The Lady Elizabeth (5 page)

There followed three days filled mostly with feasting and merriment. The King continued to make much of Elizabeth, and the gentle Queen Jane went out of her way to show affection to this child whose mother she had supplanted. Then Mary arrived at court, and there was more jollity, and it seemed to Elizabeth that she was now very much part of a warm, united family. If only her mother could be a part of it…

All too soon, she was on her way home again, with Lady Bryan, for the King and Queen were about to depart on a visit to Kent. Elizabeth was disappointed at having to say good-bye to her father, but very grateful to receive an affectionate farewell. When she was brought to him in the presence chamber, which was packed with the usual throng of courtiers, Henry picked her up, tickled her under the chin, and kissed her lovingly.

“A charming child, Your Majesty,” observed the French ambassador obsequiously. The King beamed.

“Yes, it grieves us to part with her,” he said, to Elizabeth’s delight. “She’s a true Tudor, there’s no mistaking that, eh? Bright as a button, and witty too!”

He set her down.

“Go, Daughter, and God be with you. You shall come and see us again soon.”

As she sat in the jolting litter, sad to be leaving the excitement and pleasures of the court for the placid routine of the nursery at Hatfield, and even more desolate at being gone from her father and her dear sister Mary, she thought about her new stepmother. Kind as Jane had been, Elizabeth knew she would not miss her very much. The memory of her mother was still too vivid, and the new Queen could not hope to live up to that.

Several months passed, and there was always a reason why Elizabeth could not go to court, nor her father visit her.

“His Majesty is away hunting,” said Sir John Shelton.

“His Majesty is much occupied with plans for the Queen’s coronation.”

“There is plague abroad. The coronation has been postponed, and no one is allowed to visit the court for fear of the pestilence.”

Then Sir John had even more alarming news, although Elizabeth did not fully understand what he was talking about.

“There is a great rebellion in the North. They are calling it the Pilgrimage of Grace. The Catholics are determined to halt the King’s religious reforms.”

Lady Bryan looked grave, but Elizabeth was more interested in the hobbyhorse that the Queen had sent for her third birthday in September. Up and down the gallery she rode on it, progressing from a walk to a trot to a canter and then a gallop. Careering along in this fashion, she heard very little of the conversation between her elders, and thus never found out that her father had come perilously near to losing his throne. In fact, the rebellion meant nothing to her until she was allowed to participate in the celebrations to mark its suppression in December.

“And we are to go to Whitehall, and then to Greenwich for Christmas!” beamed Lady Bryan, holding Elizabeth’s hand as they watched the bonfire that had been lit in honor of the occasion. The villagers of Hatfield were capering around it, hands linked, and the ale was flowing freely. The child’s eyes shone, and she jumped for joy in her excitement. The horror of her mother’s death was now fading, and Lady Bryan marveled, and not for the first time, at the ability of the very young to live for the moment.

Again, they took the Great North Road south to London. It was bitterly cold, and the governess saw to it that Elizabeth was swathed in furs for the journey. For the child, the snow was something to be marveled at, and Lady Bryan stood shivering as her charge busied herself throwing snowballs when she was supposed to be availing herself of the privy at an inn at which they stopped briefly on the way.

In London, there were further marvels, for the Thames had frozen over. The talk at Whitehall Palace, which overlooked the river, was of little else, for such a thing had not been seen for a very long time. Elizabeth wasn’t sure which excited her most: the marvel of the ice on the river, or the joy of being reunited with her father. And then there was her sister Mary, standing beside his throne. After being greeted affectionately by the King, a delighted Elizabeth ran to hug her.

“Why, Sister, you are forgetting your duty to the Queen!” cried Mary, but Jane Seymour was laughing.

“Welcome, my Lady Elizabeth!” she said. “We are pleased to have your company. Although I fear we might not be able to get to Greenwich, for the ice on the river.”

“Fear not, darling,” the King said. “We will ride there. Wait and see!”

The next morning, Lady Bryan roused Elizabeth early and dressed her in a warm gown, sable-lined cloak, and fur bonnet.

“Quickly, say your prayers and break your fast with this,” she instructed, laying on the table a warm loaf, some slices of beef on a platter, and a beaker of ale.

“Why?” inquired an intrigued Elizabeth.

“The King’s orders!” replied the governess mysteriously.

Elizabeth was never to forget the day that followed. The King and Queen, attended by the small group of courtiers that Henry called his riding household, led Mary and Elizabeth to the gateway of the royal apartments of Whitehall, where fine horses were saddled and waiting. They all mounted, and Elizabeth was swung up in front of the King. It was rather a tight fit, because he was a big man and they both were muffled in furs, but she loved it; up here on horseback, she could survey the world around her from an unusually high vantage point, and what was even more exciting was being in close proximity to her father, against whose bulky belly she was reassuringly pressed. It was thrilling and strange, and she thought she was in Paradise as they trotted out of the palace and made their way through its precincts to Charing Cross and the Strand. Elizabeth had never been abroad in London before, and she marveled at the great houses that lined the streets, the beautiful churches with their chiming bells, and the roar of the people who came racing to line the thoroughfare to see their sovereign.

“God save King Harry!” they cried. “God keep Your Majesty!”

Her father was doffing his bonnet and bowing from left to right, smiling broadly. How wonderful he was! The common touch came effortlessly to him; he loved the adulation. Elizabeth loved it too, and began waving herself, much to everyone’s amusement; and on that day, there was born in her a craving to be thus acclaimed, to be such a person as her father was, to bask in the people’s love and approval. No matter that there were a few discordant voices in the crowd daring to yell out abuse at their king; they were in the minority and did not count, at least as far as Elizabeth was concerned. Henry ignored them, and so did she, for there was so much else to cheer and amaze her. She had never known such excitement!

Beside them on one side rode the Queen, sedately sitting sidesaddle and nodding stiffly at the crowds. Born a mere knight’s daughter, she was always too much on her dignity as the King’s consort, and her natural modesty proved a drawback on these public occasions. But even she was soon affected by the festive mood, and ventured to smile shyly at the crowds from time to time.

On the King’s other side, the Lady Mary, an accomplished horsewoman, rode astride, joying in her little sister’s pleasure, marveling at the way Elizabeth was instinctively responding to the crowds, and grateful to be herself acknowledging the delighted acclaim of the people after being in exile from the court for so long. However badly she felt in her conscience about it, her submission had brought manifold benefits, she had to admit. And then, being Mary, there came into her head the disloyal and shocking thought that, had her mother not stood out defiantly against her father, her own life might have been so much happier. Yet no sooner had the notion come into her head than she rejected it, horrified; her sainted mother had been right, absolutely right, to stand up for her principles.

Elizabeth, waving madly at the press of people on either side and all but dancing up and down in the King’s saddle, briefly noticed that her sister was frowning, then lost interest as they rode through Temple Bar and entered the City of London itself. Here, the Lord Mayor was waiting, bowing low before his sovereign, and offering his civic sword and the keys of the City. The King touched them with his gloved hand, then nodded courteously to the Lord Mayor and his brethren, and the little procession rode on through Fleet Street and up Ludgate Hill, at the top of which, straight ahead of them, rose the magnificent Gothic edifice of St. Paul’s Cathedral, its tall spire reaching, it seemed, right up to Heaven itself. Elizabeth was so overawed at the massive church before her that she ceased bouncing, and she was quiet and well behaved when she walked in stately procession through its portals with Mary holding her hand, behind the King and Queen.

Inside, the cathedral was dark and cold, despite the many candles that had been lit to cheer it; stone vaulting and imposing tombs and monuments could be seen in the gloom. Elizabeth shivered all through the Christmas Eve Mass, partly through cold, but mostly from uneasiness at being in such a shadowy place, and she was glad when the service had ended and the royal party emerged into the weak noontide daylight, waved to the people, and remounted their horses.

Then the fun began. Instead of returning to Whitehall, the King led them past Bridewell Palace and out onto the River Thames, which was a solid sheet of ice. Elizabeth shrieked as she realized that they were actually trotting along on the frozen river itself, and to begin with she felt not a little fearful that the ice might crack, but her father, her sister, and the Queen were laughing, invigorated with the novelty of it all, so she was soon reassured.

“I said we would go downriver to Greenwich,” the King shouted, “and not even the weather dare gainsay me!”

The snow on the riverbanks was sparkling in the wintry rays of the sun; the air was clear and sharp. Their fingertips and noses grew sore with cold as they rode on along the frozen Thames, but no one was complaining. Once or twice, the horses skidded or slid on the ice, although when reined in sharply, they managed to recover their balance; when this happened, Elizabeth squealed, but her father held her even tighter, which felt marvelous.

“Sit up tall, Bessy!” he commanded. “Never slouch on a horse. Chin up, there’s a good girl!”

Elizabeth straightened her back, tilting her head proudly.

“Look at me, sir!” she cried. The King chuckled with pleasure to see her so spirited.

Here and there, they passed booths that had been set up on the frozen Thames, where those who had donned skates and ventured to test their skills could buy hot chestnuts or mulled ale to warm themselves. The King waved genially at the skaters, who could not believe their eyes when they saw his liveried attendants and realized who he was; one man attempted a bow but fell flat on his face, which made Elizabeth giggle and Henry’s lips twitch in mirth.

“My own jester couldn’t have done it better!” he murmured in her ear.

All too soon, the fantastical ride was over, and they arrived at Greenwich, where the King’s favorite palace, the place where he had been born, fronted the riverside. Here, all was hustle and bustle as great preparations were made for the coming twelve days of Christmas. In the great hall, the mighty yule log was already crackling merrily on the hearth, and the palace had been adorned throughout with boughs of ivy and bay. Elizabeth was wide-eyed as Lady Bryan led her to the nursery suite to make ready for the evening’s entertainment, doubting that she would ever get the child to sleep that night, with all this excitement.

“Oh, it was a lovely day!” Elizabeth cried, clapping her hands and dancing around the room. “I can’t wait for the revels to begin.”

Lady Bryan smiled, shaking her head in mock despair as she placed a plate of fish, some bread, and an apple on the table.

“You are far too excited, child. Calm down and eat your supper. It’s plain fare tonight, for on Christmas Eve we fast, before we feast tomorrow.”

But the festivities themselves were to start that evening, and at last, wrapped up warmly again, Elizabeth was taken down to the inner courtyard where the King and Queen and their court, with the members of their households, had assembled. There, by torchlight, they all watched a company of mummers perform a play about St. George, England’s patron saint, defeating the dragon. St. George was tall, dashing, and handsome on his white charger, and the dragon satisfyingly realistic, with coals from a brazier glowing in its mouth. It roared terrifyingly, so that Elizabeth hid her face in her governess’s skirts, convinced it was coming for her, but then she heard the crowd laughing reassuringly and looked again to see St. George drive his lance into the monster’s breast, whereupon it rolled over, kicking all four legs in the air, sobbing comically and expiring melodramatically. The best bit, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, was when the saint rescued the princess and knelt to kiss her hand. The princess—the child did not realize it was a youth playing the part—looked very beautiful, with red lips and golden hair, and the gown she was wearing was covered in golden spangles. Wild applause greeted the conclusion of the performance, and then there was a rush to the kitchen hatches for refreshments. Elizabeth was allowed briefly to join the King and his party in the privy chamber, where, to her joy, she was served candied fruits and spiced wine. Glutted with these sugary confections, she was asleep when Lady Bryan finally laid her in her bed.

The twelve days of Christmas passed in a whirl of worshipping, feasting, and merrymaking. Young as she was, Elizabeth thrilled to the soaring harmonies of the choir of the Chapel Royal, gasped at the sight of a roast peacock being borne in all its glorious plumage to the royal table, shrieked with laughter at the naughty disports of the Lord of Misrule, and itched to join in with the gorgeously attired lords and ladies as they danced merrily to the ancient carols. And at Twelfth Night, she was bursting with excitement when the King’s gifts, and the Queen’s, were distributed: Elizabeth received an exquisite little silver cup with a lid, and a string of pearls tied with red silk ribbon. The pearls were so beautiful, so perfect, and late though it was when she retired to bed, having been allowed to stay up to watch the disguisings in the presence chamber, she insisted that Lady Bryan put them on her, and twirled around happily before the mirror admiring the effect.