Cheapside was richly decorated to welcome the king. It was obvious that more money had been spent on welcoming the king than its inhabitants had spent on food all winter, and the pageants did not disappoint. My favourite was the tribute to Jane Seymour. A phoenix, which had been her device, descended from the heavens to land on a York and Lancaster rose-covered mount. A crowned lion approached with his cub, and two angels from heaven crowned him. Of course Edward the Confessor made an appearance, that was only to be expected as the king had been named for him. Other tableaux greeted our new monarch as he marched towards Westminster. The conduits ran blood-red with wine.
After we took all the cold we could bear, Nan and I hurried back to the palace, eager to warm ourselves before the fire. We sipped spiced mead and watched the fire dance in the hearth.
I took a sip of my warm mead and turned to Nan. “What shall you do now that there is no queen to serve?”
Nan rocked back and forth silently while she considered her response. “I have been called to serve the Princess Mary and will leave for her household after the coronation festivities are over.”
I contemplated this. “I suppose that would be an excellent place for you. She still keeps the old ways and I know your family has always kept to them. She will treat you well.”
Nan stopped rocking, “What will you do now, Catherine?”
I replied thoughtfully. “Oh, I am certain I will be with child again soon. It is different for me. I have a house full of children waiting for me back at Greys Court. Besides, you know the princess would never request my services,” I lowered my voice, “with my husband being a heretic and all.”
Nan snorted. “Yes, well, there is that.”
“Francis says that should the king die before he has an heir we should all be in fear for what she will do. But I have known Mary since I came to Court. She may be stubborn but I don’t think she would cause harm to anyone. All this fuss over religion. Does it truly matter the way that we worship? I shall never understand.”
Nan nodded and said sagely, “It has become a game of power.”
She was right. I just prayed that my Francis would not be sacrificed in the struggle.
By the time I woke up the next morning, Francis was gone. I knew it would be another long day and the weather was still just as cold, so I bundled into my pale blue gown and found a sable to match. I dug the sapphire earrings out of my jewellery box and kissed them before placing them on my ears. If you are listening, Father, I hope you see your son ascend your throne today, I thought to myself.
The king had come by barge down the frigid Thames from Westminster to gather his robes. We watched him, clad in crimson and ermine, process under a canopy carried by the barons of the Cinque Ports to Westminster Abbey. Lords Dudley, Parr and Seymour carried his train. This time the Seymour uncle was the jovial and dashing Thomas. Francis and Stafford followed behind with the other gentleman of the court.
Nan and I took a carriage to Westminster Abbey. I had never seen it decorated so gloriously. The little king walked stiffly to the dais that held his throne. He was so weighed down in his robes and jewels that it was a wonder he made it there at all. He climbed into that imperious chair that had held all the monarchs before him and I wondered if he felt buffeted by their strength around him.
Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, began his sermon. He called on Edward to be like Josiah. The biblical King Josiah ascended the throne at the age of eight and set about reforming his church. Cranmer’s insinuation was not lost on us. He was asking Edward to continue his father’s efforts to break from Rome and free England from its idolatry.
The service dragged on for hours, but eventually Cranmer produced the imperial crown. In a break with tradition, both Cranmer and the lord protector, the Duke of Somerset, placed it on Edward’s head. His thin shoulders sank under the weight. The archbishop anointed him and replaced the cumbersome crown with a lighter one that had been created especially for this occasion. Certain members of the nobility handed Edward the sceptre, orb, St Edward’s staff and the spurs. Through it all Edward showed a gravity that belied his tender age. This was the moment he had been preparing for his whole short life. The nobility rose and came before him to kiss him, one by one, on his cheek. The young prince had finally come into his inheritance.
After the ceremony, we walked to the great hall to feast. Edward sat high on the dais surrounded by his liege men. It was Lent so, much like the feast after King Henry’s marriage to Anne of Cleves, there was no red meat. Platters of trout, crab and oysters made the rounds, along with pheasant, duck and plover. The subtleties were most impressive. I saw palaces made of delicate sugar, and a dragon of St George in the most vivid shades of green and red.
It was a beautiful day in the tiltyards and the perfect weather for a tournament. Francis would not be participating as he was not a knight, but he would be down in the lists preparing the players, so I enjoyed the show with Nan. We climbed the stands that had been set up and found ourselves a comfortable spot.
The peal of trumpets sounded and we all jumped from our seats at King Edward’s entrance. He still appeared quite small, but this time he was not drowning in robes. He wore a doublet of Tudor green trimmed with ermine. The smaller crown from the coronation service sat on his head and sparkled in the late morning sun. He raised his hand and waved to the courtiers. Someone shouted, “God save the King!” and we all responded, “God Save Good King Edward!” The king clapped his hands together in excitement. The Duke of Somerset put his hand on his shoulder and urged him on.
The king made his way to the diminutive throne that had been set up for him and once he was seated we all followed suit. The knights began their parade. Nan’s brother came out first, astride a raven black destrier. He tipped his cap towards us as he rode by and stopped for his wife’s favour. Next, came the king’s other uncle, Thomas Seymour, now Baron Sudeley. Thomas rode a snow-white destrier and, as he came closer to us, he held out his lance to Nan. She giggled shyly and glanced at me.
I sighed. “Well, grant him your favour.”
She pulled off a scarf that was tied to her wrist and attached it quickly to Seymour’s lance. He gave her a wink and finished his round.
“What was that about?” I asked her.
She flushed. “Lord Sudeley is quite charming. I am sure it was just a mere flirtation.”
My eyes followed Seymour as he rode out of the arena. “Yes, I am sure it was.”
The afternoon flew by in a rush of lance slivers and flashes of armour. Thomas Seymour won the day and it greatly pleased the king. He was honoured at the banquet that night with a seat next to him on the royal dais. Somerset seemed very annoyed. He spent the evening glaring at his brother and monopolising the conversation with the king.
The dowager queen had moved to her new home at Chelsea so there was no need for me to stay on at Court, but Francis desired my company so I obliged him. The Princess Elizabeth left shortly after the celebrations to go back to her studies at Hatfield. The night before she left I went to visit her rooms to bid her farewell. As I left my bedchamber, I grabbed a small trinket from my jewellery box.
Elizabeth’s rooms had been cleaned already. The scent of sage in the fresh rushes greeted me in the doorway. Her back was to me, so I knocked lightly on the door to avoid startling her. She spun around. “Mistress Knollys, you startled me! I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”
“I came to say goodbye. I will miss seeing you at Court. It has always been a pleasure to serve you during your visits.”
“Thank you. I have enjoyed our time together as well.” She considered me thoughtfully, “You know I often forget that we are cousins. No one ever talks about my mother.”
She plopped down on her bed and sighed. Her legs swung back and forth, just brushing the rushes below her feet. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Do you miss your children when you are at Court, Mistress Knollys?”
“Please call me Catherine, my lady. Yes,
I miss them very much. I wonder how they have grown and what they are learning. I want to tuck them into bed at night and kiss their little cheeks.”
She nodded her head. “Yes, I suppose mothers do want to do those things.”
I shook my head. “No, not all mothers do, but I do. I feel like my children are a part of me and I miss them as I would miss a part of myself. But not all mothers feel the same way.”
She sat in silence, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the heel of the other. Finally she asked, “Mistress - I mean - Catherine, do you suppose my mother would have liked to do those things?” She looked at me hopefully.
I held out my hand, offering it to her. She put her hand in mine. Her fingers were gracefully long and her milky skin was smooth to the touch. They were warm despite the chill in the air.
“Of course I think your mother would have loved to do those things. She loved you very much. I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know that. My mother told me how she would visit you at your household at every opportunity. And your wardrobe! She wanted you to have the best pieces and the latest fashions, though you were not old enough to do much more than mess yourself in them.” We both chuckled heartily at my remark.
“Catherine, will you tell me what you remember about her?” she asked earnestly.
I searched my memory. “She despised monkeys, I know that. The old queen, Catherine, had a monkey that Anne could not abide, but she did enjoy other animals. She had an adorable puppy named Purkoy that she loved. When she was pregnant with you she craved apples. She loved to dance and, oh, how she loved music. She made such beautiful music on her lute. Your mother was intelligent, well-read and she had the best sense of humour, but she had such a temper.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”
“Of course, my lady.” I brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes. “You have her eyes. You look like a Tudor in everything else, but you got your eyes and lips from her.”
Those deep brown eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She stood up from her bed and looked sadly around the room. “I wish we could keep talking, but I have to get ready to go back to Hatfield now. Thank you for all the kindness you have shown me.”
I stood up and pulled the trinket out of the small bag I had tied to my girdle. I placed it gently in Elizabeth’s hand, closing her fingers around it.
“Keep this with you always. My mother gave it to me and now it is yours.” I said.
She looked down and stared at the miniature of her mother, tracing her fingers across the picture.
She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I will treasure it always.”
After serving three queens, I found it rather nice to live at my own pace. Not needing to be in the queen’s rooms by a certain hour meant that I could come and go as I pleased. While Francis tended to his duties, I spent my afternoons walking in the gardens at Whitehall, practising my horsemanship in the park, and curling up next to the fire with my embroidery. At night, Francis and I loved made love like newly-weds. I was finally able to give him all my attention.
In March, Lord Chancellor Wriothesley was arrested and forced to resign his post. Francis informed me that it was because he refused to affix the Great Seal to the letters patent naming Somerset lord protector. Lord Rich was appointed in his stead and now Somerset was the most powerful man in England after the king. Francis was pleased that his ally was rising at Court, but he fretted over Somerset’s increasing greed and arrogance.
The king and Somerset’s men set about destroying the last of the Catholic icons. Royal agents stormed the churches smashing statues of the Virgin Mary and Jesus, breaking out the stained-glass windows depicting Jesus’s miracles and making off with the church’s goods.
In July the turmoil peaked. After a secret courtship, Thomas Seymour and the dowager queen were married at her home in Chelsea. The king and Somerset were enraged. “How dare she marry? My father is hardly cold in his grave!” I heard the young king shout as I passed by his presence chamber.
I too believed she may have married in haste, but secretly I was pleased for her. It had been obvious to all of us that she had been in love with Seymour for a very long time. Her marriage to my father had been fraught with danger and I hoped she had finally found happiness.
Soon enough, all was forgiven. England was going to war with the Scots and Seymour was a gifted soldier. His skill and experience were desperately needed.
As Francis and I lay side-by-side, I gazed lovingly into his eyes. I cupped his cheek in my palm and kissed him. “Are you ready for another child, my love?” I asked him.
He pulled me closer to him and kissed my shoulder. “My home is blessed. I am so pleased to hear you are with child. It makes the news I had earlier so much easier to take.”
I pulled back in alarm. “What news?”
“I am to go with Somerset’s army to Scotland. They will not agree to the marriage treaty between our king and Mary Stuart. The king is sending Somerset to bring them to heel. Our army departs next week.”
I raised his hand to my lips. “I trust in God to keep you safe and will pray for you and your success on your journey.”
Francis raised his eyebrow. “No tears this time?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“I am slightly disappointed,” he said, chuckling.
I snuggled into him. “I shall make it up to you upon your return.”
Oxfordshire, Rotherfield Greys:
September 1547 - December 1549
The carriage ride back to Greys Court was miserable. We had an early autumn rainstorm only an hour into our journey. Fat, cold droplets of water pounded the wooden plank roof of the carriage and seeped into the cracks on the floor. The roads were filled with ruts and every time the wheels hit one, I bounced against the seat. I had yet to be sick with this child and was relieved to think I would get away this time, but the ride proved me wrong and before long we were stopping at the side of the road until I could control my heaving.
The driver came around the back to check on me. I was bent over spitting out the last of supper from last night.
“My lady, are you sure you can continue in this condition?”
I looked up, wiping my mouth. “Thank you for your concern, but I am desperate to see my children. I will be fine. We can continue in just a moment.”
He gave a small nod. “As you wish, my lady.”
We arrived at Greys Court a few hours later and after a small ale and some sleep, I felt much better. I awoke to the patter of tiny feet running past my closed door and for a moment lay awake in my bed listening to the giggling of my children. I felt so content to be home again.
I got out of bed and tiptoed quietly across the room. I threw open the door and shouted, “Caught you!”
A little voice squealed with delight. I stepped through the doorway. “Where have my lovely children gone?” I called out.
More giggles and then Lettice’s golden red curls bobbed in the doorway down the hall. She peeked out. “Mother!” She broke into a run and slammed head first into my waist. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her to my hip.
“You are getting entirely too big for me to lift, young lady!”
She wriggled around. “Then put me down!” she cried indignantly.
“As you wish,” I said, lowering her to the ground.
She turned to blow me a kiss and then scampered off in search of her brothers and sister.
I slipped my shoes back on, adjusted my hood and made my way downstairs. Two of my children were sitting before the hearth with their tutor. Harry was hunched over his work. His hair was falling into his eyes and I had to restrain myself from brushing it away. Mary sat curled up in the chair, dozing. Her thumb was wedged in her mouth and every time it slipped out she would startle and push it back in. Lettice had not yet returned. She was probably off causing trouble for her nurse. I hung back and watched thi
s domestic scene.
I prayed nightly for my husband’s success in Scotland, but I secretly hoped that the Scottish queen would not be sent right away. I had been home only hours and was already dreading my return to Court.
I waited on edge for word from Scotland. Each time a visitor rode up on horseback I anxiously paced by the door waiting for Henry to come in with news, and each time Henry shook his head I went back to fretting. Finally, near the end of the month, Henry came back in with a smile. He held up the wrinkled roll of parchment for all of us to see. “We won! We defeated the Scots! God save King Edward!”
I lunged at Henry and wrapped him in a hug.
“My lady!” he called out, shocked.
Quickly I stepped back; I could feel the heat rising to my face.
“My apologies,” I said, mortified. “I was just so relieved for Francis’s safety that I did not think.”
Henry broke into a laugh, “Oh why not? We are both relieved.” He wrapped his arms around me and we both breathed a sigh of relief.
Francis arrived home a week later. He was caked in mud and though he got off his horse easily he was walking with a slight limp. I ran out to greet him. Not caring about the mud, I threw myself into his arms and plied him with kisses.
“Sweet Francis, I am so glad you came home to me. I prayed every night for you.”
He squeezed me tighter and I smelled the smoke and dirt seeping from his skin. I pulled him into the house and, while the children attacked him from all sides, I called for a tub to be set before the fire in our room so he could bathe. The children chattered excitedly, shoving each other aside so each could be the centre of his attention. Francis, trying so hard to be gracious and show interest, gave me a weary look.
I clapped my hands together. “All right children. Let’s give your father some room to breathe and a chance to get cleaned up. I am certain he will be most happy to spend some time with you all once he has had a bath and a nap. Now, run along and let Uncle Henry know that your father is home.”
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 9
