Elizabeth Tudor- Ancestry of Sorcery

by Theresa Pocock

  Mary instantly spoke up. “The roads were tolerable, so it went quickly enough, but we had not planned on sitting about for two days waiting for a summons, Father.” Her voice was even but her face scrunched just the tiniest bit when she said this. I only noticed it because I had lived with Mary for five years and knew the danger it indicated. Instantly her tone changed, as I knew it would, and she skillfully made light of the spurn. “You are a mean, evil man, forcing us to wait to see you for so long. I have missed you terribly, Father.” Her lip protruded slightly, and she reached out a round hand toward him and patted his rather red, puffy-looking hand. She was very skilled at this courtly exchange. She had said and done everything perfect as far as I could see, and Father was not able to stop himself from being affected.

  There had been a slight bit of annoyance in Father’s eyes, but that was gone now. “I was not feeling myself after the journey here, and then the men insisted that I hunt with them. Of course, I was happy to go, despite some discomfort in my leg, and I was excessively happy when I took down that buck. I would tell you all the details, but I fear I would bore you refined ladies.”

  I, of course, would not be bored by any story of his, and so I decided that I would join in the conversation. “I would love to hear your story, Majesty. Pray, continue.” So, he did with vigor, the exciting details of the hunt fueling his animated gestures. Unfortunately, after his story was concluded, I did not get to participate in the rest of the conversation. Though I had many thoughts and much to say to my father, Mary always beat me to it, and I had to defer to her for she was much older than I. Mary’s playful banter with Father continued for a while, then she turned haughty in manner and I could tell that she was maneuvering. There was nothing I could do, so I ate and watched her.

  Episode 2

  September 1542

  Royal Hunting Lodge, Pyrgo Park

  As we walked from dinner down the clean yet sparsely decorated hall, Mary murmured on and on about how impossible Father was. Father, in my opinion, had behaved as a saint would. If I were queen, I never could have endured Mary’s nosy comments, degrading tone, and superior manner without screaming at her in anger.

  When Mary asked Father about Queen Catherine, we both watched his face go almost scarlet and then sad. Yet he did not chastise her or discipline her for disrespect.

  I did not know all the details of Father’s latest marriage, and I had avoided knowing because intuition told me Catherine had suffered the same fate as my mother. I had known Catherine and cared for her and I did not want to know a thing that would hurt me. She was dead and that was enough detail for me.

  However, Mary soon moved on to a much different topic: Father going to war with France. She scoffed and said with her most concerned voice, “Father, I would hate to have you die in war when you are still at odds with Rome.”

  As if Father were going to fasten a cannon to his horse and light the charge as he galloped into enemy territory. For shame! To remind Father of his excommunication and comment on Rome’s unyielding grudge toward all things English was a thrust that cut to Father’s heart. The pain was evident on his face. I could not help feeling a small spurn in my direction. After all, whose mother had instigated the break from Rome? Mary could not have picked two less appropriate and awkward topics. That Father did not order her from his presence was a display of astonishing self-control.

  By the end of the evening I had concluded that Mary was not trying for rehabilitation at all. She was beyond caring. She had done everything to please Father, and though he had a relationship with her now he had not put her back into the line of succession. Perhaps at this meeting she was trying a new tactic, but the way she went about it was infuriating and at moments simply treasonous. It made me so angry that, as soon as the hallways permitted me, I left Mary’s side without a word and walked out to the stables.

  Kat, of course, was not far behind. She was relentless in her duty. In a way, it was comforting that she was always there. Furthermore, since Kat was a marvelous equestrian, I never had to worry about her keeping pace with me on these little journeys.

  It was a beautiful night and my gaze was pulled heavenward toward the moon, whose beams were broken up by the many trees that surrounded the house. Father had recently decided to reinvent Pyrgo Park, and there was much clearing required to transform this corner of Romford. I looked up at the sky and realized there was no way I would get a clear view of the moon amid all the vegetation, and though I loved the beauty of a well-pruned oak or beech, at that moment I could not have agreed more with his plans to clear them all out.

  In the stable, with Kat’s help, I stripped off my blue silk, hung it on a peg, and then donned the plain cotton dress I used for riding at night. After mounting Beaux, I instantly had the desire to race to the top of the west hill, which was a treeless plateau. I hungered for the open sky and the great celestial illumination therein.

  While Beaux picked our way to the appropriate trail, I again thought of tonight’s dinner and wished with all my heart that Father could see me as I rode. I wanted him to know and remember me as I was in the saddle, riding bareback in the dark of night.

  After hearing Father's story of hunting, I believed now more than ever that his heart and mine were very much the same. The pert, quiet Elizabeth who had all the intelligent, spot-on answers to Kat’s questions was impressive and frankly everything a person of my standing should be. But she was not all that I was.

  As Beaux and I walked toward the hilltop, we startled several birds out of the trees, but I did not look to name them. I simply pressed my heel gently into Beaux’s side. As he sped up, the cool September wind brushed my cheeks, giving my face a sudden chill, but my body felt warm against Beaux’s back. I could feel every strain of his hardened back muscles as he lifted us through the wood and up the hill. I listened to the sound of his shoes clicking against the small stones and roots they touched and smiled to myself, wondering if anyone else thought that the most beautiful sound in the world.

  His breath remained even for a while, but soon I could smell his mouth and coat as he began to pant and sweat. I reveled in the damp air that tasted like burning wood and chestnuts, and the feel of the leather reins in my ungloved hands. My skirts rose, and I lifted my knees a little, squeezing Beaux with my thighs and heels to let him know I wanted more speed. He met my demands with surprisingly little effort, and within moments we broke through the tree line and raced along the crest of the hill.

  The moment I was not shaded by the trees I knew why I wanted to come up here. The moon seemed to be right above me, and I instantly felt her shimmering glow pierce through my soul and fill me with life. For some reason I had always felt tied to the moon, always able to feel it day or night or know exactly the piece of sky it would light. Now as I raised my head up, I closed my eyes and basked in the penetrating power that seemed to surround me…to call to me.

  Sensing my reaction, Beaux evened out his gate and we flowed through the night as one. Only the wind that whipped my hair and riding dress moved at a different pace than our bodies. All the frustrations of the night went through my mind. The heat of my anger burned the hottest as I thought how I had probably missed my chance to show myself to my father, but as soon as the heat overwhelmed me, I realized that the fire was gone, dissolved into the calm waves of the sea that my insides now were. Moments passed and soon, I felt completely filled and relieved of all my anger. That was the magic of my rides. Once this feeling came, I knew that it was time to rejoin Kat for she was no doubt waiting just out of view for me to turn and seek her out.

  After putting the horses away and redressing, Kat and I walked silently back toward the lodge. Her arm rested softly over my shoulders. As we rounded a large oak we heard a deep, strained voice. “Elizabeth.” We stopped and looked around. Again, “Elizabeth, come here.”

  I could not see where the voice was coming from, but I knew to whom it belonged, “I am here, my Lord, but I cannot see where you are. Reveal yourself
and I will come to you.”

  Kat grabbed my arm in alarm. Of course she would not know the voice. When had she ever heard him? A tapping sound came from my left, and the voice again. “I am sitting and do not wish to get up. I am to your left. Come child, I have things to say to you.”

  I gave Kat a reassuring look and murmured, “It is Father.” Immediately she let go of my arm and pushed me in the direction of the voice. I smiled at her and stepped around the oak, crushing a few acorn tops with my soft shoes. I’d had one wish for this occasion and I felt deeply in my gut that it was about to come true.

  Looking around in the dark, it took me a moment to see him. Nevertheless, there he was, sitting in a chair under one of the most magnificent beech trees on the grounds. He wore a loose-fitting robe and held a stick in his hand. When our eyes met he smiled at me and turned his head to look forward.

  Interested by what he was looking at, I glanced the same way and was surprised to see the hilltop I had just come from. It was bathed in light, almost as if the trees were leaning out of the way so that he had a direct view.

  “You are very good on your horse, my Bessy.” He was now trying to flatter me. I knew that few boys my age were as good on a horse as myself, but I would not blush or simper. I was a princess in training—though the one man that could make me that princess in fact sat staring at me with mirth in his eyes.

  “You flatter me, Majesty, but I will not be affected. I have had excellent training, and when one loves a certain thing it is not difficult to excel when all opportunity is granted. In a way, you flatter your own self by complimenting me, for without you, I would be nothing, and thus completely unable to explore my tastes and talents.”

  Father raised his eyebrows at me. “I hear what you are saying, child, and no one could doubt your intelligence, young as you are.” He smiled then and looked down at himself. A longing filled his eyes. “Elizabeth you are a product of your training and your position, and I understand that it is important for me to see you that way, but what I saw up on the hill just now was not a groomed lady.”

  I quickly began to interrupt him, to apologize. I knew that I was always brazenly immodest and unladylike when taking my secret rides, but he held up his hand and silenced me before I could properly formulate an argument.

  “I am not chastising. I am trying to pay you a compliment. I myself have needed time to be free of…our duty.”

  It thrilled me to hear him include me in the duties of princedom and I reveled in his words as he paused to consider. While he did so, he caressed the arm of the perfectly ornate chair he sat in. With him in it, it was a throne, a throne in the middle of the forest.

  “Did you know that I was not supposed to be king?” He laughed and looked up into my face. I tried to look like I did not know the story, but he knew that I was educated in family history. “Of course, you know, you bright child. I suppose that your riding has inspired me to say something. Things do not always end the way they start, Bessy. I have always been carefree and active. A fine horseman, hunter, sportsman—but look at me now.” He again looked to the hilltop. “I started my kingdom by fulfilling my duties and soon realized that only doing one’s duty brings but a small amount of joy.” His eyes came back to mine and there was an intensity there that captured my full attention. “It is only in choosing one’s own destiny that happiness may become a part of life.”

  He brushed a large ringed hand over his care-wrinkled brow. I saw sadness and heartache in his face and heard those when he spoke. “I have made many mistakes, Elizabeth. I need you to know that.” He cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly, continuing quietly. “There is not a single soul on this earth that I can admit that fact to, but seeing you up there on that hill, face toward the sky, I was reminded of someone whom I once loved very much. She was a lot like you, and she was also like me in many aspects. She was a fascinating, infuriating, adventurous soul, and I miss her.” He sighed as he went on. “Now that all is said and done, I am sure I will never love anyone the way I loved her.” His eyes drifted back to the hilltop and I waited while he thought. After a few moments he said, “You are a young, vibrant version of her.” He turned to me and reached out to gently stroke one of my golden curls. “With just a bit of me mixed in.”

  He chuckled a bit to himself and I smiled at him, though I had no idea what he found humorous. I was struck by the mood he was in and the words that he was sharing. This was not how I thought he would be. This was so much more human.

  “Mary was in rare form tonight,” he said, changing the subject with a smile.

  I laughed. “Yes, she was. I believe you showed a great deal of self-control toward her.” Needing to open myself to him as he had done to me, I continued. “I am so thankful that I was able to meet you out here tonight—that you called to me, and that Mary had made me so angry that I needed to ride. I feared that I would not be able to let you see me or know me. I feared that dinner today would be my only chance.” I was looking directly into his face and I saw that he was affected by my words. For a brief instant I thought I saw his eyes soften, his head tilt, and I felt he might be feeling something for me.

  At that moment he reached out and patted my arm softly. “We should not judge Mary too harshly. I have known her much longer than you have, and life has not been what it ought to have been for someone in her position. I am afraid the fault for that lies nowhere but on these two shoulders,” he said as he touched his chest.

  My hopes fell. He was not even thinking of me.

  The mood suddenly changed, and he stood. It took him a few minutes, for it was difficult for him to do, and I waited silently, looking up at the hill, not wishing to shame him. “So, you are very good on a horse. Have you ever participated in a hunt?” he asked in a strained voice, and only then did I turn to look at him. There was a hint of excitement in his wide eyes. “I have a desire to gather a force to track down a wild boar. Now that yesterday’s hunt broke my streak of recent misfortunes with the bow, I am eager to have some fun.”

  Though I was concerned that the strenuous activity of boar hunting might not be a good idea for Father, I still smiled and said as we walked, “I do love a wild boar! Very exciting thing, a hunt! Just last year Lord Compton’s heart failed him right in the middle of the chase. Oh, and Kat got so involved last time we went that she fell off her horse. I am sure you saw that she is also excellent at handling the animal, yet there she was on the ground and almost trampled by the boar. It truly scared me to death. But Majesty, are you not due to be in Cheshunt by tomorrow? I think that it would not be well with the ladies there if you were missed even by one day. I know the Earl and Lady Frances de Vere, and they would not do without you for even a moment if they could manage it.” I looked at him from the corner of my eye and was relieved to see a smile as he watched the ground for any unevenness. I knew that he knew I was concerned. I only hoped he did not think I was maneuvering, as Mary always did.

  He did not say anything else as we walked to the house.

  Episode 3

  September 1542

  Royal Hunting Lodge, Pyrgo Park

  The hunt did not happen. Father was scheduled to leave the next day and he decided to honor his engagements. Regrettably, that day happened to be my birthday. When I arose, I found that Kat had a box and a note from Father. The note was in Father's own beautiful hand.

  Happy Birthday Bessy. I was fortunate enough to talk with a gardener who just happened to be working on this as we conversed. I know that this may be one of the most humble gifts I have given you, but after seeing you last night I felt it to be the perfect gift for today. I even finished a few details myself. Know that I will always see you this way.

  * * *

  Love, Henry R

  Inside the small, ornate box was a roughly carved girl atop an unsaddled horse. Her hair was flowing behind her and her face lifted as if she were looking at the sky. It was crudely made but beautiful, nonetheless. I pressed it to my chest and blinked away the tear
s I knew were forming in my eyes, wondering at the providence that had fulfilled my one desire. I had hoped with all my heart as I was up there on that hill that Father could see me for who I was, and I now believed that he had. Amazement and gratitude filled my spirit and words of thankfulness came to my heart. They were said silently there, for just then Mary and her maid, Susan, walked into the room. She had a pleasant smile on her face, so I knew she was not mad at me for leaving her so abruptly the night before.

  She could be pleasant. Nevertheless, I sighed.

  “I see mine will not be the first gift given today.” She said as she walked across the room to wrap her arms tightly around my shoulders. She then said with real warmth, “Happy birthday, my one and only sister. My dear, sweet Elizabeth.”

  When she pulled away, Susan handed her a small wrapped gift, and she, in turn, handed it to me. I put the carving in my pocket and pulled the gauzy cloth away from what was obviously a book. I admired the cover for a few moments, for it was intricately stitched. The beauty was not merely in the tightness and evenness of the stitches, but also the boldness of the color scheme. My name and the date were attractively sewn between deep purple iris and dark green vines. Its style said Elizabeth, not Mary.

  That is, until I opened the cover.

  Mary leaned over me and read the cover page aloud. “A book of hours translated from Latin to English by Mary Tudor for her sister Elizabeth Tudor.”

  I knew such a gift must have taken Mary months. Still it instantly rankled. I knew almost every prayer by memory. I had learned many of them from her, for we said them every day the same as anyone else. Many times, I even felt her rote prayers in my heart. So, I did not understand why she would insist on giving them to me in this manner as if I were some heathen who needed to know my God better.