Lion Triumphant

by Philippa Carr

  My mother said: “Your head and shoulders might have parted company by now, Kate. We’d rather have you in one piece.”

  “I was always fortunate. Poor Catherine Howard! It was her head instead of mine. What a man that was for dispossessing himself of wives.”

  “You speak too freely, Kate,” said her brother Rupert.

  Kate lowered her voice and looked conspiratorial. “We must remember,” she said, “that this is Harry’s daughter—Harry’s and Anne Boleyn’s, what a combination!”

  “Our last Queen was his daughter too,” put in Kate’s son Nicholas, whom we called ’Colas.

  “Oh, but then,” said Kate, “all that mattered was that one was a good Catholic.”

  My mother tried to change the subject and asked my grandmother about some herbs she wanted. Grandmother was very knowledgeable about anything that grew and she and my mother were immediately deep in a horticultural discussion, but Kate’s voice soon rose above theirs. She was talking about the dangers through which the new Queen had passed, how when her mother had gone to the scaffold her future had been in great danger, how she had been declared illegitimate, and how with the death of Jane Seymour she had been kindly treated by the King’s three last Queens and had lived at the Dower House with Queen Catherine Parr after the death of the King.

  “And I think,” said Kate mischievously, “it would be unwise to discuss what happened there. Poor Thomas Seymour! I met him once. What a fascinating man! It’s small wonder that our little Princess … but of course that is gossip. Of course she never really permitted him to enter her bedroom. That was all gossip about the Princess’ being delivered of a child. Who would believe such nonsense … now! Why, those who perpetrated such evil tales should be hung, drawn and quartered. It would be treason to repeat them now. Imagine when they brought the news to her that he had died on the block. ‘This day died a man with much wit and very little judgment,’ she said. And she said it calmly as though he were just an acquaintance. As if there could have been anything deeper between them!”

  Kate laughed and her eyes sparkled, “I wonder what it will be like at Court now. Gayer than under Mary. That much is certain. Our Gracious Lady will be so eager to show her gratitude to God, to her people and to Fate for preserving her for this great destiny. She will want to be gay. She will want to forget the alarms of the past. Mercy me, after the Wyatt rebellion she came as near to the block as I am to you now.”

  “It’s all in the past now,” said my mother quickly.

  “One does not escape from the past, Damask,” retorted Kate. “It is always there like a shadow behind us.”

  But, I thought, your miserable sins have cast a shadow over my life and you never look back to see the shadow behind you.

  “Why,” went on Kate, “did you see Lord Robert beside her? She dotes on him, they say.”

  “There’ll always be gossip,” said Rupert.

  “He has sprung quickly into the saddle,” laughed Kate. “And what would you expect of Northumberland’s son?”

  I watched Aunt Kate with growing resentment. How reckless she was, how frivolous! She could bring trouble to our household with her careless talk. And she would doubtless slip out of it unscathed. Whatever was said brought me back to my tragedy.

  When Kate and ’Colas left for Remus Castle I felt better—not happy of course, only relieved that Kate had gone.

  As it was November there was little to do in the garden. I remained listless. The Abbey seemed to me a gloomy place. The house itself—built like a castle resembling Remus, which was Carey’s now—was gradually becoming more like a home since my father had gone away; it was when one looked out of the windows and saw the outbuildings, the refectories and the dorters and the fishponds that it seemed so alien.

  My mother’s interest was now focused on me. Her great desire was to end my misery and to show me a new way of life. To please her I used to pretend that I was getting over it, but she loved me too well to be deceived. She tried to interest me in the uses of herbs which she had learned from her mother, embroidering and tapestry; and when she found that I could not give my mind to these things she decided that she would tell me of her anxieties, which was the greatest help she could give me.

  I was in my room when she came in, her face grave. I rose in alarm and she said: “Sit down, Cat. I’ve come to talk to you.”

  So I sat down and she said: “I am concerned, Cat.”

  “I see that, Mother. What worries you?”

  “The future. … I heard today that the Bishop of Winchester has been arrested.”

  “For what reason?”

  “You can guess that the religious conflicts will continue. He supports the Pope. It is the old tug of war. Oh, God, I had hoped that we had passed through those evil times.”

  “They say the new Queen will be tolerant, Mother.”

  “Monarchs are not often so when their thrones are in danger. They are surrounded by ambitious men. There has been much tragedy in our family, Cat. My father lost his head for harboring a priest; my stepfather burned at Smithfield for following the Reformed Faith. You know Edward is a Catholic. When Honey married him she embraced his faith. That was safe in the last reign; but now we have a new Queen on the throne.”

  “So you are worried about Honey.”

  “All my life there have been these persecutions. I fear that will continue. As soon as I heard that the Bishop of Winchester had been arrested I thought of Honey.”

  “You think that the new Queen will begin to persecute the Catholics?”

  “I think her ministers may well do so. And then we shall have all the old fears returning.”

  Then we talked about Honey and how happily she had married and my mother’s apprehension was eased when she thought of Honey’s happiness.

  That helped a little.

  It was Christmas time and we celebrated it in the great hall at the Abbey. The smell of baking filled the house and it was going to be a merry Christmas, said my mother, to celebrate not only the birth of Our Lord but the accession of our new Queen. I believe she thought that by acting as though she were sure everything was going to be wonderful, it would be.

  My father had been gone so long now that we no longer expected him back. Most of our servants had been monks and had known him from his childhood. They believed there was something mystic about him and they did not question his disappearance. Nobody mourned him as they did a dead person; they never had. Therefore there was no reason why we should not celebrate Christmas with all customary rejoicing.

  The festival would go on for the twelve days of Christmas and what pleased my mother was that Honey and her husband would be with us.

  They came a few days before Christmas. Whenever I saw Honey after an absence her beauty struck me forcibly. She was standing in the hall; it was snowing slightly and there were tiny sparkling flakes on her fur hood. There was faint color in her cheeks and the wonderful violet eyes were brilliant.

  I embraced her warmly. There were at moments great affection between us and now that she had her doting Edward she was no longer jealous of my mother’s special love for her own daughter. Her name was Honeysuckle. Her mother, who had entrusted her to my mother’s care, had said that she smelled the honeysuckle when her baby was conceived.

  My mother had heard the arrival and hurried into the hall; Honey threw herself into her arms and they looked long at each other. Yes, I thought, Honey still loves her passionately. She will still be jealous of me. As if she need be, she with her glowing beauty and her loving husband, and I with Carey lost to me forever.

  Edward stood behind her, rather self-effacing, gentle; he would be a good husband.

  My mother was saying that they should have Honey’s old room, for she was sure that was where they would wish to be, and Honey said yes, it would be lovely; and she slipped her arm through my mother’s and they went up the great staircase together.

  It was a merry Christmas for all except me; and at times even I found mysel
f dancing and singing with the rest. Kate came with ’Colas, and Rupert came too; and my grandmother and the twins were of course with us. We spent the day at Grandmother’s house, which was within walking distance of the Abbey. She was rather vain of her cooking, for she excelled in the kitchen. She had roasted pigs and turkeys, great pies and tarts, and everything was flavored with her special herbs in which she took such a pride. Grandmother had lost two husbands, both murdered by the State; but there she was, red-faced, puffing and purring from the kitchen where she had been scolding her maids. One would never have guessed there had been any tragedy in her life. Should I be like that one day? Oh, no, Grandmother would know nothing of love as I knew it.

  There were the usual Christmas customs; we decorated the halls with holly and ivy; we gave presents at New Year; and on Twelfth Night ’Colas found the silver penny in the cake and was King for the night; he was carried around on the men’s shoulders and chalked crosses on the beams of our hall, which was supposed to be a protection against evil.

  I noticed my mother’s eyes as she watched him and I guessed she was thinking of Honey’s Catholicism and my unhappiness over Carey; and she was secretly praying for us both.

  Kate and Honey stayed with us for the coronation which was to be on January 15.

  Kate, as Lady Remus, and Edward, as the heir to Lord Calperton, were entitled to ride in the royal procession and Honey invited me to accompany her; so I was there. We assembled at the Tower whither the Queen came from Westminster Palace by barge. It was a marvelous sight, and it lifted the spirits in spite of the keen winter air. The Lord Mayor was there to offer his loyal greetings and with him were the city companies. We saw the Queen land at the private stairs on Tower Wharf.

  We went home after that and a few days later the Queen came into the City to receive the loyal greetings of her subjects before her Coronation. The pageants were exciting; and there was a change which was growing more and more apparent every day. No one would mention as they had freely during the last reign that Elizabeth was a bastard. It would be more than anyone’s life was worth to say such a thing. In the pageants the House of Tudor was praised. For the first time effigies of the Queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn, were displayed side by side with those of Henry VIII. Elizabeth of York, mother of Henry VIII, was represented adorned with white roses and she was handing the white rose of York to her husband, Henry VII, who offered her the red rose of Lancaster. All along Cornhill and the Chepe pageants were staged; and children sang songs and recited verses in praise of the Queen.

  Her coronation was inspiring. I was not in the Abbey, but Kate as a peeress was and she described it to us. How clearly the Queen had spoken, how firmly she had gone through the ceremony complaining, though, that the oil with which she was anointed was grease and smelled ill; but she had looked impressive in her Coronation robes and the trumpets had been magnificent. Kate was sure that the leading nobles had been ready and willing to kiss her hand and swear allegiance—particularly her handsome Master of Horse, Robert Dudley.

  “Rumor has it,” said Kate, “that she will marry him. She clearly has a fancy for him. Her eyes never leave him. We shall see a royal marriage ere long, mark my words. ’Tis to be hoped her fancies are not so fleeting as those of her father.”

  “Tell us about her gown,” said my mother quickly.

  So Kate described the dress in detail and they were all as merry as they had been on Twelfth Night.

  My mother, though, remained anxious and when we heard that Pope Paul had publicly declared that he was unable to comprehend the hereditary rights of one not born in wedlock, she was quite frightened. The Pope in his declaration went on to say that the Queen of Scots who was married to the Dauphin of France was the nearest legitimate descendant of Henry VII and he suggested that a court be set up under his arbitration to determine the justice of the claims of Elizabeth and Mary to the throne of England.

  This Elizabeth naturally haughtily declined.

  But my mother’s anxiety increased.

  She said to me: “There is going to be a conflict between Protestant and Catholic once more, I fear, and the Queen of Scots will represent the Catholics and Elizabeth the Protestants. Dissension in families … it is what I dread. I have seen too much of it.”

  “We shall not quarrel with Honey because she is a Catholic,” I soothed. “I believe she only became one because she wanted to marry Edward.”

  “I pray that there will be no trouble,” said my mother.

  She visited Honey for a week and when she came back she seemed in better spirits. She had talked to Lord Calperton.

  He was old and set in his ways, he had said, but he was going to send young Edward out to the West Country. He had an estate near Plymouth. Edward was fiercer in his beliefs than his father and if he was going to talk rashly—which he might well do—it was better for him to do it as far from the Court as possible.

  My mother was distressed at the thought of not seeing Honey so frequently, but she did agree with Lord Calperton that it was safer to be far from the center of conflict.

  So through that summer plans were made for Honey and her husband to leave for Trewynd Grange in Devonshire; and I was to go with them.

  I said to my mother: “You’ll be lonely without us both.”

  She took my face in her hands and said: “But you’ll be happier there for a time … just for a time, Cat. You’ve got to recover yourself and start afresh.” I hated to leave her, but I knew she was right.

  That June about a month before we were to set out, the French King Henri Deux was killed in a tournament and his son François became King. Mary of Scotland was his wife, so she became Queen of France. My mother said: “This makes it more dangerous, for Mary has taken the title of Queen of England.”

  Rupert who was there at the time—as he often was these days—said that while she was in France it was safe enough. The danger would be if ever she came to Scotland, which as Queen of France she would scarcely do.

  I was listless, not caring much whether I went to Devon or stayed at the Abbey. I wanted to remain because of my mother; on the other hand I thought it would be good not to have to see Aunt Kate so frequently and to get away from the scene of so many bitter memories. But I should be back in a month or two, I promised myself.

  It was a long and wearisome journey and by the time I reached Trewynd Grange the summer was drawing to its end. I think that from the moment I set eyes on the Grange I felt a little farther away from my tragedy; the house was a more comfortable house than the Abbey. It was gray stone, two centuries old with pleasant gardens. It was built around a courtyard and each end was a turret tower. From these windows there was the magnificent view over the Hoe to the sea and this I found interesting. The hall was not large by Abbey and Remus Castle standards, but there was something cozy about it in spite of the two peeps high in the wall through which, without being seen, people in the little alcoves above could spy on who was below. The chapel was dank and cold and rather repellent. Perhaps I had become rather fearful of chapels because of the conflicts in our family—and indeed throughout the country. The stone-flagged floor was worn with the tread of those long since dead; the altar was in a dark corner and the lepers’ squint was now used by those servants who were suffering from some pox and couldn’t mingle with the rest of the household. It was a long rambling house rather than a tall one; and its grandeur really lay in its four turrets.

  I was amused to see Honey chatelaine in her own house. Marriage had naturally changed her. She glowed with an inner satisfaction. Edward doted on her and Honey was the sort of person who demands love. She was unhappy without it; she wanted to be the one loved and cherished beyond others. She should have been contented, for I never saw a man so devoted to his wife—unless it was Lord Remus when he was alive with Kate.

  I could talk frankly to Honey. I knew that she hated my father as she hated no one else. She had never forgiven him for not wanting her in the household and ignoring her when she was a child.


  She wanted to talk of him, but I wouldn’t listen because I was unsure of my feeling for him. I knew now that not only was he my father but Carey’s too and that was why we could not marry; I knew that he, while posing as a saint whose coming had been a miracle, was in fact creeping into Kate’s bed at night—or she into his—in the very house where my mother slept. And all the time Kate was pretending to be her dear friend and cousin.

  I think Honey had been primed by my mother to treat me with care and Honey would always attempt to please my mother. Perhaps my mother had given her other advice concerning me; I was inclined to think she had, for since I had come to Trewynd Grange Honey had given several dinner parties and invited the local squires.

  It was the day after that disturbing encounter on the Hoe when she said: “Sir Penn Pennlyon and his son will be dining with us tomorrow. They are not very distant neighbors. Sir Penn is a man of power in these parts. He owns several ships and his father was a trader before him.”

  I said: “That ship that came in a few days …”

  “Yes,” said Honey. “It’s the Rampant Lion. All their ships are Lions. There’s the Fighting Lion, the Old Lion and the Young Lion. Whenever you see a Lion ship you can guess it belongs to the Pennlyons.”

  “I saw a man on the Hoe and heard him called Captain Lion.”

  “That would be Captain Pennlyon. I haven’t met him. I know he’s home, though. He’s been at sea for more than a year.”

  “So,” I said, “they are coming here!”

  “Edward is of the opinion that we must be neighborly. Their place is but a stone’s throw from here. You can see it from the west turret.”

  I took the first opportunity of going up to the west turret. I could see a great house, high on the cliff, looking out to sea.