings, or leave a mess on the floor. And we walk them, when the ladies do not wish to…” she smiled in a way that was both grin and grimace “… usually when it is cold and there is snow upon the ground.”

  “The privies are in the courtyards, and your hands must be washed afterwards.” She made a face. “Some men at court piss wherever fancy takes them,” she whispered. “The King had to order crosses painted about the base of the walls, to stop men urinating on them!”

  We giggled. Anne managed to blend stern commands with humour so well.

  I found the houses of easement later that day; a large building in the courtyard. The basins of the privies had plain wood over them, with a hole through which one urinated or passed other matter. Water from the palace moat flushed away waste at various times of the day, but if you were unfortunate enough to enter just before one of those times, the smell was horrific. Pipes escorted waste water away from the moat, as it was used to house fish for the King’s table and His Majesty hardly wanted to eat creatures that had been swimming in the combined filth of his many subjects.

  The palace was vast, and courtiers infested it like fleas in a pauper’s shirt. I had thought the wealth and display of Norfolk House staggering, but this was something else. Tapestry covered almost every wall in the royal apartments, and in the Queen’s was a set depicting scenes from the life of King David.

  “Most of this particular set hang in the King’s chambers,” Anne told me as I stood, dumbfounded before this work of glory, with threads of gold, silver, azure and crimson running through it. “But the King ordered these moved here some days ago, as he wants to start having these chambers readied for his new wife.”

  This set showed King David spying on the maiden Bathsheba as she bathed, the event which had sparked his quest to take her as his wife.

  As we walked, my eyes darted from wonder to wonder: ornamented ceilings, with balls and ribs tripping gaily along, flanked by octagons and lozenge shapes enclosing escutcheons glimmering with gilt paint and dazzling reds, blues and greens; heraldic beasts, shimmering gold and entwined with lovers’ knots; entire suites decked out in bright green and glaring white, or royal purple and shattering crimson. There were halls lined with cupboards the size of horses holding plate in gold, pewter, silver and gilt, hangings about beds dripping with oceans of pearls so thick they rattled when a draught passed by, and chairs upholstered in velvet, in hues of gold, red, blue, green and silver.

  In the Queen’s chambers, chairs were scarce, but there were more there, Anne told us, than in the King’s rooms. Chairs were generally for women, for they were weaker and needed to sit down more, but Anne showed us the plump cushions by the fire, where we would sit and sew with the Queen.

  There were a few tables, but not many, for most were used only for eating, or playing cards, and were not set in pride of place, being functional items, but we were shown the beautiful writing desk where our Mistress would write her letters each day. A swan-feather quill sat waiting as though our Queen were but in the other room.

  “The King likes to come, from time to time,” Anne said. “He wants everything to be just right when the Queen arrives.” She tittered becomingly behind her hand. “He has even sent instructions for her closed stool,” she whispered, beckoning us to a little room off the bedchamber. In there we saw a privy covered in black velvet, the seat and sides stuffed with down. Gilt nails held material to the seat, and from it there wafted a rather pleasing smell, for clearly herbs were being crushed and thrown into it each day. “Of course, no one is using it yet,” she said. “But it has been made to model that of His Majesty. ‘The Queen will have the best’, so he says when he comes to inspect the work.” Anne laughed merrily and we followed suit. It did seem odd the King himself would be so interested in a privy!

  “He must love his Queen,” I said as we left.

  “Of a certainty,” said Anne. “That is why he is so attentive. Nothing is beneath
his interest when it comes to her comfort.”

  I was almost stupefied by the riches I saw. And if this was true of rooms and furnishings, it was equally true of the courtiers. Ladies’ gowns, resplendent in white, scarlet, blue and emerald whispered on fresh rush matting as they walked by. Noblemen in silks, velvets, cambric and damask, with swords and daggers at their sides, were like a flock of peacocks strutting the halls, their tapered waists, padded chests and huge, almost embarrassing, codpieces jutting out before them, glittering with gemstones to draw the eye. Perfume rode the air along with the scent of rushes and herbs crushed underfoot, yet under those sweet smells crept the rank stench of sweat, piss and dog shit.

  “They say a man may wear an estate on his back when he comes to court,” Anne said as we watched one man go past, marvelling at the forest of jewels winking from his slashed sleeves.

  Walls blazed, plate shimmered, gilt glimmered and bright colours sang from every part of the palace and her people. It was a constant assault on the eyes, for they were shifting continuously from one sparkling object to another, flabbergasted by each in turn until the mind became blank under the onslaught of sensation.

  And in the midst of all this newness and excitement, I was granted a reunion of old.

  “Catherine,” breathed my half-sister Isabella as she came towards me. “I left you a girl and now you are a woman, if a small one!”

  I curtseyed, for she was no maid like me, but a married woman and one of the ladies of the Privy Chamber, outranking me by miles. The more private the room you were assigned to, the greater your importance. Isabella stood only below ladies of the Bedchamber.

  “You look beautiful, Lady Baynton,” I said with respect.

  “As do you, sister,” she said, taking my chin, turning my face this way and that. “You look so like our mother,” she said, a tang of sorrow on her breath. “She is there in your eyes, and the way you smile.” She ruffled her shoulders as though that could shake grief from her. “I am glad to have you here. You can be my ears in the maids’ chambers.”

  “I will do all you wish, my lady.”

  “I am glad to hear it. My husband, Sir Edward, is the Queen’s Vice-Chamberlain. He has many properties now, all granted by the King, and we are rising, but it does no harm to know what information you maids gather.” Assuming a somewhat patronising air, she continued, “The lesser orders sometimes find out much that is useful.”

  Swallowing my annoyance at her superiority, I smiled. “I will serve you, of course, my lady.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Family look out for each other.”

  It seemed everyone was eager to pull us new arrivals into their little circle, or a series of many wider ones, as soon as we got to court. Although we maids were not of much importance, it was important, it seemed, that we were claimed immediately by one affinity or another, drawn into this web of chambers, secrets and gossip which made up the court.

  But I was not quite a part of this glittering world yet. I had to be presented to the King. If he liked me, I would stay, becoming a tiny drop in this beautiful ocean. If he did not like me I would be sent away. Now I had seen court, I could think of no worse punishment.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Greenwich Palace

  Summer 1539

  That night, we donned pleasing gowns and were brought to a gathering in the great hall. Katherine, Mary and I stood with Anne as she subtly pointed out some of the major players of court.

  For us, women had to be our first priority. The ladies who would serve in the Presence, Privy and Bedchamber would be our superiors, therefore the ones we needed to know the most about, and quickly.

  “That is Lady Mary Howard,” said Anne, her chin jutting out almost imperceptibly towards a handsome young woman surrounded by men. “Widow of the Duke of Richmond, the King’s bastard son, and daughter of the Duke of Norfolk.”

  Another cousin, I thought. I had not seen Mary Howard before, but I knew of her. She was one of the elite of the Queen’s chamber. Since her marriage, she had been at court, and since widowhood the King seemed to want an even closer eye on her. When her husband had died, their union had still been unconsummated as the King had feared to exhaust his young bastard with the rigours of the bedchamber. That was often the case. Young men were often held back from engaging in sex too early as it was thought damaging for their health. The same did not apply to girls, of course, who could be married at twelve and bearing children soon after. But maids suffered greensickness and men did not.

  In the end, the King’s careful caution had been for nothing. The young Duke had died in the same year as my cousin. I knew Mary Howard had experienced problems in gaining her jointure. Since the match had not been consummated there was a question over its legality. The King did not want to sign over lands and money, but my uncle was attempting to press for her rights, since they would benefit him.

  She was a striking woman; pale cheeks and a high forehead set against a rather flat nose. Her eyes were warm brown, and her hair brown too, but bearing a hint of tawny flame. She had a little mouth, perfectly shaped, like a heart. And she had that Howard element, something many of us possessed; a whisper of promise.

  “She has many suitors,” Anne said, as though reading my mind. “They say Cromwell wants to marry her, and Thomas Seymour, brother to my late mistress, Queen Jane, certainly has his eye on her, but Mary Howard’s brother is utterly opposed. He thinks the Seymours upstarts, and said they were saucy fellows who crept into court under their sister’s petticoats, which did not win him friends with Thomas or Edward, the elder Seymour brother.”

  We followed her eyes to two men, one fair and one dark. They did not look as though they wanted to stand near each other, yet made no move to escape. The younger had a high flush on his cheeks as his lips gabbled excitedly about something. The elder looked on, stern and calm, almost ignoring his brother as he sipped from a goblet of wine.

  “They hate each other,” Anne said.

  “But they are brothers,” said Mary Norris.

  “Brothers often resent each other. Thomas hates Edward for being older, taking all the spoils. He thinks he is rewarded for his age, but dour Seymour is cleverer than wicked Seymour.” Anne shrugged. “Men like to imagine their sufferings are due to something besides their own lack of talent.” We smiled and she went on. “And Edward is wary of Thomas. He feels him nipping at his heels, panting for him to fall so he might slip into his shoes. That kind of fear leaves no man feeling secure, and insecurity is dangerous. It makes people vicious.”

  “Yet they stand together as allies,” noted Katherine.

  “Allies, yes. Friends, no.”

  “The younger is pleasing to look upon,” I said.

  “And knows it,” Anne said. “Steer clear of him. Thomas Seymour is trouble for women, especially if they are lower than he. The chamberers and kitchen girls all have stories about his wandering hands and forceful ways. Some say he does not understand the word ‘no’.”

  I shuddered, wondering at myself. Why, when men such as he had hurt me so much, was I attracted to that type? Was there something wrong with me? Did harmful natures call to something inside me, the part that believed I was unworthy, useless, and worthless? Did I hunger for punishment?

  “The elder brother is a fine man,” she went on. “Cool and polite, calm and reserved. There are no tales of horror about his hands. He keeps them for his wife, like a true man should.”

  And yet, for all that, I could not find Edward Seymour as attractive as his brother. It is often the problem; we expect devils to bear horns and angels halos. The thought that a wicked mind may dwell in a pretty face is hard to fathom, which makes it easier for the wicked to work ill.

  We looked back to Mary Howard. She was twenty, a woman of great learning, and a poet in her own right. Perhaps not as talented as her brother, the Earl of Surrey, Anne told us, but her verse was nonetheless respected at court. Her brother was not far away, also making people laugh. “You will
not see his wife,” said Anne. “For she is in the country, preparing to birth their fourth child.”

  “Your uncle must be pleased,” Mary said to me.

  “Would you not know?” Katherine asked her. “I thought Norfolk was your guardian?”

  Mary smiled. “I saw him rarely.”

  “I do not think my uncle thinks on children until they are grown and may be put on his board as pawns,” I said.

  Mary laughed. “His men did say the Duke does not like his daughter being so learned,” she said. “He says she is as clever as her brother, which means she is too intelligent for a woman.”