by Betty Younis
That, and a thousand other issues which mirrored it in distressing detail had been his lot. As he turned onto the long drive of Coudenoure, however, he prided himself on having maintained a hold, albeit a slippery one, on matters close to his heart. A distant bell rang, a quaint notice to the staff of the manor that the prince was arriving. After the pomp and hoopla of the past year, it was more than enough. As he dismounted Governatore, Francis and Bess appeared. Both bowed deeply and the stable boy ran from behind the manor to take his reins.
“Good day,” he began, “What news have you?”
“Good day, Prince Henry,” Francis spoke. “We have quite a bit of news from hereabouts, but none, sire, from the Lady Elizabeth.”
“And her father? Her Lady Agnes?”
Francis shook his head. Henry’s words belied the disappointment written across his face.
“‘Tis no matter,” he said, “The Lady Elizabeth will in God’s time tell us of her circumstances.”
“I am certain, my lord,” chimed in Bess. “Shall we prepare a dinner? Have you eaten?”
Henry smiled inwardly at the older woman’s maternal attitude towards him. No one beyond Coudenoure would dare speak to him with such familiarity, but here, somehow, things were different. The moment he turned onto the great drive, he was home, and while treated with the utmost respect as his rank required, he nevertheless was made to feel that his presence was genuinely appreciated. It was as though he were a member of a family and had just returned home from a long and arduous journey. Beyond the respect, there lay open affection for the young prince. Henry felt it now as he always had when Thomas and Elizabeth ran out to greet him. It was both comforting and soothing, particularly after being hostage to King Henry’s ministers and their interminable lectures for most of the past year.
“Aye, my lady, kindly have Cook prepare something. And I shall be staying a fortnight. Others will be joining me for I will leave from here for my sister’s wedding.”
Bess bowed again and disappeared through the great doors of the central hall.
“Walk with me, Francis. I wish to see the improvements I have ordered.”
Henry paused before adding, “I shall want to see the receipts that will be provided to Lord de Burgh as proof of the work. Is Master John of Gloucester responsible for the masonry?”
“Aye, my Prince, and Master Alexander of Westminster is his carpenter.”
Henry nodded.
“And of course, I shall need to view the estate’s tax roll and the workers’ pay schedules.”
He felt positively administrative. De Burgh would have been proud.
From the end of the drive a great noise of hooves sounded and Henry waved as Charles pulled in his reins so tightly that his majestic steed reared in protest. Charles flung himself off the horse and after bowing to Henry, hugged him tightly. Henry laughed and pounded his friend on the back.
“Well, well, my prince,” said Charles stroking his chin, “And can you tell me what the tariff rate is for silk from Cathay? Or alternatively tell me the wages for thirty-one cutters for diverse piece-works, eh?”
Henry laughed as Charles continued on.
“Or perhaps you would rather discuss the wages owed to Master Henry who worked upon the chimney for one month or the cost of marble and limestone for Westminster?”
Henry cuffed him about the head, and after a moment, they turned to Francis.
“Lead on, kind sir,” Henry laughed, “And ignore this fool.”
Francis began the tour by walking twenty feet down the drive. He stopped, allowing Henry and Charles to inspect the shallow trenches which had been cut from the sod on either side. An intricate, scrolled pattern, each side a mirror of the other, was cut out in fine detail on either side of the drive. The dark earth of the trenches stood starkly against the green of the spring grass.
“And what shall be the plants for these parterres?” Henry asked.
“Sire, I believe boxwood with an infilling of lavender but best to speak with Master Gerald of Henley on the Thames. He will best know but his wife is giving birth and he has left us for these three days.”
Francis turned and led them towards the rear of the manor house where the sounds of hammering and the shouts of men at work could clearly be heard.
As they rounded the corner, even Charles gasped at the change which had occurred since their last visit. The empty fields which had previously delineated the space between the manor house and its farmlands were now a wide and cobbled way. On either side foundation of heavy limestone were set in an ordered manner. All activity had stopped as they realized who was surveying their work and a collective bow washed over the workers. A large man wearing black robes and black stockings hurried towards them. A black scarf was draped round his neck, and he doffed his black hat as he realized to whom he was speaking.
“Prince Henry, Prince Henry!” he exclaimed in a high squeaky voice.
Henry acknowledged him and turned to Charles.
“May I present Charles Brandon.”
The man bowed.
“Lord Charles, this is Sir Robert Janyns, the architect responsible for my father’s chapel at Westminster. He is overseeing the work I am having done here at Coudenoure as well.”
“Yes, well,” the architect launched himself into a diatribe before anyone could speak. “My Prince, ‘tis very difficult to acquire the limestone needed for this project. I have to tell you that I am fraught with anger at that blacksmith…” he paused, pointed and shouted at a man twenty yards away, “…Yes, you, you whopstraw…” He caught his breath.
“And there is no end to the problems with dreadnoughts,” he continued.
Charles interrupted.
“What dreadnoughts?”
“The roof tiles, my lord.” The sound of Janyns’ voice contained volumes of disapproval at the ignorance thus displayed. “The clay tiles.” The last fairly dripped with attitude. Henry interrupted before Charles could respond.
“Then do not pay the man if his work is unsatisfactory! Find another!”
“Here? In this, this…” “Wasteland” was the word he had been searching for, but the look on Henry’s face made him think twice.
“He shall do, my Prince, but he must be watched.”
As they strolled towards the newly cobbled avenue and the foundation stones on each side of it, Francis returned to the house and Janyns harangued each workman in turn as they passed by them. Henry sighed, knowing that the price one paid for Sir Robert Janyns’ brilliance was more than just coin.
“And these foundations? What are they for?” he asked.
“Those will be the workshops and cottages which now you see behind you.” Janyns turned back towards the house and nodded at the hodgepodge of outbuildings situated between them and the manor.
Henry was delighted.
“Aye, look Charles, these buildings will be made of the same stone as the manor. It shall be pleasing indeed to the eye.”
Janyns smiled for the first time and nodded.
“Unity of materials is important, as is order and repetition. But look there.”
They walked on down the avenue towards the empty area at which Janyns was pointing.
“This shall be an orchard garden,” he declared.
“I thought the orchard was to stay on the side of the house,” Charles interrupted.
Janyns sighed and looked heavenward, as though seeking assistance in dealing with Charles. The look was not lost on either of the young men, but Henry chose to ignore it and therefore Charles followed suite.
“There shall be two orchards,” he explained with a world-weariness in his voice. “This one shall be a most attractive allée at the end of which shall be a small but exquisite rose garden with a great statue to honor our good Prince Henry. It shall lead on to the farmlands.”
Henry nodded his excitement. Charles gave Janyns a sour look. They turned back and made their way to the work area. From beneath his robes the architect produced a tightl
y rolled sheath of papers. Henry waved them away.
“No, no, not here,” he declared. “Let us go in and set them proper upon a table.”
Janyns bowed in agreement and Charles led the way back around the manor and into the great hall. From there, they entered Henry’s most beloved room, the library. A nearby table was quickly cleared of books by the servants and Janyns spread his plans out on the dark oak surface. Candlesticks on each corner kept the ends from spiraling back inwards. Henry’s breath was taken away by the simplistic grandeur of the architect’s design for the gardens. Janyns let his client take in each detail before he spoke.
“I see you understand my plan,” he said when Henry finally looked up.
“I see the order you bring out of chaos, good sir, and the beauty you bring to even simple things,” Henry complimented him. Janyns’ face went pink with pleasure.
“And did you see this, my prince?” He pointed to an area on the orchard-side of the manor in which he had drawn a rectangular space which was empty. The rectangle joined with another which ran across the back of the library.
“This shall be an outdoor observation area, wherein you and the Lady Elizabeth may sit and enjoy the gardens and the orchards of your estate.”
Henry nodded, as Janyns continued to walk him through, step by step, the planned gardens, stables and grounds.
Charles watched, and for the first time felt pity for his friend. This was what he loved: music, architecture, books. How much, he wondered, would he be able to take with him into the future that now awaited him? Was it possible for him to remain the same or would the weight of state affairs and responsibility for an entire nation bleed him dry of any vocation he might have beyond administration and warfare and politics? Any humanity? Charles sighed and shook off the mood. It was for him, Charles Brandon, to ensure that whatever happened in the future, Henry would have a youth to look back on with joy and relish, one that even on the darkest days might infuse his life and his decisions with a sense of order and serenity.
Chapter Fifteen
As Henry and the architect continued discussing the project, Charles slipped out and found Bess. She was in the yard, demonstrating to a young girl how to throw grain properly for the chickens which ran about them. Charles looked at the child closely and realized it was she who had stopped them the previous year with a message from Elizabeth. Upon seeing him, a look of concern crossed the face of the young urchin. Before Bess looked up, Charles winked at the child.
“My lord?” Bess gave a short curtsey and directed the child to do the same.
“And what are we doing here?” Charles asked jovially. “Lady Bess, surely you will introduce me to your companion?”
The child clutched Bess’ apron and looked shyly at Charles.
“Ahh, this is Prudence, your lordship. She is a scullery maid and is today learning to feed the chickens correctly.”
“I see,” said Charles, secretly marveling that there was, in fact a proper way to feed grain to chickens. “And her parents work about the estate?”
“At one time, my lord, but no more. Prudence’ parents died of the sweating sickness as did her brothers. Lady Elizabeth took her in and she is learning to be a proper cook, aren’t you Prudence?”
Prudence nodded shyly and Charles moved on to his purpose.
“My lady, surely Cook can provide some small tidbits before supper? I am famished and I daresay the prince is as well.”
With a quick bow Bess scuttled off to the kitchen with Prudence in tow. Charles heard her barking commands at the kitchen staff and knew he wouldn’t have to wait long. With any luck at all, Robert Janyns had returned to his charcoal and paper and compasses by now, and he and Henry, if the weather held bright, might get in a spot of hunting before the sun went down. His hopes were dashed.
They still sat at the table, discussing architecture. Before he could rudely interrupt them and send the architect on his way, however, Bess opened the library door and servants poured in with trays of sweetmeats, pies and fruit. Henry invited Janyns to stay for the repast. Janyns, who looked as though he never turned down an offer of food, settled comfortably in and began cutting a savory pie. At least, Charles thought mercifully, he had changed the subject.
“Tell me, my good prince,” Janyns said, “What hear you from your lady love, the mistress of Coudenoure?”
Henry shook his head sadly.
“Ahhh, Sir Janyns, I hear nothing and it preys on my mind mightily.”
They sat silently for a moment.
“What is the cause for Lady Elizabeth’s silence, think you?”
“I am not certain,” Henry replied slowly. “But surely she must be well.”
Janyns nodded.
“I am sure she is, Prince Henry. But women are a fickle lot and one never knows what their small minds might be thinking.”
Charles concurred.
“But not Elizabeth,” Henry explained to them. “She is beyond her sex. She has all the wonderful womanly attributes such as kindness and beauty and gentleness, but none of the viperish ones which usually accompany them.”
“Like gossip and petty behavior and back-stabbing.” Janyns clearly had some woman in mind as he continued.
“Their tongues can burn the bark off an elm from twenty feet, and their eyes, their beautiful blue, limpid eyes will crush you with condemnation for the smallest of indiscretions. You might never recover.”
He sniffed loudly.
Charles patted him on the back, feeling a sudden kindredness of spirit. Henry, however, would have none of it.
“Not my Elizabeth. She is as true as the sun when it arcs across the sky, as beautiful as the moon shining on a dark and still night. She is wise beyond her kind, and I cannot stop thinking of her.”
They all sat morosely lost in their own thoughts as Bess brought out more food. Henry closed his eyes and saw Elizabeth beneath their elm; Janyns mumbled to himself “…the smallest of indiscretions, really…” and ripped a leg off a roasted chicken; Charles thought of the kitchen maid he had known the previous evening at Greenwich where he had stopped on his way to Coudenoure and her inquiries as to when she would see him again. The mood had definitely turned sour and the three men continued to eat and drink more out of self-pity than hunger. Henry’s eyes grew heavy and he stood to excuse himself.
“I seem to have eaten my way into true heartache this afternoon. Please excuse me while I rest for a bit.”
With that, he disappeared upstairs to the bedroom he now called his own, and passed out on the deep down comforter which covered the bed. Charles did likewise in a room across the hall, while Janyns stretched out in Thomas’ old chair in front of the fire. With his feet on the footstool, he snored loudly while the servants quietly cleared away the remains of the meal.
*****
Henry woke with a pounding headache and a sad feeling. He lay for a long time thinking of Elizabeth and wondering what might be the cause of her silence. Surely by now, he reasoned, some epistle from her should have reached him. With a sluggish mien, he roused himself and went to his writing desk.
“My Darling Elizabeth,” he began,
“How the days fly by! The lessons continue at the knee of first this minister of government and then that one. All of them sound the same now, and it is only when I can escape here, to Coudenoure, that I may be myself. In all other places, I am eyed, stared upon and expected to utter great pronouncements on this and that when I know not what to say! I have learned a few phrases which seem to satisfy, such as, “Umm, speak more to me of this matter, my lord, so that I may make a more informed decision,”… or…”Pray tell, is that so?”…or…”I see, hmm indeed.” Perhaps I shall build upon these and by and by have an entire catalog from which to draw.
But while the days fly by, the nights do crawl. I remember your lips, your soft, warm lips the day of our pre-nuptials. I remember your hands, as small as those of a child and how they fit within mine so well, so perfectly. Elizabeth! How I miss you!<
br />
I am at Coudenoure now and will stay until I join the progress north for Margaret’s wedding. ‘Tis a fine thing, and should secure the peace with Scotland. As for Coudenoure itself, my love, you will be happy with the surprise I am making for you here. In truth, it shall be our home and our sanctuary against any and all that might try and come against us.
I know not why you send no news, no letters, but I know your love for me is true. There must be some thing blocking my receipt of them. They must be getting lost before I am able to touch paper which only recently you have touched. Perhaps your scent, of lavender and roses, will still be faintly upon the page.
Oh my love, write to me. How I need you.
Yours for eternity,
Henry
He folded the page carefully and sealed it with his imprint upon the wax. Downstairs, he called for Bess.
“My lady, once again, please have your son deliver this so that my Elizabeth may know I think of her.”
Bess bowed deeply and upon rising, spoke softly to Henry.
“Fear not, young Prince, for I am certain the lady loves you. How could she not love such a noble and fine prince?”
But her words did nothing to cheer him up, and the evening was spent in tired conversation with Janyns and Charles. A light supper was brought to them at ten o’clock, and by eleven, Henry had determined to put an end to the weary day. He stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers hoping that blessed sleep would overcome him shortly. For the first time that day, a wish of his was granted, and he slept the sleep of youth.
*****
Early the next morning, a pounding upon his door awakened him.
“Yes?”
“‘Tis me, Charles, and I hear there is a fine stag by the River Thames this morning.”
Henry smiled at the old line.