A Court Affair (32 page)

Every bell in London was ringing for me that day. And choirs sang with joyous fervour. There were gilded and decorated triumphal arches for us to pass under, and from the windows of the houses overlooking the street people leaned and waved and called down to me, tossed handfuls of herbs or flower petals down, and unfurled banners they had made.

At times the procession paused so that pretty children might recite speeches to me or my people stage little plays and
tableaux
-
vivants.
One depicted the whole Tudor dynasty, with costumed wax and wooden effigies, each one rising from the centre of a red and white Tudor rose. And for the first time I saw my mother, Anne Boleyn, honoured, standing beside my father. And I myself, gowned in gold, stood on the highest pedestal of all, as though I were blossoming out of the heart of a Tudor rose and shining, like the sun, down upon them all. And another pageant, staged outside St Paul’s Cathedral, where Latin scholars praised my wisdom and learning, depicted me as another Deborah, the brave woman who had restored the House of Israel and “had been sent by God to rule His people for forty years”.

At the Eleanor Cross in Cheapside the Lord Mayor of London awaited me in his ermine-edged crimson robes to present me with a purse containing the traditional 1,000 gold marks the City always gave the new monarch. The crowd fell to a respectful hush as I stood up to speak:

“I thank my Lord Mayor, his brethren, and you all. And whereas your request is that I should continue your good lady and Queen, be ye well assured that I will be as good unto you as ever queen was to her people. No will in me can lack. And be thou well persuaded, that for the safety and peace of you all, I will not spare, if need be, to spend my blood. God thank you all!”

The cheers and cries that greeted my words were deafening, but no music could ever have been sweeter to my ears or touched my heart more.

At Westminster Abbey, I dismounted from my litter, taking the hand Robert held out to me, and I slowly traversed the blue velvet carpet that had been laid down for me, all the way to the altar. Standing at the top of the steps before the great doors, I raised my hands, gesturing for my people to fall silent, and spoke to them from my heart:

“Be ye well assured that I will stand your good Queen. I wish neither prosperity nor safety for myself, only for our common good.”

I spied an old man weeping by the door, and I went and laid a hand upon his arm. “I warrant that it is for gladness that you weep?” I smiled.

“Aye, Your Majesty!” he cried, and he dropped to his knees to press the hem of my robe to his lips.

I touched the top of his head and thanked and blessed him before I gently pulled my robe away and continued into the abbey, whilst behind me the people fell like starving wolves onto the blue velvet carpet I had trod upon, tearing it up, with teeth and nails, to take home as a treasured souvenir.

The ceremony inside passed as a golden blur, lit by hundreds of candles, spoken in both English and Latin, to please Protestants and Catholics alike. And Cecil knelt, despite the pain in his knees, and held my English Bible as I laid my hand upon it and solemnly spoke my coronation oath. I remember the fishy stink of the oil used to anoint my head and breast and the
wonderful
weight of the crown when it was at last put upon my head, a responsibility I welcomed and was ready to bear, and the fulfilling manner in which the weighty golden orb filled my hand, so heavy I feared I might drop it but knew in my heart I never would, and the way my fingers closed around the jewelled sceptre in such a firm grip, symbolic of my determination never to let go, and the heavy gold and onyx coronation ring upon my finger, right where a wedding ring belonged, as a sacred covenant, wedding me to England, the one lover I desired most, who would
never
disillusion or disappoint me; this
really
was a love that would last and withstand every test of Time.

As I stepped outside into the late-afternoon sun, to show myself to my people in full royal regalia, with the crown on my head and the sceptre and orb in my hands, the blare of the trumpets, the tolling of the bells, and the jubilant cries and cheering of my people nigh deafened my ears, and I knew this joyful noise would ring forever in my heart. Whenever I felt weak or weary, this memory would give me the strength to go on.

As I walked slowly towards Westminster Hall, where my coronation banquet would be celebrated, treading upon the few stray, straggling threads that covered the cold ground where once a blue carpet had been, my people fell to their knees and reverently reached out fingertips to touch my skirts and trailing robe, and behind me, as I briefly glanced back, I saw many bow their heads down and kiss where my feet had touched the ground, and tears welled in my eyes, blinding me so that I saw all as a colourful moving blur through a wavering, watery curtain.
God help me to be the Queen they deserve!
I prayed with all my heart.

“Remember old King Henry the Eighth!” an old man in the crowd cried, and my lips spread in a broad smile. I was my father’s daughter, and I vowed that when I was an old woman whose Tudor red tresses had faded to grey and the time came for me to close my eyes on the world forever, I would leave behind an England greater than my father had ever known. Poor, weak, little Edward, and mad, deluded, lovelorn, and brainsick Mary had each failed to be a worthy successor to our father’s throne and memory, and now it was my turn, and, with God’s grace, I, the last Tudor, the princess who had sorely disappointed our father by not being a prince, would show the world that disappointment had been misplaced, that
here,
in this frail female form, was Great Harry’s true and worthy successor, and, through me, my mother would also be redeemed. Though she had given birth to a daughter instead of a son, time would reveal that she had
not
failed; I would prove that what many thought was her greatest failure was instead her greatest triumph.

Though the banquet, one continuous, dizzying round of delicious dishes, music, and dancing, lasted until dawn, shortly after midnight I rose from my chair at the high table, beneath the canopy of estate, and toasted my nobility, wishing them good health and thanking them for the pains they had taken on my behalf, and then withdrew to my bedchamber.

I dismissed my ladies. I told them to go, dance and make merry, or to sleep in their beds; I wanted to be alone. But I wasn’t alone. And I knew I wouldn’t be. Robert was there, waiting for me. I let him undress me, luxuriating in his touch, as he bared my skin, setting it free from my grand but heavy, cumbersome raiments, sighing under his hands as he rubbed the red marks my stays had left. I let him carry me, naked, to the great purple velvet and gold-fringed bed, its canopy supported by great, fierce, carved and gilded lions, claws and fangs bared, poised ready to pounce on us, and there ease me with his lips and hands. But when he took my hand and placed it on his bulging codpiece, I merely smiled, gave it a pat, and told him to go home to his wife.

“Leave me. I am tired and wish to sleep,” I said, and I rolled over onto my side and pulled the covers up and shut my eyes. I smiled at the sound of his footsteps and the curses he muttered beneath his breath and the slam of the door behind him, and I drifted off to sleep, intoxicated by my power to control men, those who thought God and Nature had decreed that it should be the other way around.

London
Sunday, January 15, 1559

R
obert wrote and bade me come to London for Elizabeth’s coronation, to the grand town house owned by his uncle; he said I would be more comfortable there than with him at court or lodging with my cousins, the Scotts, in Camberwell. Nothing I could say would persuade him that I would rather be with him. He would not change his mind and let me come to court; he said he was too busy and hadn’t time to play nursemaid to my nerves or schoolmaster to correct my backward, blundering ways. So I packed up the magnificent purple tinsel and silver lace gown I had intended for my presentation to Queen Mary, reasoning that it would do just as well for her sister’s coronation, and sat down with Cook and painstakingly wrote out our recipe for strawberry jam, which Robert had most urgently requested for his own cook, cautioning me not to dare to come to London without it, and then to London I went.

I was in my bedchamber, with Pirto and my tailor, dear Mr Edney, and his apprentice, when my husband walked in.

“No, No, No!”
Robert bellowed, stamping his feet, his hands going up as if to tear the hair from his head. “
That
is the
Spanish
style! Do you want to proclaim to the whole world that you are Catholic and true to the memory of Mary?”

“But, Robert, I am not a Catholic. I was only pretending when you told me to!” I crinkled my brow at his outburst and glanced down at my gown, trying to discover what was so wrong with it. “I am not wearing a crucifix or rosary, and this is the grandest gown I own, and, I thought, since it was made to wear for one queen, it would do just as well for another. And the fashions have not changed so drastically that—”

“You!”
Ignoring me, Robert pointed at Mr Edney. “Make her presentable, or I promise, no one of any means will ever hire you even to make their shroud—you’ll end your days sewing shifts and shirts for the poor.” And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh, Mr Edney!” I wailed with tears filling my eyes as I turned to him. “He should not have been so unkind to you—I am so sorry! The dress is beautiful,
really.
I … I am sorry my husband does not like it! It is my fault … I should have realised … I should have known that it would not do and ordered something new, and now …” I sank down sobbing onto the side of my bed. “Now it is too late—the coronation is tomorrow!”

“There, there, sweeting, don’t you worry.” Mr Edney knelt before me and with his own handkerchief dried my tears. “We’ll fix it! Just a snip here and a tuck there, and no one will
ever
know it was made in the Spanish fashion. Yours is not the first angry husband I’ve encountered, and I daresay he will not be the last. And with being appointed Her Majesty’s Master of the Horse—a great and grave responsibility that is indeed—it is only natural that his lordship’s nerves should be a-fraying at the seams. But with your beauty and my needle we’ll give him a sight to make him proud! Come now.” He raised me to my feet and led me to a small stool positioned before the full-length looking glass. “Step up here, and let me see how best to work my magic!”

By the time Robert returned later that evening, Mr Edney had transformed the gown, and there was not a trace of Spain about it, and it was
still
the most magnificent I had ever owned, and I felt confident that I could hold my own amongst all the grand, highborn ladies of the court on the morrow when I took my seat in Westminster Abbey. Robert was
delighted
; he was all smiles and compliments as he twirled me around so he could fully admire my gown. To my immense delight—and relief—he could not find a single fault with it.

He took me in his arms and danced me all around the room in a lively galliard, sweeping me up in his arms, lifting me high, my skirts swaying like a ringing bell, as he spun me round and round. I smiled and laughed and clung to him. I felt happy and alive. Dancing in my husband’s arms, I felt like one returned from the grave to the land of the living. It had been so
very
long since we had danced together and I had felt such joy, I had almost forgotten what it was like.

Like a cockerel strutting to impress me, Robert performed a series of leaps and turns, and I threw back my head and, laughing and carefree, began to circle the room from the opposite end, spinning round and round, doing spirited leaps and kicks of my own, until we met, and I was in his arms again, crushed tightly against his chest, as he showered me with praise and kisses and lifted me high in the air and spun me as I laughed in dizzy joy. Then Mr Edney, familiar with the ways of the court, held a big yellow silk tassel up high for Robert to display his skill at high kicks. I clapped my hands and called “Bravo!” each time the toe of Robert’s boot made the tassel bounce and sway. Then Robert caught me up in his arms again and spun me until we collapsed together, dizzy and laughing, on the bed.

My husband kissed me then with a passion I thought long dead. As he bent his head to plant a kiss onto each of my breasts, flushed and heaving above the low-cut bodice, he bade Mr Edney, his apprentice, and Pirto to withdraw and leave us. Even as the door closed behind them, he gently rolled me over onto my stomach and unlaced my gown, then lifted my skirts and untied and drew the stiffened farthingale and layered taffeta petticoats down over my hips. He turned me round and kissed me again as he carefully eased away my gown, taking great care not to crumple or tear it. He even rose and went to drape it over the back of a chair. Then he was back on the bed with me, and I was in his arms again. He made such tender, passionate, gentle yet ardent love to me that I was reminded of the days we spent at Hemsby-by-the-Sea when we were newly wed. I
gloried
in the warmth and weight of his body over mine, skin against skin, and the feel of his lips and hands that assured me I was wanted and admired, and the hot skin that told me that my husband was on fire with desire for me. I clung to him and cried out my passion and love for him; it was
so
intense, I felt likely to die of it. And as I fell asleep with my head on his chest, my ear to his heart, listening to it beat, like a love song and a lullaby in my ear, just for me, I prayed fervently that this would be a new beginning for us.

But it turned out that my gown would be wasted yet again. I would only glimpse the coronation procession from afar and would not set foot in Westminster Abbey at all and thus see nothing of the crowning ceremony. I would watch what little of it I could see leaning from my window high above, not seated with the noble and privileged guests as Robert had promised me.