by G Lawrence
Darkness was indeed falling upon us; the freezing cold of the winter lapped at our heels as the coming night brought forth a deep chill. Our noses were red-tipped, our fingers ice-cold, and George sniffed loudly as we walked back to the boat to take us to our hired lodgings, causing Maude to reprove him stiffly, saying that gentlemen wiped their noses clean and did not sniff. Our lodgings were the same rooms we had used on that glorious day of the King’s coronation. It now felt like a life-time ago. Such is the nature of sorrow; it steals time from us along with joy.
Mary looked up with a pale and sad face, made red with crying and with the cold, and her brown eyes were flat with unhappiness. My sister was made for happiness; sorrow made her ugly.
The winds whipped the empty branches of the trees and even the waters of the great Thames were grey and dull in the falling light and the grief of the country. I looked again at Lord Morely’s daughter, as she and her family walked their way to their boat. Her solemn face was to stay with me perhaps even more than the funeral of the little Prince on that day, although I knew not why. I just felt so sorry for her. My parents and tutors certainly beat us at times, but her mother’s slap had seemed cruel, heartless. She had only been looking at a ribbon after all. I wondered then, that the lives of other children might not be the same as my own life. It was a revelation for a small girl.
I wondered, too, if she had mistaken my smile to her, misconstrued my intended support, perhaps, for smugness at her punishment. But there was nothing I could do now to explain. We were worlds apart then, even though one day, much later she would become very close to my family.
You see, there would come a time when the name Lady Jane Parker would mean a great deal to my family. There would come a time also when that name would spell doom for the lives of two of the children standing in our party by the freezing waters of the Thames on that terrible day.
Chapter Eight
1512
Hever Castle, Kent
The country was quiet after the death of the Prince, even after the official mourning period had passed. It seemed as though a stillness had come hand in hand with the sorrow of the Prince’s passing and it would not relinquish its hold on the country for a long while hence. The King had assured his councillors and his country that he and the Queen were still young and had much time left for more princes to be born, but there was an air of sorrow still in the country. Mary sighed often as we sat in our lessons, frustrated. She wanted to be merry again. I know that she thought it, as I did, but we had to be good and respect the feelings of others. George, too, grew restless in the sadness of the country about us.
In April of that year, a huge fire broke out at Westminster Palace and destroyed much of the grand halls in which the coronation celebrations and entertainments for the birth of the Prince had occurred. It seemed as though God was putting a final end to those pageants of joy for reasons none could really understand. The King was hardly short of palaces, and used Greenwich, Eltham, Richmond, Windsor and Lambeth as his residences. Rich and comfortable though they were, many of these palaces were too small to accommodate both the King and the court, and some, like Windsor were very ancient and rather out-dated. Whilst he ordered new apartments built in the Tower of London, it seemed the King did not care to stay there often. Perhaps the death of his mother in that palace had marked it with too much sorrow for him, or perhaps it was simply, as he said, still too small, to house all his needs. The court was a large body of people, and moved palaces every few months, since the smell and the waste produced by so many soon became quite unbearable. The court would relocate, allowing the last residence to be cleansed, then on to another and another, and so on, making for a veritable round of movement and cleaning which never ceased. When the court moved, all the furniture, all the bedding, clothing, tables, servants and nobles would move with it. Those who lived at court became very adept at packing… or at least their servants did.
I believe that the Westminster fire became part of the reason why our king came to love architecture and building; finding his other palaces to be either too small or ill-equipped for his needs, he strove to improve them, building on ancient foundations and modernising tired palaces. Later he would start to build not only new sections of palaces, but whole new palaces. There was no king before Henry who was so passionate about building perfect palaces, and I doubt there will come any to rival him in the future.
Our lives at Hever went on as though nothing would ever change for us. But I began to suspect that something was about to occur, even if George and Mary were unaware of it; there was something in the looks that our father and mother gave us from time to time that made me think that change was on its way for us. I was not wrong. It was our father who revealed to us the next step in our lives. It was the largest step we should ever make, and it would take Mary and George and I far away from each other and from our parents, for the first times in our lives.
We were leaving home.
I was twelve years old when one day, our father tore our small world asunder by announcing that we had all gained placements in other houses, and would be leaving for our continued education soon. It was usual for children of noble standing to enter other, more noble, households to complete their educations and perfect courtly graces before entering court life as adults. It was usual, and I had been expecting something to happen, but it was still a shock. We would be leaving behind everything familiar, and the security of our family, to enter the world alone.
For George, there was a placement as a page in the household of Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. The Duke had recently become our kinsman through the second marriage of our uncle, Thomas Howard, to the Duke of Buckingham’s daughter, Elizabeth. The household of the Duke was most important, for he was the only Duke in England at that time. He held a great many lands and titles, was a member of the Privy Council and he was often at court. The Duke also had royal blood in his veins and in his descent. George would be joining a household of great importance. His new position would place him at court much of the time and allow him to socialise with other young nobles of his age in service to the Duke. He would polish the many skills of courtly graces, dinner service and carving, the classics of literature, sports, and the arts of war and politics. He would also attend Oxford when not at his duties to the Duke, and learn to be a scholar there. George was excited by the prospect. It was a fine one, after all.
For Mary, there was a place with our mother’s brother, Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, in the household of his new wife Elizabeth. Elizabeth Stafford was only a year or two older than Mary, and our father hoped that this placement would lead, in time, to Mary rising to a position in the household of the King’s sister, the Princess Mary Tudor. Elizabeth Stafford was to be one of Mary Tudor’s ladies and so our Mary would come into contact with the Princess often at court. Mary Tudor loved merry conversation and ladies with sweet voices who loved poetry, dancing and lively activities. Our father thought there was a good chance that our Mary might impress herself on the sister of the King by gaining access to her through a position with one of her ladies-in-waiting. It was a plan typical of my father; always looking three steps ahead to advance the family position and influence. Mary must prove herself useful, modest and lady-like. She was almost fourteen, a goodly age to take on the duties of a maid-of-honour, and train to be a lady-in-waiting. My sister was so excited that she could barely speak. She was to go to court, to the English Court… that place we had heard tales of, had dreamed of, all our lives.
All I wanted to know was my own fate. I listened with excited envy to the positions of George and Mary and barely noticed the drawn, sad face of my mother as her children were taken from her and placed in other houses. I wanted such a grand fate as my sister, and my brother too. Surely, they would not leave me here alone at Hever?
But no… My father had secured a place for me at one of the most glittering courts in Christendom. I was to go the farthest of all of us. I was to travel to another country. I was
to go across seas and travel over foreign lands.
My father had been granted a place for one of his daughters at the Court of Burgundy, to enter as a fille d’honneur into the household of the Regent of the Low Countries, the Archduchess of Savoy; daughter of the Emperor Maximillian I, Margaret of Austria. Margaret’s court in the palace of Mechelen was where I was to learn how to be a lady; I would learn styles and graces, polish my French and my other talents and become a brilliant ornament for my family. I would return to the English Court with time, and be greeted by the King and Queen, our father told me. I would earn a place in the household of Queen Katherine as a lady-in-waiting, eventually, through honing my accomplishments abroad.
I sat stunned, staring with open fascination as my father told me of how he and the Regent Margaret had met and become friends when he was on a diplomatic mission there; how she had offered him a place for one of his daughters in her retinue of eighteen filles d’honneur and how I, his youngest daughter, was the one he had chosen to go.
“For in you, there is the most potential for what the Regent Margaret is offering,” he said cruelly in front of Mary, whose face fell as he spoke. “George would not learn what he needs to know to be a lord there, even from a woman as gracious and great as Margaret, and Mary will do better in England. Her French is appalling.”
Mary blushed in chagrin at this insult. Her eyes searched the floor and her cheeks shone red. Her French was not as bad as our father said, but, being a great linguist, he saw many more faults than others did in her pronunciation and articulation of the French language. I shot Mary a look of support behind our father’s back as he turned to talk to George and she smiled warmly at me, her flushes of mortification fading. Mary was not one to linger on disappointments. She later confided to me that the idea of travelling so far away was terrifying to her in any case, and she was happier staying in England and learning how to be a great lady here instead. So perhaps our father had chosen well after all.
I was dumbstruck with excitement, trepidation, happiness and fear. To go so far from all I knew for such a glittering prize was much for my small mind to take in. At last, after many moments of silence, my mother prodded me quietly to remind me to thank my father for the wonderful place he had won for me. I stammered my thanks and his cold face looked momentarily softened. “Let us see what you can do with the opportunity,” he said, nodding to me.
A few days before I left, I found my mother standing amongst the roses. They were bare and empty of flowers now in the spring, although small leaves were starting to return to their stems. She was sadly stroking them with her fingertips, never catching her skin on the thorns for she knew each of them so well. She was sad to see us leave her.
“We will return, mother,” I said to her, taking her hand, feeling her smooth and delicate fingers thread through mine; we walked together in the gardens in silence for some time, hand in hand.
My mother’s hands were lovely; slim and white and elegant. I had hands like hers; when we were apart I would sometimes look down on my own hands and they would remind me of her. I would feel comforted; as though she was now and always would be a part of me.
“I always knew you would all have to leave and I am happy that you have been found such great opportunities by your father,” she said and sighed. “But I shall miss you all. Mary and George I will see still quite often, but you…” She trailed off, and I knew she was thinking of the miles of land and sea which would stand between us; it might be many years before she and I stood together like this again.
We were quiet for a time. My heart beat with sadness, and found an echo of that same emotion in hers.
“Learn well, Anne,” said my mother quietly. “There are not many who are given such a chance as this. The Regent Margaret is a learned woman who follows both the new humanism and the classical learning. She is a careful woman, a modest, yet cultured, queen, and a good ruler; follow her example and you will do well. You must please her and take in all you can. When you return to us you will be a woman grown and ready for a great marriage. That will be your purpose; a great marriage, a comfortable life, and the advancement of your family through your talents.”
She held me at arm’s length, and looked into my eyes. “But be careful. There are men and women who would seek to ruin you for no reason other than that you might stand in their way. This is the darker side of all courts, for power is an addictive thing. Be careful of your virtue and your name at all times. You are young, and there may be those who would seek to take advantage of that. Do not allow yourself to be alone with any man, and seek the companionship of only those who are good and moral. The court is a great place, but it can be a dangerous place, too. Trust sparingly and wisely. Use your good sense and curb your tongue; too much of your sauciness and you’ll be sent straight back here in disgrace, and your father will marry you off to whomsoever he can get for you. Do not let this happen. Do me proud Anne; come back in glory!”
I nodded gravely, tears in my eyes; I had never wanted anything more than to make my mother proud of me, especially at that moment. I swore to myself that I would succeed at all costs.
Chapter Nine
1512
The Road to Mechelen
I was twelve years old when I left England for the shores of other lands, and I had little idea then that I should be gone for as long as I was. On the crossing, aboard a ship for the first time in my life, the rising of the waves and the salt air of the sea made me think that I might die. I made my peace with God several times over; begging him for the forgiveness of my foolish childhood sins, before realising that it was, in actual fact, a peaceful enough sea I was crossing with few storms that would endanger our lives. But to me it felt horrific, and I was pleased to place my feet once more on the solid earth of the world. My escort was headed by Claude Bouton, Seignior de Courbaron; a Flemish nobleman of the court of the Archduchess Margaret. Bouton had been secured by my father to take me to my new position; he was a trustworthy nobleman of good name and family.
We travelled with guards, servants and a maid to help me personally. I had not realised until that time that the world was so very vast. Claude smiled occasionally at me when he saw my great dark eyes take in the new sights with amazement. I must have seemed amusing to an older man who had long since lost his wonder at the world. Claude did not say a great deal to me; my French, which I had thought so proficient before we left Hever was, as it turned out, crass to an accomplished ear. This worried me a great deal, as I must be able to speak French well. Not only was it the language of the civilised, sophisticated world, but it was the language of the court I was entering. Not being able to speak French well would make me a disaster at court, and bring shame to my family. And I would be rather alone if I had no one to talk to. I imagined all this with abject horror, thinking that perhaps the Regent Margaret would speak but a few words to me, and be so disgusted by my coarse accent or pronunciation that she would send me straight home. I had terrors of the imagination to haunt me on the road to Burgundy, thinking of my mother’s eyes riddled with humiliation and my father’s face cold with that distant lack of compassion that always signalled his disappointment.
Sometimes these fears would find their ways into my dreams. I would see myself cast off, unwanted and rejected by all. I dreamt I was locked in a tower, a prisoner held for her failure and disgrace. One morning when the sun was not quite in the sky, I awoke sweating, shuddering and muttering from such a dream, and made up my mind to learn French at every given moment there was; I would not be sent to that tower in disgrace. I would not be cast off. I would not shame my family.
Claude Bouton was resistant, however, to teaching me French… or for that matter, from engaging with me a great deal in any way. He had been enlisted and paid well to take me to Margaret’s palace at Mechelen, nothing more. But by troubling him politely, yet persistently, with questions about the landscape and the places we passed, I learned more as we travelled. I pointed at objects and animals which were
unfamiliar to me in French, and he repeated the French words to me. I tried hard to listen to his accent and imitate it. He was kind enough to me, although seemed to find me rather trying.
As we passed through one town, I noted there were rough men standing about a set of cages, each holding hawks and falcons. The birds were perched close to each other and as I looked closer at those magnificent creatures, it seemed to me as though they were almost dead. Rigid on their posts they sat, unmoving and unblinking. It was only when I had come much closer that I saw the dark threads that bound their eyelids shut. I gasped in horror to see those birds, blinded, as I thought they had been. Falcons and hawks were beasts for nobles and for royalty, so why had their senses been dulled so? The child I was, I thought it monstrous. I was lost in my thoughts, staring at the birds as a hand alighted on my shoulder, and made me jump, startled. I looked around and up, and there by my side was the rueful face of my protector, Claude, who had obviously worried as I had wandered off slightly from the main party.
“Why are they blinded so, Seignior?” I blurted out before he could reprimand me for wandering away from his guards and servants.
He gave me a puzzled look and then glanced over at the birds and smiled at me with the weary smile of one who is not accustomed to the continual curiosity of children.