23 August, 1544
Hampton Court
Kat insists on many things when we first arrive at a new palace. We must personally check for rats, and more importantly, we must check for poison. Kat is obsessed with poisonings. She claims the courtiers at Hampton Court are full of wiles and deadly designs. Here everyone seeks status, and they will do anything to displace a rival. Including murder. So she insists on washing off all the fruit in the baskets placed in our apartments and checking all the bedclothes for poisonous dusts. I have even caught her plunging an ox horn into our food and drink. It is supposedly an antidote against poison. I think it is just a silly old superstition, and I cannot understand why a learned lady such as Kat would believe such nonsense.
Poison is the one thing which Kat and I really disagree about. I do not think anyone would ever try to poison me, because I am simply not important enough, and I certainly do not think that running around with an ox horn will do one wit of good. So I set off to see Roger Ponsby, the Revels Master. His workrooms are by Fish Court. I am much more interested in costumes, as Saint Michael’s feast is coming up and there shall be a grand masque.
There were several people in the courtyard when I arrived – fishmongers and cooks and cooks’ assistants. Two youngsters directly in my path were wrestling with a large basket of fish. Their heads were wrapped in sweating cloths that nearly hid their eyes. I may have been a princess in exile, but I am back now by my father, King Henry VIII’s, command. People must make way and certainly not block my path with a smelly basket of fish. But the bumbling idiots, not looking where they were going, stumbled right into me. I fell. The fish flew. One caught in the lacings of my stomacher band and another in the ruff round my neck. “You will go to the Tower!” I shouted, but suddenly the boys whipped off their sweating cloths and who stood before me but Robin and Edward. They, too, were dripping with dead fish and laughing so hard they could not speak. All my anger vanished, for even with an eel hanging from his neck, Robin looked so good, and dear Edward had an octopus on his shoulder. I hugged them both, and the whole courtyard roared with laughter.
Oh, I know I am back in Court again. There are jests and minstrels and fools and the weight of the loneliness slides away. I am so light I might float.
25 August, 1544
“We must conquer the Captains of Ignorance as your father, the King, now conquers the French. He lays siege to Boulogne.” And with that our tutor, Richard Cox, pulls down the map and shows us the deployments of the thousands of troops that now encircle the French city. We mark with pins the positions of the vanguard, the rear guard, and the King’s battle. In the King’s battle alone there are thirteen thousand soldiers. Our maths problems are feeding problems. We must calculate how much is required to keep the army fed. By decree each soldier is allowed one pound of biscuits, one pound of beef, and one gallon of beer a day.
This is the way to learn. Richard Cox is the most exciting teacher we have ever had. Edward tries to do shortcuts with the mathematics, and he always makes careless mistakes. Master Cox is not afraid to scold the Prince of the realm. But he does it with such good cheer that even Edward does not mind. Our brains, says Master Cox, shall glow like the most majestic of orbs in our skulls lighting the way for the world, for Britannia!! “Rule, Britannia!” he squawks at the top of his voice. His thin, sandy-coloured hair flies about his skull like pale licks of flame. He is really a most peculiar and wonderful person.
26 August, 1544
The glass fitters, carvers, and plasterers are hard at work still. There is no rest for them in the house of Tudor, as my father changes wives so often. In the stateroom I had noticed that Catherine Howard’s initials and personal crest, the crowned Tudor rose, was replaced by Catherine Parr’s maiden rising from the Tudor rose. My father was not married to Anne of Cleves long enough for them to paint, carve, or plaster her symbols anywhere. With over thirty palaces, this is a lot of work for the chief glassmaker and plasterer Galyon Hone. Crest-changing is one of my earliest memories. My mother’s leopard was transformed into Jane Seymour’s panther. And then came Catherine Howard’s crowned Tudor rose. Alas, I do not like to think of Catherine Howard. I shall think of something else. It is but twelve days until my birthday.
27 August, 1544
Such fun today. Master Cox suggested we break early from our lessons and go to the tennis courts. Robin and I are quite good, but Edward is so short he barely reaches over the net. So we sent a message through Princess Mary’s fool, Lucretia the Tumbler, to fetch her, for Mary is quite good at tennis and would be a good partner for Edward. Robin says never was a fool so wasted as Lucretia on Mary. Fools are supposed to be constantly available to make one’s life bright and gay. To tell a joke, recite a naughty ditty, sometimes to do a tumble or somersault. Lucretia has an assistant, so to speak, a woman named Jane the Bald. Very odd indeed is Jane. She wears stylish gowns of damask, but on her feet she wears the shoes of a clown with curled-up toes, and her head she keeps shaved bald as an egg!
We had a good game. Lucretia was scorekeeper.
28 August, 1544
Master Cox spoke to us today about astronomy, my passion, and he told me that there was a Polish man named Copernicus who had a theory that all the planets circle the Sun. Master says that my father had studied this theory with his good friend Thomas More. Unfortunately, Thomas More was beheaded by my father because he did not sign the paper that allowed Father to become the supreme leader of the Church of England. Thomas is not a good name to have. My father has beheaded many Thomases: Thomas More, Thomas Cromwell, and very nearly Thomas Wolsey, though he died before the execution.
29 August, 1544
With all this rain, I have had time to find a place to hide you, dear Diary. It is an old prayer niche. My apartments were at one time occupied by a lady of Queen Catherine of Aragon’s Court. They were all devout Catholics, and Catherine delighted in rewarding them with small relics, which they kept in the prayer niches. This one was all cobwebby. There was an ancient wood panel covering it. I cleaned out the spiders and a mouse’s nest. No one will suspect you are in there, Diary.
30 August, 1544
Still rains. We are getting very bored and unruly in the schoolroom. Princess Mary passed by and heard Master Cox scolding us. She popped in and suggested we go to Chapel with her for prayer and he actually agreed. We, all three of us, are furious with Master Cox. But we had no choice and had to follow Princess Mary.
1 September, 1544
All this rain and prayer is not only boring but depressing. My thoughts turn dark. Shadows begin to gather like night birds in my mind. They glide across my half-dreams in the perpetual darkness of these dreary days. And when I get like this, I begin to hear the crying again, the crying of Catherine Howard. You see Catherine is now a ghost. She never rests, but haunts the Long Gallery of Hampton Court. She often comes with the darkness of my mind, but sooner or later others hear her as well.
2 September, 1544
Robin heard her, too, last night. So now we must do what is required to put her poor spirit at ease so the rest of us can be in peace. The adults pretend they never see her or hear her. But I know they do. In particular, I know my father does. He is the most plagued of all by her ghost. So now I must tell you the dreadful story of Catherine Howard.
It was said that she had been with other men before she had married my father and since, including Thomas Culpeper, a gentleman of my father’s Privy Chamber. It is a crime of highest treason to be unfaithful to the King. There was no choice except to arrest her. But Father was still slow in the doing of it and proceeded with great care, as he had loved Catherine. For a while there was some talk of sending her away to a convent.
Many thought my father would never execute her. She was under house arrest first at Hampton Court, and just before she was to be taken to the Tower, she broke loose from the guard and ran screaming down t
he Long Gallery that leads to the Royal Chapel. She had thought my father was in the Chapel praying. Her screams for mercy could be heard throughout the west wing of Hampton Court. But Father was not there. He was out hunting. Robin and I were there, however. We saw her. It was a sight I shall never forget. Her eyes slid back in her skull until only the whites were visible. She knocked over a statue, which shattered on the marble floor but it did not break her speed. Her hair streamed out behind her, and she frothed. Yes, she actually frothed at the mouth. It was the most ghastly sight I have ever seen. Robin and I clutched each other, and it was then that I whispered in Robin’s ear that I should never ever marry.
Catherine was executed on 13 February, 1542. Part of me wished I were nowhere near, but we were at Whitehall Palace right in London, a short distance from the Tower. There was, however, another part of me that wished to be near. I felt a bond with her. She was really more of a playmate than a Queen. She had once given me a small jewelled pendant. I still have it. I think she was just too young to be Queen and certainly to be my father’s wife.
Just before the axe fell, she called out, “I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper.”
But perhaps she was neither playmate nor wife, and that is why she haunts us now. The ghost knows not who she is. So Robin has this idea that we must show the ghost its true nature. To this end we sneak out of our chambers just as the guard changes at four in the morning. We take our small ninepins. They are like pegs that stand up. We used to play ninepins with Catherine. Robin says it is our solemn duty to play this game in the Long Gallery. If we do this, it shall ease her spirit, for it is a way of saying to her that we are still her friends despite all. And, in fact, the shrieking does stop. The other odd thing about our forays into the Long Gallery is that we are never caught. It is as if a kindly spirit looks after us. We seem to pass unnoticed by anybody. It is as if we ourselves become wraiths of the night.
4 September, 1544
The ghost is quiet. She screams no more. Robin sent me the signal to meet him last night. He slipped me a ninepin in Vespers just as we knelt. At a quarter before the hour I was out of my bed. I put a cloak over my nightgown. Kat snored away. I met him in the Long Gallery, and under the immense hanging tapestry of Diana the goddess of the hunt we played four rounds of ninepins. The night shadows began to slip away and the thin light of the dawn slid through the upper gallery windows. I looked up and for the first time in days realized that the sky was clear, and not only clear, but the morning star shone brightly. “Tomorrow I wager Master Cox will take us to the roof to look through the telescope,” I whispered to Robin.
“Too bad Catherine is not here for that. She would have loved viewing the night sky,” Robin answered.
“But, Robin, she is the night sky now.” And with that I felt the gentlest breeze stir my hair.
5 September, 1544
Oh, I am so shivering cold. I am just back from observing the stars. Master Cox took us all to the rooftop, to the stargazing platform that Father had erected. He brought with him a set of Father’s speculative glasses, which his eyeglass maker makes for him. They are a series of lenses by which one can bring distant objects closer if indeed you line them up. So tonight we brought closer Mars, glowing and red. We all gave hurrahs for the warrior star for we thought of Father laying siege to Boulogne. Master Cox reminds us again of the Polish man who said that the Sun does not revolve around the Earth, but the Earth around the Sun. If the Sun does not revolve around the Earth, if the Earth is not the centre, that means England is not the centre of the Earth, and if England is not the centre, it means my father, King Henry VIII, is not the centre of this universe, and this I do believe could upset him. He is, however, at heart a man of science and learning.
7 September, 1544
Today is my birthday and it was a most wonderful one. The Queen herself gave me a lovely and thoughtful gift – a very small book of meditations illustrated with lovely woodcuts. Robin gave me a hawking glove and promises to let me fly his favourite merlin. Edward, the dear child, gave me – well, you shall never guess – a monkey! He said his monkey, Hotspur, needs a friend. So he arranged with the keeper of the Royal Menagerie to procure one for me. We plan to teach them tricks together. I think I shall call my monkey Memo. Memo was one of my father’s favourite minstrels, and I think the name suits a monkey, and it might please Father.
8 September, 1544
The Queen absolutely forbids us to play with the monkeys in any of the drawing rooms and Master Cox will not allow them in the school. So we went into the Pond Garden. Memo raced for the water, and we were terribly frightened he might jump in and drown. Then Edward suggested that we go to the tennis courts. I thought this quite brilliant and said perhaps we could teach Memo and Hotspur to play tennis!
10 September, 1544
Memo is improving in lessons. The tennis court is an ideal training ground for we can raise and lower the net and teach him to jump over it. We shall introduce a tennis ball soon and just accustom him to the idea of bouncing it. I have studied Memo’s hands carefully. The fingers are extraordinarily long. Holding the ball will not be hard. Holding the tennis racket I think will prove more difficult. Edward is working with Hotspur on perfecting what he calls a good simian grip.
14 September, 1544
Michaelmas is just two weeks away. Edward and I want to masquerade as stars or perhaps entire constellations. We go to Ponsby this afternoon to discuss our costumes for the dance following the Feast of Saint Michael’s. Ponsby showed us how he might fix our costumes as constellations. Robin has decided to be Orion. Edward is to be Aquila the eagle. Ponsby shall fashion him some wings. And I shall be Cygnus the swan. My costume in many senses is the easiest, for swan and goose are two favourite dishes to serve for Michaelmas feast. So there shall be several freshly slaughtered swans from which Ponsby can fashion my wings. I think it shall be beautiful.
15 September, 1544
Glorious news. The Queen received today a letter from Father. Boulogne is about to fall. He said it would have fallen sooner but for a shortage of gunpowder. There were considerable details about batteries and mines and bulwarks and dikes, but at the end he said, “Hearty blessings to all of our children.” All, dear Diary, Father said All! He meant me. Me! Me! Me! I am so excited I am no longer an exile. Me! Me! My father loves Me! I am just a fool. I would be content writing Me all the livelong day. Oh, glory! I cannot wait to see him.
19 September, 1544
The Queen is so busy that we hardly ever see her. She has many jobs as Regent. It is the Queen who must oversee the shipment of supplies to France, and through the Royal Lieutenant of the Privy Council she must keep a careful watch on the rebellious Scots on the northern border. The Scots are allies of the French, and only two weeks ago our vessels captured a Scottish one carrying secret letters to France. Queen Catherine seized the letters and sent them on to Father. She looks so tired. That is why we did not protest when she called us in and said that Lady Jane Grey was coming to court and that we must be nice to her and arrange for a Michaelmas costume through Ponsby, so she won’t feel left out.
Lady Jane Grey is a granddaughter of my father’s sister. So I guess that makes her my cousin. However, Lady Jane Grey is a simpering idiot as far as I am concerned. Oh, she is bright enough. Very scholarly, almost as good as me in Latin and Greek. Although I doubt she can hold a candle to me now in mathematics. We are now all doing Euclidean geometry with great facility. But Jane Grey is dull, dull, dull. I would wager she will not even care about a costume for the Michaelmas Feast. She is like Princess Mary in that sense. No imagination. Not quite as dour as Mary. Robin said the most curious thing about Mary – that the reason she changes her hair colour so much is because she finds it easier than changing the expression on her face. Her mouth is always in a straight firmly pressed line – just like a pleat on my bodice. That tight, that neat, only h
orizontal instead of vertical.
20 September, 1544
I am being very nice to Lady Jane Grey. She arrived yesterday. Master Cox is already calling her Good Jane or Diligent Jane after only one day in the schoolroom. It’s not as if I am bad or stubborn. I find it very annoying to hear him go on in this manner about her. She is so dull. Why doesn’t he call her Dull Jane?
21 September, 1544
We took Lady Jane Grey to Ponsby to be fitted up for a costume. The whole way there she was going on about how sweet it was, that we shouldn’t take the time, and so forth and so on. Then when we get there she is so overwhelmed with all the fantastical devices and costumes that she cannot make up her mind what she wants to be. She hems and haws. “Oh, I think I shall be this. Oh, I think I shall be that. I think I should be something from the Bible.” The desert that Moses wandered through for forty years is what I think – dry, blank, and featureless. Finally I cannot stand it another minute. I make up her mind for her. “Pegasus,” I say. “You will be the constellation Pegasus.” Well, the poor girl weeps for joy. “Oh, dear Elizabeth. You are so kind. So imaginative. I would never have thought of this myself. Oh, a winged horse!” She does an awkward little dance around Ponsby’s workshop and nearly whinnies! This girl is going to drive me mad! And needless to say, our heavens shall be a little less lustrous with the constellation of Lady Jane Grey. Grey! How appropriate that is her last name. It suits.
Elizabeth Page 3