Elizabeth

by Kathryn Lasky

  Tomorrow we go to Elsynge Hall to join Father and the Queen for Saint Valentine’s Day. I shall be happy. The valentines shall not bleed this year.

  13 February, 1545

  Elsynge Hall

  The children are often the last to know. Kat warned Edward and me before we arrived here this afternoon that Father might seem distracted, as apparently the French are making trouble again. Indeed there is talk of a French invasion, and Father has spent very little time at Elsynge Palace in the past weeks but has been travelling the southwest coast with his military advisers, inspecting the coastal defences. There is talk that the invasions will come before Midsummer’s Day. Princess Mary arrived from her palace in Beaulieu. Her hair remains the same colour. I shall make a valentine for her despite our past grievances. Lucretia the Tumbler did not come with her. She has gout. But Jane the Bald came. I wonder what happens when a fool becomes too old to do tricks, to tumble.

  14 February, 1545,

  Saint Valentine’s Day Noon

  The day has not started off well at all. We were supposed to have breakfast with Father, but he was closeted with his councillors, including that old lizard Wriothesley. The King’s Privy Chamber, off the social rooms of the apartment, were near enough to where we had gathered for breakfast that we could hear Father’s voice booming.

  “Let the Frenchies come! We’ll fight them. And the Scots traitors as well! I won before. I shall again.” I saw a trace of a grimace cross the Queen’s face, which told me all about my father’s condition. His legs must have worsened since I last saw him.

  Breakfast with Father was cancelled. Or rather, he took it with his Privy Councillors. We are, however, to meet him for the midday meal in another hour.

  Later

  I was shocked terribly when I saw Father. He was swollen to an even greater size and must have a Gentleman of the Wardrobe on either side of him as he walks with his staves. His legs are swathed in bandages that are stained. And I thought I smelled a sweet sort of foulness coming from them. The Queen ran to him immediately and lifted his legs, with the help of a gentleman of the chamber, onto a banquette. He sighed loudly and then seemed to notice us. “Oh, children! Come, come! Do not let these stinking pillars of filth repel you. Ah! Elizabeth, you have grown taller, and Edward I hope not wider.” He laughed at this. Edward did not. “And Mary prettier I believe.” He said this without conviction. Princess Mary would turn twenty-nine in just four days and anyone with a speck of sense knew that no woman grows prettier after twenty-five, and certainly not after thirty. It is after thirty that decrepitude begins to set in – unfortunately for women more quickly than for men.

  Luncheon was attended by Sir Thomas Alsop, the royal apothecary and Father’s new physician. Dr Butts is too old now to attend him. Father, I could tell, much enjoyed his apothecary, and there was a great deal of talk about various medicines and remedies for hawks. Hawking is the only sport left that my father can really pursue now. His riding and hunting and jousting days are over.

  15 February, 1545

  Sometimes I wonder if we shall ever have a festive Saint Valentine’s banquet again. Two years ago, it was excruciatingly grim because of the execution of Catherine Howard. Last year I had been exiled, and Kat tried to make a cheery evening of it for me at Hatfield. Now this year there is the threat of a French invasion and of course Father’s health. Yet we all arrived in the banqueting house wearing a touch of red or more. Will Somers was dressed as Cupid and Jane the Bald had hearts painted on her head. The Saint Valentine’s banquet had all the appearances of a festive occasion.

  There was a pageant following the banquet. “Yet another occasion for Lady Dinsmore to display herself,” hissed Kat when we returned to our apartments.

  19 February, 1545

  Enfield Palace

  We returned to Enfield today. We were required to stay at Elsynge until after Princess Mary’s birthday. Father gave her a lovely sapphire pendant. I could see Mary was quite touched. I have decided that the true lovers of this Valentine’s season are Kat and John Ashley. They behave so sweetly and delicately with each other. Kat has no need for the wiles and false charms of Lady Dinsmore. I saw Kat and John Ashley walking together in the gardens. You would never have guessed it was the middle of winter. They looked as bright and cheerful as if they were out Maying. I can’t wait for May Day. It is, I believe, my favourite holiday. Nothing else can compare. Easter to my mind is rather grim, and all the grimmer if Princess Mary is around. She goes into such contortions over Easter.

  People get too emotional about religion, even my father. I love God, but I don’t know if it really matters to me if other people love Him in the same way I do.

  22 February, 1545

  We go to Hatfield tomorrow. Robin Dudley will join us there. I am so happy. To be at Hatfield when not banished and with Robin is a dream come true, for truly Hatfield is my favourite of all dwelling places. Barnaby Fitzpatrick shall come, too. I am not sure Kat welcomes this as he is such a poor student.

  24 February, 1545

  Hatfield

  Shrove Tuesday, the last day of Shrovetide and the day before Ash Wednesday. Very long Matins. During Matins, Barnaby Fitzpatrick made an embarrassing noise as one might hear in a barnyard, and we all started giggling. I wished Princess Mary had been here. She would have had a fit.

  25 February, 1545

  Ash Wednesday. Just as the priest dabbed the ashes on my forehead, someone again made a barnyard noise. I think it was Robin this time. We were all once more helpless with giggles.

  Later

  We are in trouble for our unseemly behaviour in the chapel. We are required to kneel and say a long list of prayers and psalms for an hour. All of us! Edward and I think it is not at all fair. We did not make these noises. It is not our fault.

  27 February, 1545

  Found the old hiding place for you, dear Diary. The loose panel in the floor of my wardrobe cabinet had been occupied by a mouse in my absence. I dusted it out and slipped you in. Hope the mouse does not return and chew you up.

  28 February, 1545

  One of those teasing late winter days made to fool one into thinking it is spring. The Sun shines so fiercely that one is tempted to go outside without a cloak. The earth is all loose and mud sucks eagerly at one’s footsteps. Robin and I rode the ponies hard after lessons and came back mud splattered. I had to take everything off and hand it to Mary Ward for either washing or brushing. Kat declares my stockings ruined.

  Hatfield is quite comfortable for Kat and John Ashley. Their apartments next to mine are large and commodious and have several fireplaces. I like having Mr Ashley in our little group. He is well-tempered and quite smart, I think. When he married Kat and became an official member of the Court, he was put in charge of the accounts for the children’s households. This means keeping track of all the expenses for running our households, from the food on our table to the salaries for the tutors and the monies for our books and papers and pens and ink.

  3 March, 1545

  Remember how I told you John Ashley was smart and tended the household accounts? Well, I overheard him and Kat talking about Wriothesley. They suspect him of some moneymaking scheme that is improper – profiting off the King’s household accounts. It is about something that is not his to sell, yet he sells it. It could be anything – food from the royal kitchens or even minor jewels. I’m not sure. I could not hear everything they said. But John Ashley suspects him. So yet another reason to detest the Lizard!

  7 March, 1545

  Edward is quite ill. He has a high fever and catarrh of the chest. He coughs and breathes raspily. An envoy was sent on the fastest horse to Greenwich, where Father is now in residence, to fetch the royal physicians and apothecaries and a surgeon if need be.

  8 March, 1545

  I am really worried about Edward. I sit beside him and
read to him. He finds my company soothing, and when I am not reading, I am praying. If – can I dare say the words? But if Edward should die, I do not know what might happen to me with Princess Mary as Queen. The thought stills my blood. It is not right to pray for him for only these selfish reasons. In truth, I do love Edward. For all his bossy ways I should feel desolate if he were to leave me. I taught him how to read. I made him his first cambric fancy-work shirt. I even, in secret, taught him how to stitch on an embroidery frame one day, although it is not thought manly and Father would have exiled me if he had known. But Edward begged, and in his bossy way said, “I shall be King and I thereby command you to teach me to stitch.” Never was such a command issued in the realm. And then he kissed me when I taught him and promised never to tell. And he will not, for he is a boy of honour. Oh, dear God, do not take Edward! My dear little Prince.

  9 March, 1545

  The royal physicians arrived very late last night. Thomas Alsop, the apothecary, and Edward Rogers, who had trained with Dr Butts and now tends to my father, are here along with a surgeon. I was summoned before Matins this morning to Edward’s apartments for he had called for me. I did start, however, when I walked in the chamber and saw Archbishop Cranmer. No one had mentioned anything about the Archbishop coming. They truly must be expecting Edward to die, for why else would the Archbishop be there, I thought, but to give dear Edward last rites? I sat down next to Edward and took his hand. “I am here, Edward,” I whispered. “You will get better. You must will it in your heart and your brain.” His lips, all dry and cracked, tried to say something back, but he could not gather the wind for speech. Still he heard me. The physicians said this is a good sign. I sat there all morning. They bled him once. They had laid on his chest a poultice of pulverized liquorice root, pennyroyal, and mustard. This is the favoured method of dissolving the catarrh that causes mucus in the lining of the lungs and throat. They discussed endlessly every illness Edward has ever had, which are numerous for his seven short years. He has had: quinsy or choking tonsil illness, jaundice, green sickness, gnawings in the belly, worms, and a variety of coughs and agues. Ague is a terrible shivering and shaking of the bones accompanied by a very high fever. I have only ever had coughs and common colds.

  10 March, 1545

  Edward’s fever has broken! He is through the crisis. Word has been sent to Father. We all go to the Chapel and make prayers of thanksgiving. When a prince or a king is sick nothing is normal, and through these confusing days we all but forgot about little Barnaby Fitzpatrick. I finally found him on the day the physicians and apothecary came. He was crying in a corner, and you’ll never believe what he said. “If Edward dies, Elizabeth, I shall never get to be whipping boy. I mean, of course, your father would have to die, first, so that Edward would be just a boy King.” You see if the King is still a child and misbehaves, he, of course, cannot be whipped. So there is appointed a royal whipping boy. I blushed with shame when I thought that here Barnaby was worried about not getting whipped if Edward died, and here I was worrying about getting whipped or worse by Princess Mary should she succeed my father as King. Barnaby Fitzpatrick has a large heart for someone so young.

  20 March, 1545

  Today I get out of bed for the first time in ten days. No sooner had the doctors left than I, too, was stricken by the same catarrh as Prince Edward. They were not, however, called back for me. For the third in line to the throne, they run to the village and get the local doctor – one Geoffrey Smollet. They told Smollet exactly the course of treatment Edward Rogers and Thomas Alsop had prescribed for Edward, and then he did the same for me – including the bleeding, which I hate. I made myself watch as they opened the vein in my ankle and drew out the blood with the cup and the straw. I felt if I can watch this I shall not be frightened of anything. Not of dying, nothing. Not even Mary. The thought of Mary being Queen and not me – of my being Mary’s subject – is almost more frightening than the thought of dying.

  21 March, 1545

  The Sun is strong today. It streams through my window. I get up for the first time and make my way to the schoolroom where Master Grindal awaits me. During my illness he paid many visits to my chamber and read to me.

  Later

  It was such a strange feeling walking after these ten days in bed. My legs, my feet, felt quite unfamiliar and rather insubstantial. Each step felt so odd, as if I were floating.

  22 March, 1545

  Edward and I were permitted to go outside today in the garden as the weather was so warm and the Sun shining. One can tell that the Earth is slipping from the grip of winter. The ground feels soft underfoot. Barnaby and Robin race ahead. Edward and I are still too weak to run.

  24 March, 1545

  This is the first day I really feel my old self. I want to go hawking tomorrow with John Ashley and Robin and Barnaby. Kat says, “We’ll see.” “We’ll see” often means no.

  25 March, 1545

  I’m right. It was no and I am furious. We have had one beautiful day after the next. It seems as if spring is in a rush to get here, and Edward and I sit inside all day long. For the first time ever I am bored with my studies. I am now well into translating the Gospel of Saint Matthew from Greek, but I care not for the endeavour. I have suggested to Master Grindal that we commence some natural history studies. Perhaps we could go outside collecting. “Collecting what?” he asks. I am not sure. So I say the first thing that pops into my mind: “Butterflies.” He reminds me that it is much too early for butterflies. I think again. “Earthworms. There must be many earthworms beginning to stir,” I say. He says he will think upon it. That is like Kat saying, “We’ll see.”

  26 March, 1545

  Released at last. It has been decided that we can go outdoors for what Master Grindal and John Cheke call naturalizing. We go armed with bottles and collecting nets, and jugs, and a few pasteboard boxes. I am to collect earthworms since they were my idea. Robin and Barnaby are collecting insects. Edward shall look for buds and growing things. There seems to be more variety in what the boys are collecting. As far as I can see all earthworms are the same. They perhaps vary in length and circumference. That is all. They are all a fleshy pink. When I say this, Master Grindal says, “Ah, but, Princess, you must cultivate a naturalist’s eye. You must learn to observe.” Then he picks up worms I have collected and immediately points out at least five or six differences. “And their behaviour you must observe, too.” This bewilders me. I have never thought of worms having behaviour. Master Grindal is going to show me how to do experiments. That sounds exciting.

  27 March, 1545

  Barnaby, although slow with his schoolroom work, proves himself a born naturalist. He has found an amazing variety of beetles. He makes wonderful drawings of them. One can cut an earthworm in half and it still wiggles. My experiment is to cut two earthworms in half. With one earthworm, I put the two halves in separate but identical environments. With the other, I put the two halves in contrasting environments. I am then to observe how they behave. This is a very different kind of learning from what we have ever done before.

  28 March, 1545

  There is still much talk about the invasion of the French. I hear Kat and Mr Ashley talking about it all the time, and often Masters Cheke and Grindal. Today Master Grindal and Master Cheke taught us all together, and we studied a map of the southeast coast. Great Harry, the flagship, and the other immense ship, the Mary Rose, are now at Portsmouth along with the rest of the English fleet. Master Grindal explained to us how there is a system of beacons along the coast in all of the villages that the citizens light to warn of invasion. We all wish we could go to the coast and help with the beacons. It sounds so exciting.

  29 March, 1545

  Soon we depart for Windsor Castle. We shall spend Holy Week there. None of us likes Windsor much. It is so boring. No galleries, no gardens. The rooms are bare compared to our other palaces and
houses. And the bedchambers and our apartments are too large to be cosy. I hope we do not have to stay there long.

  5 April, 1545

  Windsor Castle

  We arrived last night. Today is Palm Sunday. All of Court is here.

  9 April, 1545

  On Maundy Thursday we eat hot cross buns. I take a great time picking the sugar cross off the bun and eating it as slowly as possible. Edward when no one is looking licks his cross off. It is interesting no one notices what I do, or perhaps they do not care, but picking off the sugar cross is just as ill-mannered as licking it off. I am rarely corrected when I am with Edward, and it is not because I am a better or more polite child. I am just invisible, as I have already explained. Sometimes it seems as if I am more invisible than others. That is why I love it when Father winks at me or pinches my cheek. I am a hoarder of my father’s winks, a miser with his pinches. I would trade every single one of my royal jewels, and I do have a few, for a chest full of winks!