B004H0M8IQ EBOK

by Worth, Sandra

  People were descending on the green from all directions now, and smiles were everywhere. Girls wore wreaths of flowers in their hair and men had flowers tucked in their ears and into their belts. Even the hounds were bedecked with posies and frolicked in celebration. Already Matthew’s wine, perfumed with violets and wild rosemary, was being handed out to the crowd that was forming around the Maypole. Catherine thought they were celebrating the arrival of the May Queen, but when she drew closer, she saw that it was the male dancers they hailed. The Morris men, with deer skins on their backs and antlers on their heads, were dancing the energetic Horn Dance, celebrating the May as the ancients must have done in the days of Dionysus. Every so often they stopped to refill their cups. Suddenly, a cheer went up from the crowd of onlookers, and she saw that the May Queen, who had already been chosen from among the pretty village girls, had arrived. Seated on her flowery throne in a cart drawn by young men, she was followed by her maids of honor. The Morris men paused their dancing to do her homage and see her crowned. They helped set her up on her throne beneath an arbor bedecked with roses near the church, and from there the May Queen smiled down on Catherine and showered her bridal party with wildflowers as they passed to the church porch, where Matthew and his party awaited with the priest.

  Matthew stared at Catherine, spellbound, as she moved toward him. What he saw was a glittering vision of flowery beauty flashing silver in the sunlight. Again he was reminded of a faery queen in a glade of springtime greenery and he thought himself the most fortunate man alive as the ethereal creature took his arm and smiled up into his eyes.

  Oh, how beautiful the world is! Catherine thought. How grateful my heart is! The joy of my youth has been returned to me!

  The wedding celebration was shared by the entire village. At last night came. As the bells of St. Nicholas chimed the hour of midnight, they returned to the manor, where a rarely used upstairs room had been prepared for them. Together they stood at its open window, gazing at the stars and watching a few merrymakers still dancing around the bonfire, their distant laughter floating through the air.

  Catherine looked up at Matthew. At last their time had come! Her heart hammered in her ears and desire left her trembling in his arms. In one swift, graceful movement, he swept her up and carried her to the bed. She watched breathlessly as he removed his clothes and lowered his body over hers. He tossed her shift from her and kissed her again with a savagery that wiped everything from her mind except the wild thrill of his body against hers. In a delirium of excitement, she felt his uneven breathing on her cheek and the surging, shocking contact of flesh against flesh as his lips seared a path down her neck, her shoulders, her stomach, leaving her burning with fire. As she drew him tightly to her, it seemed to her that her weary soul melted into his. There came over her a lightness that she had forgotten existed. Once she’d known this place of beauty, but she’d lost the way. Now love had found her once more, and the glittering secret place belonged to her again.

  Chapter 24

  In a Summer Garden

  When Catherine had visited Wales with Queen Elizabeth nearly fifteen years earlier, its rough terrain of gorges, thistles, and mountain ranges reminded her of Scotland. Journeying there now with Matthew, she drank in the wild beauty that was so different from the gently rolling hills of grassy England, her heart lifting with memories.

  She had lost no time leaving Fyfield after the wedding. Matthew’s duties beckoned, and his firm hand was sorely needed in Wales to put down outbreaks of violence that were erupting with more frequency. Family feuds, local quarrels, and general discontent had led to the breakdown of law and order, and the region had become a place of rebellion. In addition to this heavy responsibility, Matthew was constable of several castles for the king. As Somerset’s deputy, he also administered Somerset’s holdings there, collecting revenues, approving payments, making appointments, and dismissing inept servants. Where Matthew went, Catherine would go, for the frightening thought always hovered at the back of her mind that he was fifteen years older than she and their time together was limited.

  Upon their arrival, Catherine and Matthew took up residence in Swansea Castle, but when Catherine missed the privacy she had become accustomed to at Fyfield, Matthew bought a property near the castle on Goat Street, and built her a house. They named it “New Place.” Like Fyfield manor, it had a spacious great hall, many windows to the garden, and pointed archways that led to a myriad of other chambers. New Place included everything Catherine treasured about her manor at Fyfield, including an orchard and lovely gardens. Matthew, however, made one improvement on the Fyfield design. On the northeast corner of the great hall, he added a tower three stories high for Catherine’s privy suite. Spacious and secure, the tower was reached by its own stair turret through one of the archways in the hall near the fireplace.

  Catherine was enthralled with her new place. She especially loved the solar, which stood above the great hall and opened to the roof—for while she had admired the openness of the great hall at Fyfield with its intricate foiled trusses, the hall’s soaring height had made it hard to heat in winter.

  Catherine fell in love with the beauty of Gower and the Vale of Glamorgan. Here, mountains met the sea, spacious beaches gave way to tiny, rock-bound inlets, and Roman ruins vied for attention with castles built on the edge of a cliff. Around Swansea the countryside was dotted with square-towered churches that overlooked castles, manor houses, forges, and mills, but the Vale of Glamorgan, called the garden of Wales, was rich in farming, with grassy vales crowded with sheep.

  In addition to his estates in England, Matthew owned several in Wales, including a fair manor place called Cogan Pill. Each of these properties had to be visited and administered, so the couple found themselves traveling frequently, dividing their time between Matthew’s properties in the south, Somerset’s estates, and the king’s castles across Wales. They interspersed these with trips to court and Fyfield, and squeezed in a visit to the Isle of Wight to see Thomas and Maggie whenever they could manage it.

  And Catherine finally met Matthew’s daughter, Margaret. Now she understood the reason for his reluctance to introduce them. Margaret came to visit in January, after Yuletide, on her way back to her estate at Ewyas with her husband, Sir Richard Herbert, the bastard son of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. Catherine had been acquainted with the young man at court when he had been an usher to Henry VII, and she had found him soft-spoken and inoffensive. It was an advantageous marriage that Matthew had secured for his only child, for Richard enjoyed a close connection with his noble kin.

  As Catherine stepped forward to greet her stepdaughter, she saw that Margaret looked nothing like Matthew. Likely she favored her mother, Matthew’s first wife, Jane Mansell. Margaret was only five years younger than Catherine, and a woman of wide berth whose face might have once passed for fair. But now her enormous fatty cheeks buried her small eyes and mouth, giving her the look of a blowfish. Nor did it help her demeanor that she wore a displeased expression. And displeased she proved to be, as Catherine discovered. Margaret did not approve of her father’s new marriage.

  Margaret assumed a stony stance as Catherine embraced her, and she did not return her smile.

  “Lady Catherine,” said Sir Richard pleasantly, ignoring his wife’s glare, “it has been a long time since we last met. You look very well indeed.” His two sons stood scowling behind their mother and watched him embrace Catherine as kin, but they made no move to emulate his example. Turning to his boys, Sir Richard brought them forward. “And this is my eldest, George, who is sixteen . . . and this is my younger boy, William. He is fourteen.” Both of them, roundfaced and plump like their mother, stared at Catherine sullenly.

  “Charming,” said Catherine, at a loss. “This is my cousin Alice Hay.” She turned to Alice.

  Sir Richard gave her a kin’s embrace, but once again Margaret and her sons watched with displeasure. Entering the house with heads held high, they gave the servants their cloak
s and furs, and passed through the entry toward the great hall. “Father, you used to have such good taste. What happened?” Margaret said, throwing a disdainful glance around, her little eyes glinting. “The ceiling in the hall is far too low, and the moldings have few carvings. Moreover, had you tried, I am certain that you could have found better carpets than these—” She looked with disgust at the Saracen rugs that Matthew had brought back from France.

  A muscle twitched in Matthew’s jaw and his face was as dark as a thundercloud. He made no reply. Instead, he turned to his son-in-law.

  “I hope your journey from Ewyas was a comfortable one?” Matthew said, pointedly ignoring his daughter.

  “Snow made the roads a trifle slippery, but it was nothing we couldn’t manage,” Sir Richard replied. “How do you like Wales so far, Lady Catherine?”

  “Delightful, Sir Richard. In many ways it reminds me of Scotland,” Catherine said, relieved by his courtesy. She led the way into the hall.

  “Never been to Scotland, and never care to go,” offered Margaret, her skirts swishing as she moved. “Belligerent lot from what I hear. Always fighting with one another. Oh—I am sorry—I forgot—” She looked directly at Catherine, a cold smile on her thin lips as she smoothed her skirts and sat down.

  “Margaret, dear,” Catherine said. “The reason we Scots fight so often among ourselves is that we’re assured of having a worthy opponent that way.” Then she returned Margaret’s cold smile. A silence fell. Margaret went directly to the settle and Catherine saw that what she didn’t take up with her ample girth, she covered with her skirts. Catherine called for a chair to be brought. She looked at Margaret, and said sweetly, “Since the settle has no room for two this day.”

  Servants entered with trays of sweetmeats and wine and passed them around as everyone watched in silence. Then the boys seized a fist full and began a food fight. “That is enough,” exclaimed Matthew. “If you cannot behave like gentlemen, you need to go outside with the pigs.”

  The children made ugly faces, and Sir Richard, in an effort to keep the peace, sent them upstairs to play. “Boys,” he grinned sheepishly. “Sometimes they can be a handful.”

  “Indeed,” said Matthew, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “It has been a long time since we saw you last, Father,” said Sir Richard. “You have not come to Ewyas to visit us.”

  “We have been busy with the king’s business, and other matters,” replied Matthew, being only partially truthful.

  “Speaking of the king’s business, in Wales there is talk that King Henry wishes to set aside his queen,” Margaret said, munching on a sweetmeat. “Any truth to the rumor?”

  “There has been talk at court also, ever since the queen miscarried her second child in the autumn,” Matthew replied.

  “But the queen is with child again, is she not? She may have a son this time,” said Margaret.

  “That is everyone’s hope,” Matthew replied.

  “There is also talk that King Henry is much displeased with the queen’s father, King Ferdinand, and that there is friction in the royal family.” Margaret popped another sweetmeat into her mouth.

  “Friction is nothing unusual in families, royal or otherwise,” said Matthew, throwing his daughter a hard look. “King Henry has reason to be upset with his father-in-law. Ferdinand of Spain has treated him with contempt.”

  “Indeed, I have heard that the king seeks revenge on the queen’s father. Do you think the king will truly rid himself of his queen to wed a French princess, merely to spite Spain? After all, he hates France.”

  “If the queen gives birth to a son, the question will be mute,” Matthew said. “Meantime, I do not think on such matters, and if you value your life and your position, daughter, you will not think on it either.” Matthew would have to have yet another discussion with his son-in-law about his wife’s tongue. Many a man had been sent to the Tower for less, and God forfend, should that happen, there was little he himself, or even Pembroke, could do to save them.

  For a while, Sir Richard and Matthew kept the talk turned to more benign subjects such as the weather, and whether to plant cabbages and barley come spring, or invest in skins, or to add to the head of cattle, or to sheep for the wool. But Margaret finally found an entrée.

  “I hear from my father-in-law, the Earl of Pembroke, that Sir Thomas More has penned a history of King Richard III, pointing the finger at Sir James Tyrrell as the confessed murderer of the little princes in the Tower. What do you think of that?” Margaret asked, directing herself to Catherine.

  Catherine wanted to slap her face. She restrained herself with difficulty from leaping up and telling her exactly what she thought of it. More was a protégé of Cardinal Morton, a sworn enemy of King Richard, and only five years old when the king died. Many believed More’s so-called “history” of King Richard’s reign was Morton’s own work, dictated to young More while he still lived. Since Morton died in 1500, and Tyrrell wasn’t taken to the Tower until 1501, how could Morton have “known” such a thing before his death? But Catherine knew the perils of speaking out and saw the trap the malicious woman had set for her. She rose to her feet and, excusing herself, left the room.

  “There must be something wrong with the design of this hearth,” Catherine heard Margaret announce as she left. “The fire does not draw near as well as the Earl of Pembroke’s, Father. You should have consulted him on the dimensions of the flue . . .”

  Before her stepfamily left New Place, Catherine gave them the gifts she had laboriously prepared for Yuletide. For George, she had a sword of finest steel, and for William, an archery set with bows constructed of knot-free yew with solid wood shafts, set in a maroon velvet case tied with silk ribbons. For Margaret, she had spared no expense; with her own hands she had painstakingly embroidered on rose silk a peacock seated in an orchard, a work that had kept her up many nights. But she could never have anticipated what happened as a result of her gifts.

  Soon after the exchange, the boys left for the garden, and when shouts and cries came from outside, everyone ran out to see what the problem was. The servants’ eyes were wide in horror. They stood covering their ears and some wept, for the boys had decided to practice their skills on a hound. The poor creature was covered in blood and howling in agony with the most heartrending cries Catherine had ever heard from an animal. At last a servant came forward and cut the creature’s throat to put him out of his misery. Blood poured into the sand and Catherine turned away, sickened by the sight. When the Herberts finally left, she found the gifts she had laboriously collected for them thrown aside in their rooms and the tapestry crumpled into a ball and smelling of urine.

  She had never witnessed such boorish behavior before in her life. Though people at court might harbor malice, they were careful to mask their true feelings beneath a cloak of civility. But this! Catherine was so exhausted after their departure that she slept for days. But she was determined to do what she could to mend the relationship.

  “Matthew, it is natural that Margaret sees me as a usurper of her mother’s affections in your heart, but I wish to win her over,” she said, broaching the subject that weighed on her. “What can I do?”

  “Put her out of your mind, Catherine. She was always a troublesome child, but this is the worst I’ve ever seen her. I fear she is losing her wits with age.”

  Catherine dreaded every visit the Herberts made, but fortunately these were few, partly for Margaret’s dislike of Catherine and anger at her father, and partly because Matthew was in truth so busy that they were rarely in a place long enough for anyone to arrange a visit. Since the beginning of the year, the pace for him had been frenetic. Often Catherine worried that it was too much for a man of his years, but he never complained. In March, they moved into their London town house so Matthew could attend his heavy demands at court.

  During this time, she barely saw him. He came home late to their London house, for there was much to do. King Harry had decided to make
an alliance with France in order to punish Ferdinand of Spain, and the necessary arrangements required the expertise that only a handful of men such as Cardinal Wolsey, Somerset, and Matthew could provide. Preparations were frenzied; there was not a moment to be lost. King Harry, it seemed, was a man in a hurry.

  Before the meeting with France took place, he had pledged to meet with the Holy Roman Emperor Charles on English soil. Both Charles and Francis disliked the idea of Harry meeting with the other, but Harry was determined to bring together these old enemies and get their support against his father-in-law. While they prepared for this important occasion, a vast number of details had to be arranged for the meeting in France in May. There were delicate matters of protocol to be decided; the king and his huge entourage had to be transported across the sea; they had to be accommodated on foreign soil in suitable royal style. And time was short.

  After much debate, it was decided that Harry and Francis would meet on the Field of Gold in France. Matthew helped plan the tournament and dealt with the problems of transportation and accommodations. He worried whether it would be more expensive to buy flour in Calais or England, and whether there would be enough wine and beer; enough geese, storks, rabbits, quails, and cheese; enough fuel for the kitchens. He ensured the purchase and shipping of hundreds of pounds of velvet, sarcenet, satin, cloth of gold and doublets, bonnets, shirts, and boots for the royal household, and found tailors and dressmakers to make the garments. He ordered hundreds of tents and pavilions, and sent them to France, along with food for both men and beasts. He shipped mountains of plates, cutlery, and glass and hired six thousand carpenters and workmen to set up the tents that would house the English nobility.