Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I (5 page)

“She said there was an engagement in Sweden that she believes was set aside due to the lack of a dowry, and that she was to act as your mother while in England. She would also send a letter to your mother with some of Geoffrey Preston’s merchant friends. In the meantime, dear Elin, I should like to know your mind on this matter.”

Princess Cecelia knew about the dowry problem and assumed that it had canceled my engagement—or perhaps she knew that it had already been canceled, and I was the only one who hadn’t been told for certain.

I was angry and yet . . . I knew now that I did not truly love Philip, and I would never be able to trust him. But if we were legally betrothed, then there was no more to be discussed. William made me laugh, he clearly adored me, we had rousing discussions, and while he knew more than I in every matter, he never made me feel lesser for it. I felt good with him. I felt safe. I was truly fond
of him even if there was not the passion found, perhaps solely, in poetry.

“I am honored that you would wish to take me as a wife.” I took his hand, which seemed to please him, thrilled that he’d concerned himself with my opinion. “I find great pleasure in your company and enjoy our times together very much,” I said. “Perhaps I may think upon it while we wait to hear from my mother.”

“Of course,” he said. “Of course you must. I would provide everything you need, should you agree, of course. Maids of honor and servants and lady maids of your own, fine houses and your clothing and jewels. No woman will ever be more treasured than you, Elin.”

“I know your character, William,” I said. “I feel treasured by you already.” And I did. I had never felt so valued by a man.

He placed his hand over mine and I allowed it to rest there. I prayed silently for a quick response from my mother; the Danes sometimes let through the English ships, so a letter and response might be forthcoming.

Once the challengers rode into the tiltyard, my mind set aside thoughts of marriage and letters and focused on the match. The horses twitched with energy, stamping at each end of the arena, and though the men were wrapped in metal I could sense their readiness to battle. I watched and cheered as much as the next person. Lord Robert rode for the queen’s favor; the gossip was that there had been a loud and public quarrel between Lord Robert and Her Majesty after the queen had seen him close together with Lettice Devereux. I had difficulty believing that, as the queen seemed so calm and dignified. And today, when she smiled upon him, it was certainly with the look of a woman deeply in love. I looked but did not see Lady Devereux among those watching. I wished that one day a man would ride for my favor, but then I looked at William, so
kind, intelligent, and caring, and thought perhaps that didn’t matter so much after all.

After the contests were complete and the crowds began to thin, William led me out toward the litters returning to Bedford House and then stopped to talk with someone while I proceeded on. As I reached the end of the tiltyard, one of the comers lifted off his helmet and then turned and looked straight at me. His longish blond hair was pulled back in a queue and he had a smear of blood on his cheekbone. His blue eyes held mine. I was taken aback by his strength and his frank interest. “Thomas Gorges,” he said before bowing to me, metal clanking.

His words startled me out of my reverie, and I nodded. “Lady Elin von Snakenborg.”

“Are you new to court?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I’ve come with Princess Cecelia from Sweden.” At that, I felt a presence beside me. William looked at Thomas for just a moment and then put his hand behind my back to guide me on. Thomas bowed his head toward me and turned to leave.

“I know Her Majesty enjoys the tiltyard, but it can be a bloody and, perhaps, unrefined sport,” William said as we walked. “I shall take you hawking.”

Later that night, in our chamber, Bridget and I discussed the day’s events. “William spoke to me himself of marriage,” I said, shrugging into my sleeping gown.

“William? Not Lord Northampton?” she teased, already snug under a thick coverlet.

“Yes, William,” I said with a soft laugh. “Princess Cecelia has written to my mother to ask her permission. Since things are unsettled, or perhaps void, with Philip . . .” I let the sentence dangle. In spite of his ill treatment of me, I did not want to dishonor him.

“Has Cecelia truly written to her?” Bridget asked.

I stopped brushing my hair and turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

“If you were to marry the marquess, you would be nearly as highly ranked as she. I suspect she would like that not at all. Perhaps one way to forestall that is to lack the agreement of your family.”

I found that unsettling for a moment, but then simply refused to believe that the princess would do ill by me. She had promised to care for me as a mother would. Hadn’t she?

Winter: Year of Our Lord 1566

The Palace of Whitehall

Bedford House, London

Spring: Year of Our Lord 1566

The Palace of Whitehall

Parr’s Estates, London

T
he Queen’s Majesty was keen to hunt all winter long. In preparation for my first hunting party with her, William invited me to his estate and the mews wherein he kept his hawks and falcons.

“I don’t sew their eyes shut,” he said as we strode down the center of the long building. I found it to be a mark of his gentleness. “I have hoods made for them instead, to quiet them until the hunt.” He showed me one of the tiny caps, fitted to his thumb, stitched delicately in red leather. He called twice, and a large brown hawk came and landed on his outstretched wrist. It nodded and bobbed its head before looking at me, unblinking.

Not to be outdone, I took a lure and boldly called, too. To
William’s pleasure, a young red falcon swooped down and landed on my gloved wrist.

“I’ve never seen them come for anyone but me!” he exclaimed. I laughed lightly, delighted to have pleased him. I visited the mews with him several times after that before riding out with the queen and her party some weeks before Christmas.

“Are you certain I may take your leave?” I asked Princess Cecelia.

“Indeed,” she said. “The tailors and seamstresses are coming this afternoon to measure me for new gowns, and I have plenty of
attentive
ladies should I require assistance.” She waved me away without another word or look in my direction.

I pondered that for a moment. Was she irritated at not having been invited? I didn’t believe so, as she did not care to hunt.

We left from the Palace of Whitehall on the queen’s horses, of which Lord Robert was master; he rode at the head of the party with the queen. I had never ridden so magnificent an animal, and at first it sensed my hesitance and tried to get the better of me. Everyone was mounting their beasts, and I grew aware of the eyes upon me as I struggled to get my horse under control. A combination of sharp spur and soft word given at the same time made her understand that I was her mistress and she settled obediently. As I watched the queen interact with her courtiers, I saw that she employed the same method with them.

The queen, of course, had the finest hawks, and one flew from her wrist to take in a quarry nearly twice its size. It brought the bird down; afterward, the queen rewarded the hawk with a small bit of raw pigeon flesh. Others flew their hawks one by one, and William’s birds appeared to be the best trained. I knew he took great pride
in that. Soon enough we approached the clearing where the queen’s men had set up a tent for our midday supper.

I sat near William, and then came a tall, boorish man with a loud voice. “Lady Elin, you’ve hawked before, I see.”

“Yes, Sir—”

“His Grace the Duke of Norfolk,” he corrected me.

“Yes, Your Grace. I have.”

He tried to cow me with his considerable bearing, but I held my back firm against his wind.

“Northampton is quite a master of falcons,” he said. “He’s told us that the best birds come from Norway.”

At that several men in the crowd guffawed, and the ladies politely looked down. I had no idea what the intent was, but clearly
bird
had more than one meaning to the English, and the one he intended was impolite. William opened his mouth to speak, perhaps in my defense, but the queen silenced him with a slight lift of her leather-gloved hand. I was not about to let this highborn but ill-mannered man best me.

“I’m uncertain of that, Your Grace, as I am from Sweden and not from Norway. However, my noble mother is descended from King Haakon of Norway, so perhaps I can write to her and ask if she knows.” I continued sweetly, “I could also inquire as to whether some Norwegian birds could be sent to England for your pleasure.”

At that the men who had laughed at me roared at Norfolk. I held my head and gaze steady, though I felt my neck tremble with tension and a bead of sweat slipped down it. The queen clapped her hands in pleasure and called to me, “Lady von Snakenborg, come and sit by us.”

She ate lightly and had finished her small portion; she pressed
me to take some of the marchpane she was savoring off a small gold plate. I took one and thanked her profusely before eating of it. I couldn’t hide my astonishment and pleasure as it fairly melted on my tongue.

She laughed. “We trust you find our English confectionaries to your pleasure?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty, indeed I do!”

“We watched you handle Northampton’s falcons today. You have a fine hand for the birds. We enjoy birds, too, especially birdsong. We keep cages of them in each of our palaces to enjoy their sweet music throughout the day.”

“I am sure they are happy to sing for so fine a queen in so fine a place,” I said. “I know I would be!” After I said it, I wished it back, because it sounded so young and ill timed.

But the queen laughed. “We should be glad to have your song in our court, my lady,” she said. “And at Northampton’s estates, too.” Her eyes twinkled at me. She knew! But of course she knew.

When I returned to Bedford House that evening, there was a letter for me. “Geoffrey Preston brought this,” Bridget said.

“Did he have any mail for the princess?” I asked.

“He didn’t tell me,” she said. “But I did not see him stop to speak with her.”

My hand shook as I clumsily opened the letter. It was not from my mother but from my sister Gertrude instead. After sharing some tales of her family and news of the court, she drew her letter to a point. I read it aloud to Bridget.

“ ‘And now, dear sister, I must share ill tidings. Our sister Karin has somehow grown close to Philip Bonde in your absence.’ ” I took a deep breath before forcing myself to continue. “ ‘They are scarce apart from one another when at court . . . or away. Karin denies
it, but I have heard of Philip’s request that his father transfer the dowry portion already paid to marry Karin in your stead. Our lady mother believes none of it, of course, ready to defend your honor and arrangement. You must hurry home.’ ”

I folded the letter and smoothed it over and over again with my hand until Bridget put her hand upon mine to stop it. “What shall you do?” she asked.

“I know not,” I said. As I lay there quietly, a passage of Holy Writ returned to my mind.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you.

Hearken unto me, Lord,
thought Elin.
Please hearken unto me.

I lay awake that night, praying and thinking, and I confess, it pained me some that I was not worth three-quarters of a dowry, but Karin was, if indeed my father had lost the dowry portion at all. But did I want to marry a man who was in love with another? And with my sister at that?

Then the answer came to me: I was worth marrying to a gentle, highborn man who, unbelievably, was demanding no dowry at all. Instead, he promised a house full of servants, a comfortable, honest life. He was an honorable man who treasured me. And here in England was a queen, I could admit in my heart if not aloud, worthy of devoted service. In the morning, I wrote to William and told him that I would be delighted and honored to marry him if my princess would give her permission in my mother’s stead. I sent the note with a messenger and awaited his reply.

Within hours, I could hear someone arrive at Bedford House. “Look and see who it is!” I told Bridget.

She peered out of our courtyard-facing window and nodded. “Yes! It’s Lord Northampton!”

Fifteen minutes later, Christina Abrahamsdotter knocked on our chamber door. We opened it and quickly let her in. “He’s speaking to the princess about you,” she whispered.

“And?” I asked, clasping my hands in anticipation.

“At first the princess refused to give permission for your hand. She said she was commissioned to act as your mother, but she did not know if she could do without your service on the journey back to Sweden.”

“And his response?”

“He offered to pay fifteen hundred pounds of her debts. And she agreed!”