5

IT WAS A PEAK time for nuptials. King Henry had been busy matching up his trusted and unmarried Lancastrian followers with women of Yorkist family, in order to build Tudor support. I thought it rather an unpleasant way of coercing loyalties. It reminded me of the heinous ‘droit de seigneur’ tactics of the Normans I had read about, after they first conquered England, whereby the new foreign lords of the manor claimed the first night of every village wedding, with the aim of impregnating the bride and spreading Norman blood across the formerly Saxon kingdom.

In the midst of the ten days of royal marriage celebrations in London and Westminster, my mother and I had to request leave from the queen’s service in order to attend my brother’s wedding to Beth Fitzhugh, the young widow of Sir William Parr, who had been Edward the Fourth’s Comptroller of the Household. Somewhat to my surprise, despite her Yorkist background, Nicholas seemed rather taken with his pretty, cheerful bride and quite undaunted by the prospect of playing stepfather to the children of her first marriage. And Beth confided to me that she was looking forward to life with a young husband, instead of one nearly thirty years her senior.

‘When you marry, as I’m sure you very soon will, Joan, I urge you to try and acquire a husband nearer your own age, rather than one old enough to be your father, as my first was. It can make for a difficult relationship.’

I bit back the temptation to confess my secret hope of avoiding the state of matrimony and motherhood altogether and assured her that my brother, as well as being much her own age, was also relatively easy-going. ‘And Nicholas is particularly happy now that he’s recovered our father’s estates,’ I added, delighted at last to visit Harrowden Hall, my brother’s birthplace and the seat of the Vaux family, which had been granted away to a supporter of York in the newly crowned King Edward’s first parliament. ‘He’s been almost penniless all his life until King Henry took the throne – not a very good catch for anyone. But you’ll be able to live a comfortable life here now.’

‘While you and your mother work your shoe-leather to shreds in the service of our new queen!’ Beth cast her eyes skywards. ‘I know what it can be like. I served Queen Anne for the last years of her life, poor sickly lady.’

I decided to avoid the subject of the new queen’s predecessor. ‘And my brother?’ I inquired. ‘Will he take royal service with King Henry?’

‘I believe so but not yet.’ Beth laughed. ‘I think we have been granted a few weeks to “get to know each other”, as they say. No doubt he hopes to sire an heir for his restored estates.’

I decided there and then that I liked my candid sister-in-law and waved in the direction of her two young sons, playing a game together in a corner of the hall. ‘He has reason to believe you will have no problem in providing that.’

She smiled fondly at her boys. ‘There are two little girls as well but they are too young to be present. The poor man is already a stepfather of four.’

I was tempted to ask her how she was so confident of supplying more children for my brother without mishap to herself but resisted, not wishing to saddle her with my own pessimistic attitude towards childbirth or to be told that there was nothing to it. My fear of giving birth sprang from the time I had acquired enough Latin to read the Bible, which had coincided with the start of my menstruation. Reading of Eve’s punishment for giving Adam the apple and beginning to suffer its consequences at the same time had been enough to set me against the whole idea of becoming the vessel of man’s procreation. And rather than arguing with her about it, I preferred to part friends with my new sister-in-law.

A more politically important match was that of Queen Elizabeth’s thirteen-year-old cousin, Margaret Plantagenet, who was living and serving among her maids of honour. King Henry had sent Margaret’s younger brother, eleven-year-old Edward, Earl of Warwick, to live at the Tower of London.

‘Not as a prisoner,’ I had heard him assure Elizabeth when she protested. ‘He is lodged there as my guest, in comfort and security, in order to avoid Yorkist sympathisers being tempted to use him as a focus for rebellion.’

Margaret and Edward were the orphaned offspring of the late King Edward’s younger brother George, who had been Duke of Clarence. They were legally excluded from the royal succession due to his attainder for committing treason against his brother; otherwise young Edward would have been next in line to the throne of his grandfather, outranking all other contenders including Henry himself, a position I assumed must be of serious concern to the newly-crowned king. Their father’s mysterious death in the Tower of London during the York years was widely believed to have been a clandestine execution.

Two weeks after their wedding, when the official celebrations had died down, King Henry came unexpectedly to Elizabeth’s robing chamber. It was the first time he had ventured into her private quarters other than to her bedchamber, which was always after her ladies had been dismissed, and I was fascinated to see him close up and dressed as plainly as a king could ever be, in a grey wool doublet and short black fur-trimmed gown. Apart from his splendid ruby coronation ring, his only jewellery was a gold chain about his shoulders and a pearl pin in his black beaver hat. He looked relaxed and cheerful, albeit perhaps a few years older than the twenty-nine I knew he had recently celebrated, with signs of grey mingling with the smooth brown hair at his temples. And I was happy to see him bend to kiss his new wife and return her warm smile before taking the cushioned stool I set beside her.

Eleanor Verney, a lady-in-waiting of much the same height and shape as the queen, emerged from the next-door room, making a surprised curtsy on seeing the king.

‘We are deciding which gowns and kirtles to take to Greenwich next week, my lord,’ Elizabeth explained to her husband. ‘I have so many new ones and Lady Verney is kindly modelling them for me so that I can see how they look.’ She nodded at Eleanor to carry on and the king watched attentively as the model demonstrated an elegant green brocade gown, showing how the skirt flowed behind her as she walked, and the full marten-trimmed pink sleeves, tied with silver laces, were draped from the elbow to show the tight cream-embroidered linen sleeves of the kirtle beneath. His obvious interest led me to surmise that the world of female fashion was something of a mystery to him.

When Lady Verney left to change Elizabeth turned to the woman standing behind her chair and made a brief comment. This was Mistress Jerningham, her Keeper of the Wardrobe, who would be responsible for making sure that the selected apparel was packed ready to be transported to the queen’s next destination.

King Henry cleared his throat to attract her attention. ‘Fascinating though this process is to an ignorant male, dear Elizabeth, I came to tell you what I have arranged for your cousin Margaret’s future.’ The queen immediately turned from her wardrobe mistress with an apologetic gesture and adopted an attentive attitude, joining her hands in her lap. The king continued. ‘I intend betrothing Margaret to one of my prominent household squires, a man called Richard Pole. He is my mother’s half-nephew and coincidentally the elder brother of Lady Verney here, who we have just been watching. He is of good family obviously and without doubt will progress well in my service, so I believe they will make a good pair.’

Elizabeth looked a little doubtful and cast an inquiring glance at her sister, Lady Cecily, who sat behind them both and, no doubt remembering her own recently annulled misalliance, immediately commented, ‘Surely she deserves a marriage of higher status, your grace? After all she is the daughter of a royal duke.’

The king swung round with a swift and negative reaction. ‘Yes, Lady Cecily, but a duke who forfeited all his honours when he betrayed his monarch, not once but three times! Besides who knows what rewards young Pole could reap while serving the Tudor crown? By the time they marry he might be a knight or even a peer.’

‘Or she might find herself a country squire’s wife living in a dilapidated rural hall, far from her friends and family,’ Elizabeth observed flatly, no doubt recalling her sister’s recently departed circumstances. ‘I believe she is better and safer remaining here under our care, my lord.’

There was a tense pause and Eleanor Verney appeared once more in a fresh gown. King Henry dropped his voice to respond to Elizabeth’s remarks. ‘Since she is only thirteen she will remain here for the time being anyway and in the presence of Pole’s sister it is perhaps invidious to discuss the subject further.’ More loudly he added, ‘I chiefly came to tell you, my queen, that plans are now completed for us to depart after Easter on a royal progress to East Anglia and the north of the kingdom. It is vital that we show ourselves to as many of our subjects as possible and besides I need to acquaint myself with the far reaches of my kingdom.’

I drew a sharp breath and clenched my teeth, my gaze flicking from the king to the queen. As Elizabeth’s most intimate attendant and knowing what I did, I wondered how she would react to this announcement.

Her cheeks flushed bright pink and her voice trembled a little as she almost whispered, ‘I fear it may not be possible for me to accompany you, sire.’ During a brief but fraught hiatus before she spoke again, deep creases appeared between King Henry’s dark eyebrows. ‘I cannot yet be completely certain but I believe I may be with child.’

The king’s brow cleared and his pale blue eyes grew round with wonder; his chin dropped and he gave a loud gasp of surprise, then he flung himself from his chair to his knees and took his queen’s hands in both of his. ‘This is wonderful news, Elizabeth! I cannot believe it has happened so quickly.’ He drew her fingers up to his lips and kissed them passionately, one hand after the other, several times. ‘Let us pray to God there is no mistake.’

‘Pray by all means, my lord,’ she said with a smile, ‘but not in words that may be heard outside this room. It is very early days and I am told that the initial months of pregnancy are fickle.’ She gestured at the rest of us, all privy to this momentous news and sworn to absolute secrecy. ‘These ladies can be trusted not to tell a soul and I’m advised that it would be best to wait until the child quickens before we make a public announcement.’

The light of pleasure in the king’s eyes receded and he stood up, returning her hands to her lap. ‘I’m sure you are right, my dearest lady,’ he acknowledged. ‘But I will find it very hard to keep such tidings a secret.’

Elizabeth laughed. ‘I am sure you have kept plenty of secrets in your eventful life! Think of this as just another.’

‘When do you think he will be born?’ he asked.

She raised both hands to express uncertainty. ‘In the autumn – September – October – I am no expert. But do not pin your hopes entirely on a boy, my lord. It is just as likely to be a girl.’

He shook his head so violently that he had to throw up his hand to secure his hat. ‘I suppose I should declare that a healthy child is all that matters – but forgive me if I pray secretly for God to grant us a son. A Tudor heir, with the blood of both York and Lancaster flowing in his veins, to take the throne after I am gone.’

This elicited an immediate protest from the queen. ‘Do not even hint at your demise when we have only just begun our reign, my lord! Is it not treason to speak of the king’s death, even if the words are spoken by the king himself?’ Elizabeth placed her hands over her belly as if to protect her unborn child from its father’s words.

King Henry made her a low bow and lifted one of her hands again, to kiss it in farewell. ‘I will take my leave and vow to keep my silence in every way that my queen commands. Only God will know my true desires.’

He departed with a smile on his lips – a happy king. But Elizabeth was not a happy queen. As soon as the door closed behind him she gave me an anguished look and I rushed to fetch the bowl that I had hastily hidden away when his arrival was announced. I needed no bidding because she had been hunched over such a receptacle every morning for the past week and had sent me on yet another errand to the apothecary’s shop at Blackfriars. The suffering already evident in this royal pregnancy had done a great deal to nurture my conviction that motherhood was to be avoided at all costs.