Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  “I know we’re lucky to have the room,” grumbled Heartha, “for that Betty of your sister’s tells me so often enough, but Lady Bliss didn’t tell no lies when she said it was small, m’lady.” She looked with jaundiced eyes about the almost square, paneled room with its one lead-paned double window and small fireplace. There was nothing in the room except a large bed with a trundle, and a single straight-backed chair. There were no hangings upon the bed, which almost took up the entire space.

  “It will be fine, Heartha. It is neither RiversEdge, with all its memories, nor Ashby, where I cannot be myself any longer. This little room is now my home and yours. Let us work to make it comfortable before nightfall.”

  Though the tiring woman fussed that Blaze should sit quietly while she made the room presentable, Blaze would have none of it. Surprisingly the room was quite clean, and freshly swept. Together the two women hung the bed hangings, which were green velvet on natural-colored linen. Blaze had beautiful linen sheets, which she brought from a trunk, placing her fine feather bed over the straw mattress first. The sheets were scented with her favorite fragrance, sweet violets, and the bed quickly looked comfortable and inviting. Working together, the two women had the chamber quite presentable by the time Bliss and Owen returned. There were draperies upon the window, a candlestand by one side of the bed, the small trunks holding Blaze’s clothing had been placed strategically, and Blaze’s gowns were already hung in a small section of her sister’s dressing room which had been allotted her by Betty, who was Bliss’s tiring woman.

  At supper they sat with Lady Adela Marlowe and her husband, Sir John. John Marlowe had a small place as a gentleman of the bedchamber, and his wife had become Bliss’s best friend since her arrival at court. Adela Marlowe was a pretty girl with coal-black curls and lively brown eyes.

  “We are so sorry to hear of your loss, Lady Wyndham,” she said, “but you were right to come to court. It is the best place to find another husband.”

  Bliss choked upon a mouthful of rabbit pie, but she managed to quickly say, “Dearest Adela, Blaze has not come to find another husband.”

  Adela Marlowe looked disbelieving, but seeing her best friend’s pleading look, she stammered, “N-no? Oh? I ... I did not know.”

  “I do not plan on marrying again, Lady Marlowe,” Blaze said softly. “No man could possibly take the place of my Edmund.”

  “N-no, no, certainly not,” murmured Lady Marlowe, wondering if Lady Wyndham were mad, but Bliss later confided in her friend, much to that lady’s relief.

  The following day the two women showed Blaze about Greenwich. The palace had been built in the previous century and originally was called ’Bella Court. Over the years it had passed through various royal hands, becoming Pleasaunce under the ownership of Henry VI’s queen, Margaret of Anjou, who paved the floors with terra-cotta tiles, and glazed all of the windows as well as adding a vestry to house her jewels, and a pier on the river for her barge. Henry VII changed the palace’s name once again, this time to Greenwich Palace, and gave the stone buildings a new face of redbrick.

  The palace was built around three quadrangles, which were called the Fountain, Cellar, and Tennis courts. Its main gateway stood directly opposite Queen Margaret’s pier. On the land side of the palace were gardens and a hunting preserve that was enclosed. It was Henry’s favorite residence, Bliss told her sister.

  “How many does he have?” asked Blaze, curious, for it seemed odd to her that anyone would need more than one house, even a king.

  “Well,” said Bliss, “there is Westminster in the city, although since the great fire in 1512 the king has not lived there, although his bedchamber, the Painted Chamber, was untouched. There is The Tower, of course, and Baynards Castle on Thames Street, which is considered very beautiful, and is large and modern. There is Bridewell, also in London. The king built it just a few years ago, but we only sometimes stay there. Outside of the city there is Richmond, Eltham, Windsor, Woodstock in Oxfordshire, but that is just a tumbledown hunting lodge, and the court never goes there. And, of course, Greenwich.”

  “I still do not understand why it is necessary for him to have all those castles,” said Blaze.

  “He has them because he is the king, silly,” laughed Bliss.

  They had exchanged Twelfth Night gifts that morning, Blaze giving her brother-in-law a fine jeweled dagger with a gold hilt. For Bliss she had a pair of pearl-and-sapphire earbobs, which caused Bliss to squeal with delight, for she loved beautiful jewelry. In return she and her handsome husband gave Blaze a lovely gold-and-black enameled chain from which hung a large tear-drop pearl with a pinkish hue.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Blaze exclaimed. “I shall wear it tonight.”

  In the evening after the feasting, Bliss left her elder sister with Lady Marlowe while she hurried off to change into her costume. The king had been in the banqueting hall, but Blaze had only seen him from a distance, but he indeed seemed everything her sister said. It would be exciting to actually meet him, which she would do after the masque.

  The masque was beautiful to the eye. Young pages in red velvet and cloth-of-gold suits rolled in a castle with four delicately soaring towers, all constructed of wood covered in paper of silver and gold gilt. Suddenly there was a dull boom and a puff of smoke, which, upon clearing, revealed a most fearsome dragon with green-gold scales and ruby-red eyes guarding the castle.

  “Look,” whispered Adela Marlowe, pointing to the four towers of the castle where had suddenly appeared within each window a beautiful woman. “They are Innocence, Charm, Wisdom, and Virtue,” said Lady Marlowe. “The dragon is Gloom and Deceit.”

  Blaze could see that the women were clothed in beautiful glowing draped silks. Bliss in sky-blue and gold, the others in pink and silver, green and silver, and red and gold. Then from the dimness of the area set aside for the masque came four knights, each garbed in a single color. There was a gold knight that Adela murmured was the king, as well as a silver knight, a green knight and a red knight.

  “They are Ardent Desire, Tender Passions, Worldly Wise, and Sweet Pleasures,” said Blaze’s companion, “and they must overcome Gloom and Deceit in order to gain their ladyloves.”

  Blaze’s violet-blue eyes were wide with amazement. She had never seen any entertainment other than Morris dancers and mummers. She had not even imagined that such elegant amusement could exist. Fascinated, she watched as the mock battle was fought between the brave knights and their fearsome opponent. At one point the dragon belched flame and smoke, and she shrieked her surprise along with the rest of the audience. Finally however the great beast was overcome. From the castle emerged Innocence, Charm, Wisdom, and Virtue in their flowing garments to dance gracefully with Ardent Desire, Tender Passions, Worldly Wise, and Sweet Pleasures.

  “What did you think?” demanded Lady Marlowe as the four couples danced their way off into the gloom.

  “It was wonderful!” said Blaze, her face bright with her excitement. “Being in mourning, I feel almost guilty sitting here enjoying it.”

  “You have behaved properly,” said Lady Marlowe. “You have not involved yourself, and you will not dance this evening, although from the looks that have been coming your way, I know that many gentlemen will be deeply disappointed.”

  “Why would gentlemen look at me?” Blaze said innocently.

  Adela Marlowe laughed softly. “Dearest Blaze, I see that Bliss and I shall really have to keep an eye on you. For a widow you are most naive. The gentlemen of the court look at you for various and sundry reasons. For one, you are very beautiful. You are also a new face. Then, too, they are for the most part a randy bunch who see any newcomer as fair game.”

  Blaze blushed, understanding her new friend quite well. “I do not see the queen,” she said, attempting to change the subject.

  “And you will not,” came the reply. “The king has sent her away, for he is angry with her, and the Princess Mary also.” She lowered her voice. “The queen, you see, refuses to be re
asonable regarding the king’s great matter.”

  “I cannot help but feel sorry for her,” said Blaze.

  Adela Marlowe nodded. “She is a good and virtuous woman, but she is too prideful. She puts her own pride and her own interests above those of England, but what could we expect? She is, after all, a foreigner, no matter her many years in England.”

  Bliss rejoined them, now regowned in her dress of medium blue velvet with its pearl, silver, and rose-quartz embroidery. “Owen is bringing the king to meet you,” she said excitedly, and then she adjusted Blaze’s headdress. “Ohh, I wish your gown were more festive!”

  “I mourn my husband, Bliss,” Blaze reminded her sister. “My gown is quite suitable.”

  “Indeed it is,” agreed Lady Marlowe.

  “I wore your lovely chain,” Blaze said, trying to cheer Bliss.

  “It does help,” she admitted, surveying her elder sister once more. Blaze’s gown of rich black velvet was virtually unadorned but for some pearl-and-gold embroidery on the bodice. Even her underskirt was plain black silk brocade. Only the delicate lace of her cream-colored chemise top and its ruffled cuffs which showed from beneath her gown relieved the severity of her look. Bliss silently mourned that Blaze’s beautiful honey-colored hair was almost totally hidden beneath her charming cap, but at least the cap was heavily adorned with gold and pearls, and its flowing black silk veil shot through with bits of gold thread.

  “Here he comes!” hissed Adela Marlowe, and she swept her skirts into a graceful curtsy that was echoed by her two companions.

  “Sire,” said Owen FitzHugh, “may I present to you my sister-in-law, Lady Blaze Wyndham, the dowager Countess of Langford.”

  Henry Tudor looked down on the three women. Both Bliss and the pretty Lady Marlowe were smiling up at him from their obeisance. Reaching out his big hand, he cupped the face of the third woman and tipped it up so he might see it. “Such beauty, Lady Wyndham, should not be hidden from your king,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.

  Blaze’s eyes widened noticeably, the pupils black against the violet blue of her irises. She could not speak for a moment, and beside her Bliss almost groaned aloud. Didn’t her sister realize that the king’s favor was important? Henry continued to stare for a moment longer, and Blaze’s cheeks grew pink with a blush which caused the king to smile.

  “You are even prettier with your pink cheeks,” he noted. “It is rare I see so charming and genuinely innocent a blush here at court. Welcome, Blaze Wyndham.”

  She finally found her tongue. “Your majesty is most gracious, and I thank you,” she said.

  The king raised her up, which allowed the other two women to arise also. “Owen tells me you are newly widowed. I regret that such tragedy should bring you to us, but I cannot be sorry to have such a particularly lovely woman adding luster to my court.”

  “My lord was killed in an accident two months ago,” said Blaze softly.

  “Then I cannot ask you to dance, my lady, and that saddens me, for I suspect that you dance well. On May Day, however, I shall ask you to dance, for surely by then you will allow yourself that small pleasure.” His blue eyes swept over her assessingly. She was very lovely, he thought. Her skin was so very white against the black velvet of her gown. He contemplated the delights of caressing that skin, which was surely as soft as it looked. As for the pearl which hung down from her chain to nestle between her breasts, he envied it its place. In time, he cautioned himself. He could see that despite her widowhood she was indeed an innocent, but with the experience born of his royalty he hid his lust well.

  She spoke once more. “I believe that if your majesty should ask me to dance with him on May Day, I could not refuse. Indeed I should consider it the greatest honor I have ever had.” Then she smiled up at him, and Henry Tudor realized she was not just pretty. She was startlingly beautiful!

  He smiled back at her, and then without another word he moved off. So she would consider dancing with him an honor. The king’s smile broadened. He had other, far sweeter honors in store for the beautiful widowed dowager Countess of Langford.

  “You have pleased him!” chortled Bliss. “God’s foot, I thought you would disgrace yourself and us too when you were at first so tongue-tied with him.”

  “Do not be so openly ambitious for your sister, Bliss,” Lord FitzHugh chided his wife. “The king understands sorrow, for he mourned his mother and his brother, Arthur, deeply. Besides, he does not like bold women. Blaze was perfect.” Perhaps too perfect, the Earl of Marwood worried silently. He had been with the king for many years, and he knew all of Henry’s looks, though the king thought himself a master of deceit. The king was bored for feminine amusement. Bessie Blount was no longer his lover, but rather his good friend. Pretty little Mary Boleyn had slipped into domesticity. She had never been particularly witty and quick for all her bovine charms. No, Henry was bored, and looking for a new conquest. Owen FitzHugh knew his sovereign well. The king was patient when he truly desired something. Time would tell how serious his intentions were regarding Blaze.

  The winter passed quietly enough, and with the Lenten season, many of the court took the opportunity to visit their holdings, for Lent at court was dull without all the usual amusements. The Earl and Countess of Marwood and Blaze were among those who remained, however, for the king could not be left devoid of companions. Owen FitzHugh was the king’s favorite tennis opponent, for despite his sovereign’s royal station, the young earl played to win, which pleased the king. Henry did not always triumph in his matches with Owen FitzHugh, but he won more than he lost, and when he won, he knew it was fairly. By mid-February the weather was beginning to grow slightly milder, and the king, when not hunting or shooting at the butts, played tennis.

  Evenings were spent quietly talking, playing at word games, and listening to gentle music, for frivolity was forbidden in this penitential season. Lady Wyndham was now, amid the general dearth of pretty women, obvious to all the gentlemen, and her company eagerly sought out. To those who merely desired to repartee with her, or walk with her chatting through the picture gallery, she was charming and amusing. Unfortunately, far too many of the king’s gentlemen, even those with wives, sought more than the pleasure of Blaze’s company, and they found to their surprise that the gentle-looking widowed countess had a fierce temper. More than one gentleman had his face slapped in attempting a kiss, and this gave rise to the rumor by those of the more vindictive and disappointed gentlemen that Lady Wyndham was a coldhearted tease. Some, however, were more graphic in their failure to breach virtue’s walls.

  “The little bitch is no more than a cock-tease,” grumbled Thomas Seymour one evening.

  “What, Tom, and have you also failed with Lady Wyndham?” mocked Lord Arden. “You are in good company, my lad, for none of us has been able to skirt the lady’s defenses.”

  “What you mean, gentlemen,” laughed Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, who was both the king’s brother-in-law and close friend, “is that none of you has been able to lift the lady’s skirts!”

  “Well punned, brother Charles,” chuckled the king, “but I must reprimand you gentlemen who would seek to impugn a helpless young widow’s honor.”

  “You would not think her so helpless had you been slapped by her, sire,” complained Thomas Seymour. “By God, my ears are still ringing with the blow!”

  “Cease your chatter, Seymour,” hissed Lord Arden. “Have you not realized by now that the king means to have Lady Wyndham for himself?”

  Seymour looked furtively to the king, but Henry Tudor had already turned away and was engaging another friend in conversation.

  The weather grew milder until it seemed as if spring had simply burst suddenly upon the land. The court had moved twice over the winter, going into the city to stay first at Baynards Castle, and later moving on to Bridewell, which was but three years old. With Easter coming, however, the court returned to Henry’s favorite home, Greenwich. There the grass was bright green with the season, a
nd the lanes were lined with primroses.

  With the coming of Easter, gaiety returned to court along with all those who had earlier left it. The king now took the opportunity to seek Blaze out more and more, insisting that she ride next to him in the hunt; that she walk with him in the picture gallery, where he introduced her to all of his ancestors; that she sit before the fire and play chess with him.

  “My God,” said Bliss excitedly to her husband one day as the king escorted Blaze off for a stroll in the palace gardens, “does this mean what I think it does?”

  “Pray God it does not!” replied Owen FitzHugh fervently.

  “Are you mad?” Bliss demanded of her husband. “Blaze has much more to her character than ever did Bessie Blount or that silly cow Mary Boleyn. She could be a true maîtresse en titre, as is the French king’s mistress. If she bore him a child, so much the better, particularly if it were a son. God knows the king has done well by both Lady Tailboys and Mistress Carey. If she could but engage his heart, our fortunes would all be made! It does not hurt to be related to a king’s mistress, as you well know.”

  Owen FitzHugh shook his head. “What you are suggesting is not in your sister’s nature. Now you, my darling ambitious Bliss, would indeed do well under your sister’s circumstances. Blaze, however, is not that kind of woman.”

  “She cannot refuse the king,” said Bliss.

  “No,” said the Earl of Marwood sadly to his wife, “she cannot, but should it come to that, then you and I must give her all the support she will need.”

  “Oh, pooh!” exclaimed Bliss. “Even Blaze for all of her naivete cannot fail to realize such a golden opportunity should it be offered to her.”

  The king had led Blaze into the middle of a boxwood maze in the gardens and now he teasingly asked, “Shall I leave you here, m’lady, to find your own way out?”

  “I do not think I could,” said Blaze with a smile. “Surely you tease me, sire.”