Wife to Henry V: A Novel (45 page)

“It's a game you may play too often! Well, rack my brains as I may I see but one thing to do. Let your household behave as though the Queen rides to London-gowns, mantles, jewels, shoes—all baggage packed. At the last moment the Queen falls sick A childish plan but I see none better; and the simplest are often the…”

She stopped while her clear mind foresaw the details.

“I shall say I found you fatigued still with the journey; that you will be joining us within a day or two. Hatfield is near enough to London and the thing is credible. Of course you will not arrive tomorrow; nor yet the day after; nor the next day, neither But you will send to say you are joining us in the Tower for the King’s Procession to St. Paul's. That takes us to the day before the crowning. Now let me see. A week; a week from today your messenger brings us news that you're sick of a fever-as indeed you will be if you torment yourself so.

“Now is all clear? Today and tomorrow you rest from your weariness; the next day, a chill; and thereafter, a fever. And for the love of God see to it that you keep your bed. Keeping your chamber is not enough. Madam Paramour would have been here before me had she not been busy playing Madam Protector. And she may yet spare time from her own concerns-her robes, her jewels, her precedence-to come bursting into your very chamber. It’s her way. God grant she have no time.”

In that, at least, God was good.

* * *

A clear fine day when the little King rode to his crowning. Couriers had gone spurring from Hatfield to London. Madam Queen Catherine lay sick of a fever. She wept at her most bitter disappointment—and that was certainly true. She lay in her bed weeping because she could not assist at this greatest day in her son's life; she was assisting at an even greater day in the life of another son.

He sat upright in the great robes ready to walk in the procession. He neither moved nor smiled; he must bear himself like a King. Behind the grave eyes, the unsmiling mouth, behind the dignity of the King's robes he saw a little boy; and his thoughts were those of a little boy.

...Crowning was the greatest day in a King's life, the most solemn, the most glorious; and yet he felt more like crying than crowning. Suppose he said,
I shall not be crowned today; I shall watt until my mother is well again?
He was the King, wasn't he? But for all that he would never be brave enough to say it. My lord Governor had but to show him the rod, the little thin rod. Well, when he was grown-up he would do exactly as he chose; he corrected himself quickly—as God chose. He would show everyone he was King-under God—whether they liked it or not. But, he couldn't help wondering, would he ever be brave enough, even under God, to disobey my lord Governor Warwick, or his great-uncle the Cardinal, or his Uncle of Gloucester?

Sitting there cold and stiff in the heavy robes, he wondered whether being crowned—which was a sacred thing—would work a miracle for him so that he would find himself brave enough to defy them all. So brave that he wouldn't be afraid any more of the great horses on which he must ride or of the dogs that snapped and leaped and growled. Of course they wouldn't bite- he was the King. But did the dogs know that? And would he find himself strong and quick like the palace boys? And would he be any better at his books?

He was frightened, sitting there waiting for them to come. He wanted to be crowned, of course he did. He wanted to be a true and sacred King. But, suppose he made a mistake today? He might stumble because of the heavy robes; or the crown might slip and make him look a fool; or anything.

Well, it wasn't any good worrying; he mustn't stumble or let the crown slip. And it was no good grieving about his mother either…for now it was time.

* * *

He was walking in the great procession from the Palace to the Abbey with a blue silk canopy over his head—and it was raining. Before him went the princes of the Church, his uncle the Cardinal leading them—his uncle returned from far abroad in a hurry to take his rightful part in the coronation. Each one carried a holy relic; God, he thought, should be pleased. At his left hand walked my lord of Warwick. For the first time in his life he was glad of the strong hand of my lord Governor holding his own. The mantle all of velvet furred with ermine was heavy; in spite of the pages carrying it high above the ground, he felt it drag at his shoulders. While he was walking the rain stopped and the sun came out and shone all over him as he walked beneath the blue silk canopy.

At his right hand walked his uncle my lord Protector; and behind him came the new Knights of the Bath in their red of Italy with hoods of miniver. He could not see them; but he could feel them suiting their steps to his. It gave him pleasure; many of them were palace boys—and how often had he to run to keep up with them!

Within the Abbey the sun came slanting through the coloured glass; he could feel it warm on his head as they led him to his high seat. It was as though God were specially blessing him.

The dais was covered all in green taffeta; and so was the great chair. He sat down as he had been told—not smiling, and looking straight in front of him. And there he sat, very quiet, his heart throwing itself about like a bird inside the cage of his breast, while the Archbishop cried out, “Sirs, here comes Harry...” and he liked being called Harry, it had a friendly sound in the great Abbey, “King Harry the Fifth's son, humbly to God and to Holy Church' asking the crown of this realm by right and descent of heritage...”

The bird was breaking its wings against his breast as he waited for the great words.

“If you are well-pleased with him, say all of you
Yes
and hold up your hands.”

He thought the answer would never come—and the bird was dying in his breast. But the answer did come. All the people with one voice crying
Yes
.

Then the Archbishop proclaimed him from all four corners of the dais; and each time the people cried out
Yes
.

It was wonderful; and he loved them all; and he would be a good King for Jesus Christ's sake, Amen. But that was only the beginning.

They led him down from his high seat to the altar and he had to lie down flat and perfectly still while they prayed over him. After a while a foot began to tickle as he had known it would; and then the whole leg went full of pins and needles. But he dared not move Today he was being crowned; but tomorrow would bring my lord Governor and the rod.

He asked God to help him.

And now it was as though they were putting him to bed. They took off his mantle and his doublet so that he lay there naked before God except for his green silk shirt. And God did help him; for he must have gone to sleep lying there in the warmth and the incense before the High Altar.

He came awake when the lord Archbishop of Canterbury touched his hand and helped him to his feet and undid his shirt-his special coronation shirt laced in four places—and anointed him. He could feel the sweet-smelling oil like God's-Fingers on his head and on his breast, and on his back, and on the palms of his hands. Then they dressed him again in the robes of State and led him to the throne before the High Altar. And they buckled on St. Edward's spurs and they put the sceptre in one hand and the orb in the other.

But he wasn't King yet. He couldn't have his crown until the bishops had laid their hands upon his sword, one by one, blessing the sword to power.

At last they lifted up St. Edward's crown: it was very heavy; he had to be careful not to let his neck bend under its weight. His uncle the Cardinal put out a hand upon the nape of his neck to keep it steady. He was glad of the hand...the crown was very heavy. But he kept his head high.

And now he was truly the King.

Then they led him back to the high dais so that all the people could see him; and, as he sat there, not daring to move his head, the Cardinal stood one side of him and the Archbishop the other, in case the crown should slip.

It went on and on. The praying and the singing and the exhorting, so that everything began to grow faraway; and the voices of the choristers were like the voices of angels and once again he was a boy in a dream.

But when he sat in Westminster Hall for the feast he was a boy once more—and a hungry boy. He sat at the high table between his uncle the Cardinal and the lord Chancellor; and next to the Chancellor sat a bishop come to do him honour all the way from his kingdom he'd never seen—his mother's land of France.

Below him, in a grand blaze of shifting colour, stretching to left and right, were princes and bishops and mayors of his chief cities. And, best of all, standing against the wall, still as statues and grander than real kings, in their gorgeous tabards and their crowns on their heads—the kings of heraldry.

Now and again he tried to catch his Uncle Humphrey's eye, his tall uncle standing there, Lord Steward of England, Overseer of the feast. But his uncle was too busy to look at a boy; his uncle's eyes were here, there and everywhere watching that nothing went wrong. Just as they were bringing in the first course, in rode the King's Champion clad in armour like St. George. He cried out in a great voice proclaiming the King's titles and offered to fight any man who dare deny them. Harry had asked my lord Governor what happened if any man did deny his rights—what must the King do? The King must hold his tongue; it was for his elders to speak, my lord told him. However no-one did deny it; so St. George, who was really Sir Philip Dymock, rode about a little longer on his curvetting steed—and it was wonderful how he threaded his way between the tables and the serving-men and the pages and the squires without hurting anyone—and the feast began.

For all he was King—and had been, almost since he was born—he'd never seen such food; that, too, had been for his elders. He wasn't surprised though; he knew what was coming because the chief steward had brought him a list as big as himself and he'd discussed each dish with his grandam Queen Johanne. There was to be frumenty with venison;
viande royale
which was meat in thick sauce decorated with lozenges of gold. “Do you think that will improve the flavour?” his grandam had asked. “Well—” he’d said, “but it will look lovely!” And there was to be boarshead and cygnet and heron and pike; and, best of all, a custard with little golden leopards sitting in the middle. That would certainly be worth seeing! He hoped he would get a leopard all to himself. He would make a little house for it where no-one would find it—
The King playing with toys like any common child!
—not old poke-nose Astley; not even my lord Governor himself.

And then at the end of the course they would bring in the subtlety, all sugar and marchpane; St. Louis and St. Edward-French and English—with himself between them. That would be a lovely thing. A pity to eat it!

That was only the first course. He'd forgotten most of the second; but he remembered the chicken because old Astley had told him not to eat the almond stuffing. But he didn't care, not he! If he wanted to eat it, then he would—it was worth being sick for! And at the end of that course there would be a still better subtlety-his own father with the Emperor; and himself kneeling crowned before them. He was looking forward to seeing the image of Glorious Harry; but all the same he couldn't help wishing for an image of my lord Governor, too—that was a head he wouldn't be sorry to bite off! But that was a wicked thought and he must ask God to forgive him.

And then, at the very end of the feast, they would bring in the third subtlety, the best of them all-Our Lady with her Child; as it might be his mother and himself. He had sent word that Our Lady was to look exactly like his mother. How lovely if he might have all three sugar images-father, mother and himself. He would never eat them, never. He would keep them to look at when the palace boys made him feel small or my lord Governor threatened with the rod but his father was dead and his mother was sick; and he was tired and sad for all his crowning. He had better pray to God now, because he'd been unchristian about my lord Warwick; then he would pray for his mother to get well so that he could visit her soon; and, last of all, he would pray for the three sugar images...Yes, he would do that! He would send his soul right out of his body to talk to God...

My lord Cardinal looked across to my lord Chancellor. Between them the child sat rigid, staring. Out of the body. A sign of holiness Netter always said; my lord Cardinal did not like such holiness, he did not like it at all.

He sat watching until the child's body relaxed, passed into sleep. My lord Cardinal beckoned and they carried the King away.

* * *

Catherine's labour was quick and easy. For the second time Tudor took away the child.

“If I did not love you,” she said, pale upon her pillows, “I must hate you for this!”

“I hate myself,” he said. “When it is safe, my love, you shall have this child, too; I swear it by Jesus and His Sweet Mother. And they shall be bred as becomes their birth, princes of the royal blood of France and Wales.”

“But they cannot be kings,” she said. “Well,” and she managed to smile, “every man cannot be a King—not even the sons of a King. But...” the smile trembled, faded on her mouth, “I should mind that but little were I lawfully wedded.”

“Wedded by law we cannot be; wedded by Holy Church we are.”

“I will speak to my son; I will tell Harry, beseech him...”

“Useless. Had he the will, he lacks the power. It is not time now to speak to him of marriage; it may cost our children father and mother both.”

* * *

On a blustery day in late February the King rode over to Kennington. He had been to St. Paul's for dedication before leaving for France, and Catherine had come to London to say Goodbye.

It was their first meeting since his crowning; he had been kept hard at it learning his duties in France, attending Council meetings and paying his public devotions. Though she had longed to see him, still she had been glad of time to recover from her lying-in.

Now rosy with health, she came out to greet him. When she would have knelt before her young son triumphantly crowned, he ran to her and stopped her, arms about her neck. It was long since he had shown such love.