The Bastard Princess

by G Lawrence

“The incident in the gardens was seen by all the household, my lady,” Kat said to Katherine. Katherine sat serenely sewing clothes for her imminently expected baby. “And whilst it may have been all innocent, you know as well as I that a royal princess cannot be too careful in protecting her reputation with the common people. There were many in the house who saw the… game and whispered of it abroad. “

  Katherine looked at Kat carefully and said that she was thankful for Mistress Astley’s comments, and would speak on the matter to her husband.

  Whether Katherine did or not we never found out; but Kat came back to relay her visit and conversation with worry in her face.

  “It goes too far, my lady,” she said. “He goes too far… A little flirtation was light and harmless, but that thing in the gardens…,” she shuddered and crossed herself. “I thought he was wont to kill you with that knife.”

  “And he jumping into my bed every morning was entirely proper, I suppose?” I said in a strained whisper. “You did nothing all those times but laugh, and now you think you stand on the moral high ground as though we are below you? It is not only the Lord Admiral and I who deserve a bit of censure here, Kat Astley.”

  She flushed and stammered, “I saw no harm in his silly habits. And I tried, you saw I tried my lady, to get him to leave your chambers when first he came in. But then… you seemed so happy and he was so charming, and later even Katherine came in and joined in, it was not out in the open like that thing in the gardens. It was private, just a little fun. Nothing could happen when I was with you. It was not like that in the gardens when they stripped you. Everyone saw...”

  I flushed, remembering my run into the house. I wondered if I had looked like a common country whore caught in the act in a field with a farmer-boy.

  “Well there should be an end to it now,” I said. “I’ve been a fool as well as you. He has done enough now, he needs to pay attention to Katherine. She’ll soon be handing him this little knave, his child he talks of all the time and that should keep him busy.”

  But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t want him to stop, I didn’t. I didn’t want the attention of his handsome face to wander back to Katherine; I didn’t want to stop feeling his hand on my side or my breast. I felt so lonely when he wasn’t there. I wanted him to treat me gently, to be kind, stop jumping out at me from like dark like a monster… but I didn’t want to be without him. My heart was a traitor to my head. They both urged me in different directions.

  But it must stop! I thought. It must! This is no way for us to behave.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hanworth House

  Spring

  1548

  The household moved to Hanworth House in the spring of 1548 to await Katherine’s lying in and take some pleasure in the cleaner airs of a new palace. It was necessary to move from house to house on a regular basis so that the old residence may be cleaned, cleansed and made ready for use once more. A prince needs many palaces, mainly because staying in one would become intolerably and entirely smelly after a while.

  So it was we packed up from Chelsea and wended our way to the lovely house of Hanworth. Katherine rode in a litter due to the advanced stage of her pregnancy. Thomas went on ahead with his men, whipping their horses and screaming into the distance like wild savages. Katherine watched him go with a smile of affection and a shake of her head. She thought him entirely a boy in all ways.

  Kat and I rode with Katherine and her servants. We kept an easier pace than Thomas and his rampant men and although I was happy to be at a distance from him, I also regretted not being able to ride as I wished to. I loved to gallop on my horse, and I was becoming an excellent horsewoman. I could feel the temper of my mount as surely as I could see fine weather in the skies. Kat told me that my father was a master of horsemanship and that I was growing to be just like him. This pleased me and made me feel closer to his memory. I wished we could have ridden together more, my father and I. It seemed we might have enjoyed the mutual experience.

  Although it were a thing impossible, I wished I could have known my father in his youth. I feel that he and I could have been great friends in our youths.

  We reached Hanworth by the fall of the night and I was taken to my new chambers there. I was glad to settle at the fireside with Kat and speak of unimportant things. My mind was too busy these days. I felt tired often; my nights were not easy to sleep through and I was not eating as a growing woman should. Thomas was still invading my rooms and it was now every day. Kat’s warnings to Katherine had had little sway on the behaviour of the Admiral. If Katherine had talked to him on the matter, he had ignored her.

  Kat had become as close to me as my own undergarments in a bid to rescue me from the advances of my stepfather. She now tried to persuade him to leave when he came to my chambers where before she had joined in his reckless games. But all that this did was to infuriate him further. If he could not bend us to his will, then he would find a way to break through.

  It was one day as I was reading alone over my newest chapters for translation from Master Ascham. My tutor himself had gone to bed, feeling suddenly unwell in the afternoon, and I had not sought out further company. I had relished a moment of peace to myself to draw together my thoughts, so whirled and confused my head was lately, that I had decided to refrain from calling Kat to me, or any of my other women. For a moment, just a moment, I would be alone and I would try and draw some order to this mind which spun with confusion and desire.

  I did not hear his step as he came into the room, but he must have been there for a little while, just looking at me, as I stared out of the window into the gardens.

  I looked up and he was staring at me. His handsome face was half-hidden in shadow and for a moment, when he smiled at me, he looked like a wolf rather than a man.

  I jumped and stood up when I saw him. “My lord Admiral,” I said, taking an involuntary step backwards. “I did not hear you come in.” I dropped to the customary curtsey, and in that short moment of time he crossed the floor and took my arms. Raising me to standing before him, he reached out a hand and stroked softly the skin of my cheek with the back of his hand. I felt as though I had frozen in place. The wild banging of my heart was such that I knew not whether I was terrified, or aroused. The feelings were each as powerful as the other for this man. His hungry eyes roamed my face, and then, sliding a hand to the back of my neck and head, he pulled me to him in a long and lingering kiss.

  There had not been a word from his lips. He had just seen his opportunity to kiss me, and had taken it.

  For a moment I froze as his soft lips and their whisper of whiskers came down on mine. And then it was as though all the world and its confusion had melted away, and all there was, was the feel of his muscular body against mine, the feel of his hand on my hair and the sensation of his lips against mine. Flashes of untamed desire flooded through my young blood, and I unfroze, as though his kiss had shown me all that I had really wanted from him in truth, and I melted into him, my body pressed against the contours of his, my hands reaching up, my fingers running through the soft dark curls at the back of his head.

  I felt his body shudder as he felt me respond willingly to his touch. He broke from our kiss to murmur my name in my ear as he pushed me gently back, against the wall, where he could press more of his hard body to mine. I was lost in a sea of passion, feeling nothing but how much I wanted him and I stumbled back willingly, pulling him to me as we bashed against the wall together barely breaking apart in our kissing.

  His hands were everywhere now, pulling me to him, over my buttocks where he squeezed hard, bruising my skin. He groaned as he felt my curves under his hands. His hands covered over my face, where he pulled back from our kissing, only to grin and plunge at me again with more force. His eager fingers pulled at my bodice to release my young breasts, and he moaned as he pushed his face into them.

  All I could feel was the coursing of desire in my body and my blood, as I allowed him to take any and all pleasur
es of my body; I was as soft as honey for him, moaning and whispering his name, willing him on, willing him to take anything of me, but just to never stop touching me.

  He pulled at my skirts, pushing them up as I moved my legs apart. He looked into my eyes, and when he saw they were dazed he smiled at me. “I knew you loved me too…” he said, and I nodded, unable to talk, pulling his lips back to mine. I wanted so much to feel loved by him, to feel wanted. His hands were pulling at his trousers with anxious impatience as I murmured, “I love you Thomas…” and he groaned against my neck, one hand over my breasts, and one moving himself into position to take me, there and then, as ready and wanton as any alley-way whore.

  Then there was a gasp, and a short strangled shout.

  Thomas froze. His back was to the doorway, but I had a clear view over his shoulder of the woman standing, pale in face with shock as she looked on the sight of her beloved husband and her beloved daughter caught, almost in the very act, against a wall in her house.

  Thomas dropped my body and quickly tried to sort out his own clothing, as I turned red and shamefaced to the wall, fumbling to try and rectify my own. My bodice was unlaced; my breasts were on show for all to see. I started to cry in shame as I pushed them back inside my dress and tried to pull the silk of my gown over the bruises his eager fingers had made on me. I pushed my skirts down. I was hunched over in my own infamy, my face as red as sin. I did not want to look at Katherine, but I could not stop myself stealing glances at her.

  He had not pierced my virginity, I was a maid still, if barely, but he may as well have taken me completely, for the horror on Katherine’s face. I could not believe what I had just done, or almost done. I could not believe what had just happened.

  I heard Katherine break into tears and walk away, her heels clattering along the corridor in the unsteady steps of the distraught. Thomas pulled himself together quicker. Perhaps a man such as he, was more used to amorous encounters where clothing must be replaced quickly, and without a word or glance to me, he ran after his wife.

  I was alone once more. I could not stop crying as I put my clothes back in order. I did not feel as though I was in the throes of desire any more. I felt sick, dirty and ashamed.

  As soon as my clothes were back in order I went out into the private gardens. No one but Katherine had seen us, and no one should know of this but her, I was determined. But would she keep me in her house? I did not know. I kept seeing the horrified look on her face and my cheeks jumped into shameful flames once more. I had betrayed a woman I loved as a mother and a friend, with her husband, in her own house.

  I had never, and have never since, been more ashamed of myself, nor more felt the pain that I had inflicted on someone who loved me.

  As it started to rain, I stayed outside and lifted my flaming, shameful face to God in the heavens. Where was all my wisdom now? Where were my advanced skills and learnedness? I had never been so unprepared for anything in my whole life as the force and feeling that his touch had arisen in me. In the first trial that God sent me of true temptation, I had failed.

  The rain may as well have sizzled as it landed on my heated cheeks. I felt like the devil himself.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Richmond Palace

  February 1603

  We all want people to think the best of us, to like us.

  That is why when we tell them of us, of our lives and our adventures, we often omit that which does not show the best in our character. We do not lie, but we tell a half-truth. We conceal those parts of ourselves we do not like, and others will not like.

  For in every person there is the light and the dark. There is the bold and the craven, the great… and the shameful.

  We pick what parts of ourselves we share with others, and we leave the other parts to the darkness, where dreams may whisper what is true into our ear only.

  Though we think that everyone may somehow see through our skin, be able to see the truth past our lies, this is not true… we are creatures made of paint and water.

  We are but portraits of ourselves, painted by our own words and actions.

  That truth is even more true for a prince.

  For when I stand before my people I am not a woman, nor a person, but an embodiment of their hopes and dreams, their aspirations and their values. To learn that I am a woman, with all the flaws of my sex and my human nature, is an affront to the image of my people, an affront to England and to the crown I wear.

  I am an emblem, I am a banner. I am the warrior pennant of my people. I must be to them all they want me to be, and to hide my failings and faults behind a covering of paint and plaster and words.

  We, all of us, if we are wise, learn to mould the inner character to the one we most want the world to see. We are creatures of such habit you see, that sometimes when we take so much time emulating something of greatness, we become great.

  But when I was a young girl… I did not know this. When I was young, when I was but a fool who thought herself wise, I acted wrongly and I hurt someone I loved.

  More than any other incident in my life, I have regretted this one. It was the first time that I really understood that there was a world of feeling outside of the prison of my own skin and flesh. Other people had souls that could be damaged by my actions, and the repercussions could be more harmful than I ever thought.

  Shame is an unpleasant emotion because it contains truth. We know, when we are shameful, that we have done wrong, and that truth hurts more than all the others.

  When I appear before my people, I do not let them see the weaknesses of my nature, of my soul within. I am their Gloriana, their Queen, their Saviour, even their beloved Bess, but I am not the Elizabeth that I may be here on this page.

  These recollections, these words will not be shown to anyone, and therefore I do not have to omit who I truly am now, who I truly was... then.

  To you, and only to you, these pages on which I recant my life…. I lay my soul bare to tell you of this time, so terrible in my life, when I realized I had taken part in breaking the heart of a fine, kind woman who never wished anything for me but good.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Hanworth House

  Spring

  1548

  Kat’s mouth was open so wide I began to wonder if bats should take up occupancy there, hanging from her teeth. Her silence and her horror infuriated me.

  “Do not look at me so!” I exclaimed. “You knew well enough what was going on in this house, do not pretend the innocent to me… that you thought all he did was but in jape. You knew what he pursued me for!”

  Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She ran a hand over her face as though seeking to bring forth clear thoughts by that mere action Trying to pull the tattered threads of the situation together again.

  “My lady,” she said, her voice low and shaking slightly. “Did anything go aught further between the Admiral and yourself? Are you… Did he…?”

  “I am a maid,” I said blushing furiously.

  I was angry with her. It was not justified. It so often happens that when we are filled with shame at an action we have done, we seek to assign blame elsewhere, to place it on others near us. To mitigate our own sense of shame we try to dilute it by giving cups of it away to those near us, as though it were wine.

  “You should have tried harder to talk to Katherine. You should have tried harder to keep him away from me,” I said bitterly. Katherine’s pale face covered in tears kept revolving in my head.

  Kat looked at me aghast. “What more should I have done?” she asked me. “I am not responsible for my Lady Princess’ own arms should they lock around a man’s head and beg for kisses.”

  My hand lashed out from my side before I knew it, and slapped Kat hard about the face. One of my rings did not fit my finger well, it moved around on my long tapered digit. As I slapped my friend full around the face, the diamond on the ring slipped and caught her skin, ripping it open. A thin, red slit appeared on her ch
eek and a droplet of blood, like a tear, emerged, as Kat clapped a hand to her cheek in pain.

  I stared at her in shock. I had not meant to hurt her. I was hurting everyone around me.

  “Kat…” I said softly and held out a hand to her cheek. She looked for a moment as though she might move away from me, but she did not. Beneath the pale worry on her face, I saw the softness of her love for me move once more in her blood.

  “My mistress is too easy with her hands,” she said wryly, using the old stock phrase that I knew so well. I smiled at her without any real happiness, but with love for the woman who understood me so well.

  “Yes,” I said. “I am sorry Kat. My temper, it always gets the better of me.”

  “The red hair of the Welsh dragon,” she said, taking a bit of cloth and soaking it in a goblet of wine. “Dragons are not patient beasts I have been told.” She pressed the cloth to her cheek and winced as the sharp wine flowed into her cut and bruise.

  I slumped down on a pillow on the floor. I felt miserable, awful, guilty, and tired. I was young and tiredness usually came to me as it always does to the young, in sudden and irrepressible torrents that force the active mind quickly into restful slumber. But now, I felt the first strains of what an adult feels when they are tired; a slow weariness born of frustration and exposure to the ills of the world. Today, I was an ill of this world. I was one of those that caused people to lose faith in human goodness. I was the craven whore. I was the bad seed that turned the crop to pestilence.