by G Lawrence
I was pleased to have found such friends as Bridget and Margaret. Although they were not the same as my friends in France, I had a sense of familiarity with them quickly, and it made me feel less alone. Courting the company of clever, cultivated women, as I had done in France, made me feel better about England. There were friends here for me and they were quick witted and good company. The English Court was not as sophisticated as that of Burgundy or France, but it was not an unpleasant place to be. Especially since another old friend had appeared… strangely, at the same time I did…
Tom had returned to court when I had entered service with Katherine. Tom, George, and Mary were also my constant companions when we were not in service to the King or the Queen. George’s future bride, Jane Parker, had too returned to court from a spell at her family home in Essex, and she was pleasant enough to me, at least on the surface. Jane was of rich descent and good birth. She was the daughter of Henry Parker, the tenth Baron Morley. Morley had been brought up within the household of the King’s grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, and had been a cupbearer at the coronation of Henry VIII. Morley was a learned man, much in favour, who often worked making translations of valued works by Plutarch, Cicero and Seneca, amongst others, for the King. Jane’s family were also devoted to the Church which made them good friends and favourites with the Queen. Jane would bring great wealth to our family with the dowry our father was bargaining for, and she was extremely attractive with fair golden hair, a petite face and large green eyes. I found her quite arresting to look on, and felt a stab of jealousy when I did look on her; Jane was far more beautiful than I would ever be.
George seemed happy enough to have her name put forward as a wife for him, but curiously he did not seem overly interested in the lady herself. I believed that George, with his already exciting reputation amongst the women of the court, enjoyed a challenge and a chase when it came to his conquests. Men such as George tire of easy capture, and what prey is easier to capture in the end, than a wife who is bound by law and by God to obey her husband? Perhaps because he saw no challenge in the prospect of a wife, he was less interested in Jane than he might have been had he tried to attract her as a mistress in the games of courtly love. Jane was certainly beautiful enough to have caught his attentions otherwise. I felt rather sorry for her in this matter, and when I thought of George’s indifference to his bride, I thought of the Jane I had first seen at the funeral of the tiny Prince Henry… A little girl who received a hard slap about the face, merely for playing with a black ribbon on her dress.
Since she was likely to become our sister, Mary and I had started to try and tarry with Jane. She was a strange creature. There was never anything in the way she behaved that was reproachable. She was the perfect courtier, but that meant that she was amply able to hide her true feelings. She had been largely brought up within the court, coming to serve in noble households here from the age of twelve, and now in the service of the Queen. In many ways, her career had mirrored that of my sister Mary, aside from my sister’s habit of attracting the notice of Kings… Jane was hard to read, which made me wary of her, but in time I came to understand her better.
Sometimes I caught her eyes looking searchingly at me, but when I looked up, that expression would vanish, to be replaced by a courtly smile. I fancied that she viewed me as a rival for the attentions of the gallants of court, although I had no proof of this. If so, she was correct, for I was a potential rival. I was not as beautiful as she was, but my French-style manners, my slight accent which always lilted on English words, and my fine clothing made me stand out. My gowns were already being aped by the other ladies of the court. I was quite different to all of these English born and bred ladies. I also had a confidence drawn from relying on myself during my travels. I had seen and experienced far more of the world than these pretty English does knew existed. I was different. I was already starting to stand out from the crowds, and was therefore swiftly finding myself at the centre of a most sophisticated group of women and men at court. My old mistress, Mary Tudor, had seemed pleased to find me in the service of her beloved sister-in-law, Katherine, and was already seeking me out as she said she enjoyed talking with one who had loved the diversions of the French Court as she had.
So yes, I could understand why Jane might have viewed me with resentment. She had been long at the English Court, and yet I had made more of an impression in the short time I had been here. I was hardly modest about my accomplishments, but I have ever viewed false modesty as a pretentious affectation; people only say they are not good at something to gain a compliment. I was aware of my talents and I made sure others were too. Perhaps that does not paint me in a humble light, but at least it was honest.
Jane may have viewed me with umbrage too because I was also a rival for the attentions of my brother. George and I had quickly grown close again, as we had been when we were children. He was becoming a great friend as well as a brother, and we were often found writing, reading or walking together. As his prospective bride, Jane may have found this annoying; no doubt she thought he should pay all his attentions to her instead. But George seemed to have little interest in her besides being charmingly polite and attentive when at entertainments or feasts. George did not seem to warm to her conversation or company any more than he warmed to those of any other women in particular. But Jane had hot eyes for George; she was always watching him. She would be a wild cat in the bedchamber if he liked, I could see that in her… She burned for him. She would be his whenever he wished… And George, the hunter of court ladies, saw that in her, and was less attracted to her because of it. That which can be had easily is never as attractive as that which is hard to attain…
This proposed marriage then, like so many others around us, was unlikely to be a success. But there were many matches made on less fertile ground than this which still turned out to be manageable in the end. I hoped for Jane’s sake that George would prove to be a satisfactory husband. Mary and I continued to seek the company of Jane Parker, and slowly she seemed to warm to us a little. It was to her benefit to be within the company of those favoured by the King or Queen, and to be friends with the King’s mistress was an advantage. As we spent time rehearsing for the pageant of the Chateau Vert, as Wolsey’s entertainment was named, I did find myself liking her a little more than when we first met, but I still found her steady eyes watching me when my back was turned. At times I found such jealousy satisfying… It is always somewhat gratifying to know that you are envied, however unattractive that admission may be. At other times I felt more uneasy of her watchful eyes. But at the time, I thought little of the jealousy of Jane Parker.
Chapter Seven
York Palace
March, 1522
My sister was much astonished to suddenly find that she would have to ape her younger sister in apparel if she was to be thought stylish at court. She had thought that I would have to change my style to fit in, but instead, all over court there were versions of my elegant long-hanging sleeves and French-style hoods popping up. Mary Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk, had made the French hood popular when she returned from France, but with the changing ways of the court, the unflattering yet modest gable hood had made a resurgence in more recent years. But with my arrival, it seemed that all ladies about the court were now wearing the flattering French-style head-dress, which sat further back on the head, allowing a slight amount of the wearer’s hair to be shown. Since my long, dark hair was one of my best features, I had no desire to hide it under the ungainly English gable hood. Even if we were not at peace with France, I would still not garb myself in such inelegant clothing.
Mary shook her head at me in wonder at the growing popularity of my manner of dress, and I showed her how to set her gown, how to sew sleeves so that they accentuated the waist with their long, swooping lengths. I designed some clothes for Mary, too, that I thought suited her fuller figure better, and she was pleased with them. When I had first started to sketch and design gowns, I could only make them for my o
wn form, but it seemed that my closeness to my sister allowed me to think on her form well enough to know what would suit her. We chose new materials in rich blues and bright crimsons to accentuate her fair colouring, and I was pleased with my successes in designing for a body not my own.
The rehearsals for the coming entertainment of the Chateau Vert were progressing well. We had all been learning the steps; both with some of the men chosen for the entertainment, and with each other when the Queen gave her ladies time to practise together. We were given dresses for the entertainment; the virtues were to wear long shimmering gowns of white satin which sparkled in the light when we moved and hung on our young bodies like another, more perfect, flawless skin. Golden ribbons hung here and there on our costumes, glowing in the light of the torches.
On the night of the entertainment, we washed our skin in water infused with petals of roses and wild lilies, and anointed our hair and necks with Italian perfume: hard blocks of ambergris and musk with heavy scent that clung to our bodies like the silks we wore. This heady perfume ignited the senses. On our heads were cauls of Venetian gold topped with Milan bonnets in white silks and velvets. They were expensive costumes and made to impress the servants of the Emperor.
The vices were dressed in a similar style, but they were in the darkest black silk decorated with silver ribbons. Across our dresses, the names of the characters that we represented were picked out in delicate embroidery. Such beautiful stitching was not done by our own hands; for this occasion we were given the best work of the finest seamstresses and tailors of England and Milan. The King and Queen wanted to ensure that we stunned the Spanish ambassadors, both in our clothing and our talents.
The entertainment took place at York Palace, the London stronghold of Cardinal Wolsey, the King’s Chancellor and Bishop of York. Wolsey was the King’s most trusted, treasured servant, and the Cardinal did everything for the King. Some might have said that Wolsey was the one, in fact, who ruled England, for he had a large finger in every event that went on. He was the King’s own hand… and one of the richest men in England. I had seen Wolsey before, of course, at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, but I was amazed at how the years had caused him to expand… in riches and in girth. Constantly swathed in the richest red robes, he rode a humble mule and yet glittered with gold. He owned vast tracts of land, and his coffers overflowed with coin. Wolsey seemed a great deal more interested in the affairs of the realm, and in the constant accumulation of wealth, than he did in the offices of a Cardinal and spiritual leader of the people. To me, the Cardinal was all that was wrong with the Church; a shining example of all that required reform.
I could not, of course, say something like this aloud. Wolsey was the most powerful man in England, next to the King, and he had the ear and the heart of the English King as his own.
The entertainment started early that night. There was first a sumptuous feast, the like of which I had not seen since leaving France: pottage of butter-soft mutton in white broth; stewed ribs of venison with parsley, sage and hot black pepper; frumenty with saffron and cinnamon; chicken mortis made with almonds and rose water. Then came capons, roasted boars’ heads, whole sides of venison, and cranes, herons and plovers roasted with their heads and beaks still upon their bodies. Herbed, open pies of pork and pheasants cooked in melted butter stood next to leeks and sops bobbing in fine sauces rich with wine. French-style balls of meat in cubeb berry sauce were sopped up with fine white manchet bread, and warm sallats of white and purple boiled carrots and fine-sliced onions made the trestle tables on which we ate colourful and gay. The meal was finished with sweet tarts of cheese, golden with browned sugar; imported oranges made into fine marmalade; dried rings of pippin apples which swam merry and bobbing in cinnamon-spiced pools of sweet sauce, and tarts wobbling with thick custard, which were so large that they made the tables groan as they were placed upon them.
The ambassadors of Spain were further entranced as Wolsey called for the last course of delicious and strange subtleties of sugar to be brought out, for then huge works of sugar moulded into the crests of the Kings of Spain and England were placed before them. Wolsey received the admiring cheers of the company and the beaming smiles of the ambassadors with obvious glee. At his side, King Henry clapped his servant hard upon the back to see his own crest set next to the King of Spain’s. Wolsey understood how to make a show.
I could eat little during the feast, due to excitement, but I took a small sample from the dishes before me and engaged in slightly distracted conversation with those at my side as I ate delicately. Then, as the feast ended, we players subtly disappeared as the company thronged around the hall and the tables were folded up and removed. The entertainment was a secret to most, thought up by Wolsey and created by William Cornish, the King’s Master of the Choristers. It was to be a secret until unveiled by Wolsey himself for the greater glory of the King… And perhaps also, many whispered, for the greater glory of Wolsey.
We crept, sixteen of us, into a side chamber, restraining our giggles of excitement as we changed into our beautiful costumes and took our places on the battlements of the great wooden castle. This wasn’t a creation as notable as the castle at the Field of the Cloth of Gold had been, but it was still impressive. Great turrets stretched up high into the rafters with clever, hidden stairs for us to reach our places behind the painted battlements. The vices in their brilliant black gowns took up their places in the front line of defence, and we awaited the entrance of the company. Some ladies, my sister amongst them, were so overcome by anticipation that they could not quite stifle their giggles as we waited.
I cast my sister a look that she told me later was reminiscent of our father. It was enough to stop her from disgracing our family. Mary of Suffolk was, too, looking a little scathingly at my sister, although this probably had more to do with my sister’s affair with the King. The Duchess loved her sister-in-law, Katherine, and disapproved of my sister’s relationship with the King; the Tudors could be a prudish family with all other affairs but their own. Mary of Suffolk had, after all, caused a great scandal herself by marrying where she wished rather than obeying her brother’s commands. The Dowager Queen of France could hardly turn her perfect little nose up at my sister for wanton behaviour.
We waited by candle light in that great chamber; my heart pounded with exhilaration. This was what I had been waiting for since I left France; a great way to show all that I had learned there and all that I was now… a skilled court lady.
The company were led into the great adjoining hall; their feet crunched over the fresh rushes and herbs strewn over the floors. Wolsey was not one to do things by halves; the fresh rushes were infused with costly scents and sprinkled with newly-picked herbs from his gardens at York Palace. Scents of the coming spring seemed to follow the steps of the company as they entered this hall lighted with great wax candles and hung with tapestry and cloth of gold and silver.
When they glimpsed the great castle, a hearty applause, heavy with surprised laughter, burst forth from the company and there was much clapping and cheering. As with all our entertainments at court, it was for the audience to guess what the story was. That was part of the diversion, but we aided them by calling phrases down to them as they took their places to watch the unfolding story.
Lady Sharp-tongue cried out first, “No knight shall come to vanquish my resistance,” he called to the company, the high voice of the boy residing in the costume of a woman squeaking out. “Not if he would keep his honour unscathed by my tongue!” This caused some ribald laughter, and more than a few jests whispered at the back of the company.
My sister, Kindness, called out that she would mend that hurt with her tongue, which caused even more laughter and a few raised eyebrows from some of the ladies. I blushed slightly. Mary had altered her phrase a little, much to my embarrassment. She was supposed to say that she would mend such hurt with her words… but had obviously decided it would be merrier this way. Mary of Suffolk lifted an eyebrow to me which
arched over the top of her mask, and then turned to the company. Despite the mask she wore, all knew this was the sister of the King, and fell silent to hear her, in respect for her position.
“Beauty is held captive by the whims of feminine cruelty,” she cried in her strong voice. And then she sighed. “How long shall Beauty have to wait, to shine her light upon the heart of a true knight?”
I called out my own phrase which was to be the signal for the entrance of the Knights of Love from the back of the hall. “Perseverance shall wait forever if need be… for a great knight offering his true heart would be worth all the time in the heavens and earth to a maiden such as I.”
How those words have echoed down the years to me!
At the sound of my words there came a great banging at the doors of the hall and without any man moving to open those doors they were flung open. In charged the Knights of Love with a great shout and a great yell. The company scattered backwards from the charge of the knights, laughing and pointing at their fine forms and magnificent costumes. Their caps and coats were made of gold and blue velvet; cloaks of deepest azure with gold tinsel adorning them swept over their broad shoulders. Across their chests were scrolls of yellow damask upon which was written their names, values of masculine ardour and virtue. They were Amourness, Nobleness, Youth, Attendance, Loyalty, Pleasure, Gentleness and Liberty. We all knew that the man standing at the head of them all was King Henry himself, playing Amourness.