The Jewels of Warwick

by Diana Rubino

  "Why? Do you not believe he loves the Queen Catherine?"

  "Surely you jest, Amethyst. He marries his brother's widow for an alliance with Spain and he has the gall to talk about love! There is some gossip that he isn't even legally married to Catherine, she being Arthur's widow."

  "Oh, Topaz! Where do you get such absurd ideas?"

  "'Tis a well-known fact. The Pope erred in granting them a dispensation to marry. Therefore, they've never been married in the eyes of God. He is a bachelor and the Princess Mary is a bastard, just like his son by that whore Bessie Blount."

  Amethyst gasped, staring in disbelief at the cocky grin on her face. "Topaz, you may talk like this with me, for I am your own sister, and I shall never let your words go any further than the two of us. But if anyone ever hears you speaking of the King like this, well, 'tis treason."

  "'Tis no secret, Amethyst. God's truth, the man is not the Almighty. He's a man, a mere mortal. And mortals make mistakes. He'll make many more, no doubt, before he departs this earth." She called Edward over. "Tell Auntie Amethyst all about the King."

  Edward scampered over to them, his tiny fist full of daisies. He thrust them out at Amethyst, who accepted graciously.

  "The King is not really married to the Queen," Edward recited in his high-pitched, yet carefully articulated voice.

  "And what is the Princess Mary?" Topaz goaded.

  "The Princess Mary is a bastard," Edward nearly sang.

  "Who else is a bastard?" she coached, to her sister's growing horror. "Who else?"

  "His son, Henry Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond. The King longs for an heir but is cursed with two bastards." The boy giggled, squirmed, then, his eye catching another butterfly, sprinted off in the other direction, a powder-blue bundle of energy.

  Amethyst shook her head in dismay. That wasn't her nephew talking. That was Topaz, talking through him, feeding his mind with all this scandal about the King. She feared for his life as she thought of their innocent father locked in the Tower for life, nary a harsh word about any king ever passing his lips!

  "Topaz, how could you! How could you teach that boy all those dreadful things!"

  "He knows of what he speaks, Amethyst." Topaz plucked a red rose from the vine and ran it down her neck, crushing it between her breasts. She inhaled deeply of its soft fragrance. "He knows who he is. I will never forget who I am, and never forget all Henry and the Tudors have taken from us."

  "But Henry is not his father. He gave us Warwick–"

  "A bauble compared to all I should have as queen."

  "No queen has ever ruled in England–"

  "Not so. There was Matilda."

  "Who was reviled and hated for the civil war she brought about. Think, sister, that is the path you will be set on if you persist in this folly. And if you insist on making your son parrot the poison you spew, none of us will ever be safe."

  "Nay, not 'til I am on the throne. 'Tis true. I am so glad you understand my position at last. And now I must go find my husband. One healthy child is a good start but it is high time I was breeding again. After all, it is even better to have an heir and a spare."

  With that she strode away, leaving Amethyst gaping after her in stunned dismay.

  Topaz gave birth to another boy, Richard George, in November of 1518. Once again, Amethyst and Sabine were both present at the birth, at Topaz's insistence. Yet this birth was much easier, as if Topaz knew what to expect.

  She'd mastered the breathing techniques, the rhythmic pushing and bearing down, and brought forth a beautiful boy weighing just over eight pounds. Just like his brother, he was crowned with a shock of copper hair, and emitted a squall that could have been heard in the far reaches of Scotland.

  "Richard George Plantagenet Gilford, Duke of Lancaster!" she recited in a resonant voice, so unlike her weak yet determined proclamation of Edward's name upon his delivery.

  "Aye, Topaz, a lovely name," Amethyst soothed, smoothing Topaz's hair off her forehead. She turned to watch her new nephew taking his first breaths of life. "Richard after our mother's father, George after our father's father!"

  Edward, of course, had been named for their father. He bore no middle name. He was simply Edward. What Matthew his father thought of that was anyone's guess.

  As soon as Topaz was able, she fetched the leather-bound journal from her writing desk, a pen and some ink. The pen scratched across the pages just as they had when she began recording her thoughts at age eight.

  Now that my two heirs are upon this earth, the succession is secured. I shall engage Henry's enemies (and he has collected more than a few) and begin my quest for the throne. And what a queen I shall be. I shall lift the heavy tax burden from my good subjects and distribute the Crown's fortune among the poor.

  The fortune was hoarded away by the miserly old Henry Tudor, and is made up of the profits he extorted under his false pretenses, the riches he reaped by digging up breaches of forgotten laws, and from the confiscation of the property of his political offenders, my own father included!

  I shall shorten working hours for the peasants and their children so that there will be time for learning. They may learn medicine to heal the sick of plague and sweat. They may learn law, to uphold justice throughout the land. They may learn drama and poetry and music, so that they may sing and dance and spend their leisure hours on refined entertainment. They may learn economics, so they can engage in equitable commerce, trade fairly and evenly, and watch their hoards grow into comfortable sums.

  The prison will be a tolerable place to repent, a place to reform and prepare those convicted for another chance to live among society, to be treated like human beings, a much more effective deterrent to crime than torture.

  There will be wine and ale for everyone, and at the same time, no one will be fat and overfed, like these royal pigs who stuff their faces to corpulence with the flesh of the deer that roam the wild forests... The forests will once again belong to the animals not the spoiled King to keep as his royal prerogative, and the lands shall belong to the people. My realm will love me and my son after me, King Edward the Sixth!

  She clapped the book shut as Edward's governess brought him into the bed chamber. He was tall and lanky, and stood straight, his chin up, his shoulders back, and moved not with that gawky movement of four-year-olds whose undeveloped muscles undermined them, but with the grace and pomp of a well-trained soldier, a man—a future king!

  "And have you beheld your baby brother today, Edward?"

  "Aye, Mother, he sleeps. He is such a quiet pup."

  "So unlike his brother," Topaz laughed, reaching out to hug her son, her heir. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?" she asked him, as his tutor asked all the children, sons and daughters of nobles and gentry, who invariably answered, "Liege of many lands," or "Healer of the sick."

  Only one boy answered, "I shall be king."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Warwick Castle, June, 1521

  Amethyst was leading her nephew Edward around the stable grounds on his new pony on a glorious June day. The animal was small and compact, and upon it sat the tall and lanky Edward, his feet stuffed into the stirrups, the reins wound round his long fingers. The pony was her seventh birthday present to him.

  Topaz had nearly fainted with fright when she saw her son mount the beast, but Amethyst had checked her annoyance and chided her sister. "God's foot, Topaz, you were riding the back of the Royal Menagerie's camel when you were but a four-year-old. Why are you so worried about Edward?"

  "Because he's my first-born son, and I don't want any accidents at his delicate age."

  "'Tis a pony, not a wild stallion. A sweet, gentle pony. What would you name him, Edward?"

  "Oh, 'tis a him? I would name her Mary if he were a girl."

  "Name him that anyway," scoffed Topaz. "I hear the bastard Princess has a voice as deep as a well. She must get her masculine features from her mother."

  Amethyst wanted to box her sister's ears for continuing th
is badgering of the Tudors in front of the children, but she did her best to stay out of it and not argue. She still harbored a strange respect for her sister for maintaining her belief, out of reverence for their father, but the family had long since given up trying. Reprimands, logic, and reasoning had all failed to curb her sister's opinions so it was best to just ignore her.

  Through the entrance of the stables she glimpsed a messenger riding towards the gatehouse. She recognized the royal livery, would know it anywhere.

  "'Tis a message from the King!" she exclaimed and broke into a run to meet him.

  She met him halfway to the gatehouse. Remaining on his mount, he handed her a note embossed with the royal seal. "For Lady Amethyst from His Majesty the King," he stated. The King had recently taken to being called "Your Majesty" as introduced by Cardinal Wolsey, a title to suit a monarch, as Wolsey felt "your grace" was beneath the King's dignity.

  "I am Lady Amethyst."

  "The King wishes a reply by Tuesday week."

  "A reply?" She hurriedly broke the seal and tore into the parchment. The messenger was beginning to rear his mount and begin his return journey. "Wait!" she summoned him, and he halted the horse. "I can give you an answer right now. Tell His Majesty I would be honored to attend court for his thirtieth birthday festivities. I shall be there."

  A sharp thrill sent a tremor through her as she ran her fingers over the creamy royal parchment. She could see the glow of a thousand candles above her head as she and the King danced over the gleaming floor of the great hall, the lavishly dressed courtiers following her every leap and dip with overt admiration, her satin skirts rustling, her diamonds and pearls glittering.

  "Aye, Lady Amethyst." The messenger touched the corner of his hat and trotted off.

  By then Topaz and Edward, minus the pony, had approached her. "Where's the pony?" Amethyst asked.

  "Being bathed and perfumed," Topaz replied. "He was a bit ripe. So what does Bluff Prince Hal have to say for himself? More castles and titles await us? Or does he wish to reverse the attainder against our dead grandfather this time?"

  "Nay, Topaz, 'tis an invitation to court for his thirtieth birthday."

  Topaz twirled round to face the stables, her back to Amethyst. "I shall not attend!"

  Amethyst was glad her sister couldn't see the smile brightening her face. "I expect that would suit the King just fine, because it seems you were not invited, as was no one else in the family except perhaps Aunt Margaret, who is already there."

  Topaz faced her sister and fingered her delicate necklace of daisies interwoven with honeysuckle. "He invites you alone? What must he have on his mind, the lecher? Does he wish to make another addition to his harem?"

  "'Tis nothing of the sort, Topaz. Your imagination is simply wild. He's celebrating his birthday and he wants a representative of our family there to celebrate the occasion with him."

  "Thirty, eh? The old toad is getting on in years. Past his prime, I daresay. Growing older and feebler every day, and still without an heir."

  "He wished for an heir and was cursed with two bastards!" Edward piped up.

  Amethyst could stand it no longer. "Edward, listen to what Aunt Amethyst has to say and I never want you to forget it. Whatever you say about the King and Princess Mary in the privacy of your own home is your own business, but whilst standing on the grounds of Warwick Castle, do not ever speak ill of them again. I absolutely forbid it!"

  The child's eyes widened in dismay.

  "And that goes for you, too, Topaz."

  Topaz laughed it off, as if it were Amethyst's problem instead of her own. "Do becalm yourself, sister. He is but a child."

  "It is because of that that I am so upset. He is a child with a poisoned mind who will grow up to be an adult with a poisoned mind, and doomed to follow his grandfather's fate serving out his days for treason if you persist in this folly!"

  "Never!"

  "Think what you will, sister, but mark my words, you are asking for trouble."

  "And what will you do? Arrive at court and ask the King to sign our death warrants?"

  She resisted the urge to slap her sister. "I need not. You are doing quite a good job of it yourself."

  She excused herself and crossed the drawbridge and forced herself to put the argument from her mind, already deciding as she strode along which gowns to bring on her trip.

  Court was being held at Windsor that summer, after an exhausting progress through the shires. Yet the enthusiastic preparations for the King's birthday betrayed not one whit of the courtiers' weariness.

  Amethyst met the sprightly King in the great hall the night of her arrival, three days before his birthday. She hadn't been invited to sit on the royal dais at dinnertime, but renewed their acquaintance after the minstrel show.

  She approached, curtsied, her eyes roving over the length of him. Once again he glittered. His torso narrowed at the hips; the shoulders were square and commanding under the doublet lined with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. The crimson velvet cloak flowed from him with fluid grace like a waterfall. Silver-striped black hose adorned his strong legs. Glowing pearls lined his collar. His strong arms carried the slashed sleeves regally. He captured the light of each candle.

  "'Tis a pleasure to meet you again, sire. Thank you ever so much for inviting me to share in these festivities." Her voice quivered with excitement.

  "'Tis a pleasure to see you again, Lady Amethyst. How fares Warwickshire?"

  "It fares well, Your Majesty..." She began telling him of the harvest that had given way to the harsh winter, and as the conversation droned on, she beheld him, the rugged body showing not one sign of aging since she saw him last. His golden eyes sparkled and his skin glowed. His presence engulfed her; even if he were not the King, he would be the handsomest man in the kingdom. No man held himself with such grace and confidence.

  "...And Mary is getting to be quite a bright child, she already speaks Latin..." He was bragging about his daughter, but Amethyst was busy studying his features.

  A bit of golden stubble grazed his upper lip and chin. His lips were exquisitely shaped, the ends turned up in a faintly amused expression. He lifted his hand slowly and swept back a red-gold lock that had fallen carelessly over the smooth forehead. She couldn't stop staring at those hands, those long, slender fingers...how warm they'd felt in hers.

  Although her voice betrayed her exhilaration, she was thankful that she was not trembling outwardly. Her poise verified her passage from blushing adolescence to womanhood, a titled lady of nobility with enough aplomb to keep a king's interest.

  "And have you composed any songs brought to you with midnight inspiration?" he asked in a low tone reminiscent of a cat's purr.

  "Oh, aye, Your Majesty! I did as you suggested, kept some parchment by my bed, and when an idea for a melody came to me in the night, I wrote it down hastily at the virginals the next day, and was able to embellish it and create a lovely arrangement!"

  "Perhaps you would like to play some of your original compositions for me whilst you visit here?" he suggested silkily.

  "I would be honored, Your Majesty. Although...I doubt my music reaches the standard of your discernment. You are a much more accomplished musician than I could ever hope to be."

  "Your modesty does you credit. Alas, these days I have less time for simple pleasures such as music. Affairs of state prevail and I find myself in the Council chambers more often than in the conservatory. A responsible job, this is, Lady Amethyst. A demanding and imposing job," he said, but not in a complaining way. "So you have not become betrothed since we last met?"

  She didn't want to change the subject; she would rather have talked about music all evening. But of course, this was part of his imposing job also; to secure the marriageability of the kingdom's young maidens.

  "Nay, Your Majesty," she answered frankly. "Several gentlemen have courted me, but none have yet sparked my..." She groped for an appropriate word.

  "Passion?"

 
"Heavens, no! I was alluding more to...interest, Your Majesty. Passion I've yet to encounter."

  "Perhaps here at court, then, you will find a suitable parti. I assure you, there are many young gentlemen worthy of your rank and...interest, as you say."

  "I doubt it not, Your Majesty." But how could she even look in the direction of a mere earl or duke when in the presence of the handsomest and most vibrant man she'd ever met, who loved music more than she, who just happened to be King?

  "Do you care to continue our musical interlude during your visit to court?"

  "Aye, Your Majesty, there is nothing I would like better!" she said with naïve honesty.

  He gazed down at her for a time as if trying to make up his mind about something of the gravest import. At last he broke the silence. "Very well, then, meet me in my receiving chamber following Vespers tomorrow. It is where my attendants meet to pass the time, and from there we shall find a quiet, private corner in order to play music together. I trust that suits you, Lady Amethyst."