“I don’t know, your highness,” Rosamund said forlornly.
“You are too big to go into the nursery with Mary. You look to me to be about my daughter Margaret’s age. How old are you, Rosamund Bolton?” the queen asked.
“I was thirteen years this past April thirtieth, madame,” came the answer.
“You are six months older than my daughter Margaret. She is the Queen of the Scots, having been betrothed to King James several months ago. I could put you with her for a short time. She is to wed her king next summer. Perhaps then these wars between us will cease,” the queen considered. “Yes, I shall put you with Margaret and with Katherine, my son’s widow. You are all of an age. You will be a companion to them both for the time being. Princess Katherine.” The queen beckoned to the girl across the room.
The princess arose from her seat and hurried to her mother-in-law. She curtsied deeply.
“Sí, madame?”
“Katherine, this is Lady Rosamund. She will be a companion to you and to Queen Margaret. Do you understand?”
“Sí, madame.
I understand,” the seventeen-year-old Katherine of Aragon answered.
“Take her to Margaret and explain my wishes,” the queen said.
“Sí, madame,”
came the reply.
“The word is
yes,
Katherine,” the queen said wearily. “You must speak English, my child. You are to be Queen of England one day.”
“I thought that her husband was—” Rosamund stopped at the stricken look upon the queen’s face.
“It is hoped,” the queen finally said, “that Katherine will wed with our second son, the new heir, prince Henry.”
A serving woman placed a goblet of wine in the queen’s hand and said, “Run away, lasses. The queen is tired with the new life she will soon bear. She needs her rest.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth of York said. “You are dismissed, Rosamund Bolton. I welcome you to our household and hope that you will be happy with us.” Then she closed her eyes.
“Come!” There was a tug on her skirts.
Rosamund turned and followed the Spanish princess, who led her from the queen’s chamber. They were suddenly surrounded by four ladies in black who jabbered at the princess in their foreign tongue.
“Your language is difficult for me,” the older girl said slowly, “but I speak better than they suspect. One learns more by feigning ignorance, but you will say nothing, Rosamund Bolton, eh?”
Rosamund giggled and replied, “Nay, your highness, I will not tell on you. Who are these ladies with you?”
“My duennas,” was the answer. “They are each from good families, but act as serving woman, companion, and conscience for me, especially Dona Elvira. They make no effort to speak English and can sometimes be very tiresome. Is your nursie like that?”
Rosamund nodded. “Sometimes,” she said, “but I would honestly be lost without Maybel. Where are we going?”
“To my sister-in-law’s apartments. When Arthur died and they brought me back to court, they put me in there with her. What will happen when she is sent to marry the King of the Scots next summer I do not know, but I doubt that either you or I will remain in such fine accommodations then. We will let this young queen decide where you are to sleep, as it is
her lodgings to which we have been assigned.” Katherine of Aragon stopped before a double door and opened it, stepping through.
Rosamund followed and found herself in an exquisite chamber with pale paneled wooden walls. The windows were hung with heavy velvet drapes of deep blue. The fireplace was flanked by pink marble angels. It burned with a fragrant applewood fire.
“Margaret,” Katherine called, “I have brought us a new companion.”
The door to an inner room swung open, and a beautiful girl, her look proud, her hair a glorious golden red, her deep sapphire eyes sharp with curiosity, stepped forth. “We are crowded enough as it is,” she said pettishly.
“This is Lady Rosamund, and she is a ward of your father’s, the king. Your mama has sent her.”
“Your gown is very dusty and quite old-fashioned,” Margaret of England said as she walked slowly around Rosamund. “But I expect we can do something about that. What do you think, Kate? Turning her into a lady of fashion will keep us amused while everyone goes hunting.”
“You are most rude!” Rosamund burst out angrily. “I have been traveling close to a month to reach here. And we have no need for fashion in Cumbria among the sheep. Clothing is for warmth and modesty. I wish I were anywhere but here right now!”
Margaret burst out laughing. “Oh, thank the gods you are not some milk-and-water lass like our good Kate. She bores me to death sometimes with her goodness. You won’t bore me. You come from the north? Do you know any Scots? I was betrothed to James Stuart last summer and am now their queen. I am to marry the king next summer. He’s very old, but they say he is a tireless lover. I certainly hope he is. You will sleep with me, Lady Rosamund of Cumbria. Now, say thank you, and we will get you out of that dusty old gown as quickly as possible. We cannot go to dinner with you looking like
that.
”
F
or the first time in her life Rosamund had friends of her own generation. Although Katherine of Aragon was almost four years older than she was, Margaret of England was just half a year younger than Rosamund. Katherine was shy and reserved. Margaret was haughty, bold, and outspoken. She had not, of course, been crowned yet, but her betrothal had made her a queen, and she was every inch a royal. Still the girl from Cumbria managed to get along with the two princesses, treating them with a mixture of awe and respect. In return the two princesses treated their new companion as one of them, educating her and guiding her through the intricacies of court life.
Margaret Tudor, whose intimates called her Meg, was oddly kind despite her pride and her volatile nature. She was far more sophisticated than Rosamund. But Rosamund had a greater knowledge of the average man’s world and was more practical. They complemented each other. The queen was pleasantly surprised, for the princess, her second child, had always been a headstrong creature, quite prone to finding trouble. In Rosamund’s company she seemed to settle herself. Her rebellious spirit grew calmer.
“My mother thinks you are an angel,” Meg said, laughing as they sat in the privy garden a month after Rosamund’s arrival. “She says you have been a good influence on my behavior.”
“You do as you please, Meg; there is no secret to that,” Rosamund replied with a small smile, “but if you have been encouraged to follow my behavior then I am honored.”
“You are not a prig like Kate,” came the reply.
“Kate, I have learned, is but a product of her upbringing. The Spanish seem to be terribly strict with their daughters. She is the way she is because of it, as I am the way I am because of my late husband.”
“What was he like? Was he a good lover?” Meg demanded, curiously.
“I was six when we wed, and too young when he died for us to have had a physical relationship,” Rosamund explained, blushing. “Hugh was a father to me more than he was a husband.”
“My grandmother bore my father when she was our age,” Meg said. “You have not met her yet, but you will. They call her the
Venerable Margaret.
I am named after her, of course. I do not know if I like her. Sometimes she frightens me. She seems to love me though. She is very wise and very powerful. The most powerful person in the kingdom next to my father.”
“Where does she live?” Rosamund wondered.
“She has a house in London called Cold Harbour, and several other houses scattered about the countryside as well. There are apartments here at Richmond for her, but she will not come until Christmas. We’re going to Windsor soon, but we’ll be back at Richmond for Christmas. When I was little it was Sheen, the old place, but it burned down one winter. Our father rebuilt Richmond in its place. After, we shall probably winter in London, as mother’s child is due in February,” Meg informed her companion.
“Why do you not remain in one palace?” Rosamund asked. “It seems more trouble than it is worth going from place to place.”
Margaret nodded. “I don’t disagree with you, but it is our way to show ourselves to the people in this manner. And too, wherever we are, it is the responsibility of the neighborhood surrounding us to provision us. One area could not be expected to do that year-round. So we go from place to place. Wait until you see Windsor,” she said, giggling.
“Poor Maybel,” Rosamund replied with a grin. “She is just recovering from our trek from Cumbria. Now we are going to move again? I know she is faithful to me, else she would go directly home to her husband.” Then Rosamund sighed. “Do you think they will find a husband for me by the time you must go north to Scotland next summer?”
“You are a prize to be given as a small reward to someone the king wishes to honor,” Meg said bluntly. “That is what royal princesses and girls of property are. We are sugarplums, spoils to be doled out. I have known this since I was old enough to understand who I was. Now that is what you are. You are not from a great family, it is true, Rosamund, but your lands are great and from what you have told me, fertile. You have large flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, and horses. It is serious enough wealth that your minor lineage can be overlooked. My father, who is a clever man, will give you to a husband sooner rather than later. It will be a man he trusts, and one who can be of further use to him and to the crown along the Scottish border, you may be sure.”
“It seems so cold,” Rosamund noted.
“ ’Tis no more calculating than your uncle seeking to control you and your lands by marrying you to a little boy,” Meg responded. Then she said, “Have you ever been kissed? I haven’t. If you have, tell me what it is like.”
“You mean a passionate kiss such as from a lover?” Rosamund said. “Nay, I have not been kissed.”
“You mean that Sir Owein did not attempt to seduce you?” The princess was most disbelieving. “He is very handsome. Did you not notice? Of course you did! Why, you are blushing!”
“He never kissed me,” Rosamund denied, “but, aye, I thought him very handsome,
and
he said I was pretty.”
“They say the ladies all like him. Were he not so poor he would be an excellent husband for any wife,” Meg confided.
“Why do the ladies like him?” Rosamund wondered.
“He is very kind and gallant,” Meg said. “He knows how to laugh at a good jest. He is very loyal, and he is in my family’s favor. But as a man wants a woman of property, so too, a wise woman wants a man with property. Poor Sir Owein. It is not likely that he will ever wed.”
They decamped Richmond, first for London where the king liked to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day. They came by barge, cruising the river to Westminster Palace in the city of London. The king’s barge came first. Both he and the queen, in open view
of the crowds lined up on either side of the riverbanks to cheer them, were dressed in full regalia including their crowns. Prince Henry was with them as he was now the heir. They cheered him, for he was handsome and personable and obviously enjoyed their adulation. Rosamund had yet to meet young Henry Tudor, who was two years her junior.
The spectators nodded their approval as the queen was quite visibly with child. They spoke among themselves about the robust appearance of the new heir, relieved. A second equally beautiful barge carrying the Venerable Margaret followed the king’s vessel. The family matriarch, beautifully garbed, waved regally.
After Prince Arthur’s death there had been a rumor that Princess Katherine was with child. The rumor was quickly proved false. Now she, Margaret, and their companions rode in the third barge. Rosamund sat with them. Awed, she stared at the city about her. Her fingers nervously fingered her new black silk skirt, and she wondered if her black-on-black-striped bodice with its gold beading and threadwork was perhaps a trifle too elegant for a country girl. Margaret Tudor, however, had assured her it was not, as she helped her new friend into the garment that she had just given to Rosamund.
“If you are going to be my companion, you must look the part,” she said. “I’ve outgrown this bodice and skirt, but they are perfect for you, Rosamund. Hopefully by Christmas we can come out of our mourning for my brother and wear color again. I think so much black makes our skin sallow.”
“She’s hoity-toity, but has a kind heart,” remarked Maybel to her mistress. “Imagine my baby being friends with a princess!”
Poor Katherine with her olive skin looked more sallow even than usual in her black mourning, Rosamund thought, as their barge glided on the waters of the river. She leaned over and murmured softly to Katherine, “I think I look like a crow in all this black, though I mean no disrespect to your late husband.”
The princess of Aragon nodded ever so slightly, saying low in her stilted and accented English, “Black is not a color for youth.” Meg, however, looked wonderful in her black velvet gown with its gold embroidery
and beading. She didn’t look unattractive at all, for her milky complexion, like Rosamund’s, had rosy cheeks. She waved gaily to the onlookers and was cheered for it. They knew she would soon wed formally with the King of the Scots, which they hoped would mean peace between England and Scotland. The barges began to make for the bank.
Rosamund could scarcely contain herself. “I thought Richmond was big,” she murmured, but Meg heard her and laughed.
“Westminster isn’t so bad,” she said. “We stay in the south wing. Most of the rest of Westminster is the abbey itself and the parliament buildings. Mama prefers Baynard’s Castle when we come to London. It is nicer. Being in the city, of course, makes everything seem a bit close. Wait until you see Windsor.”
“Who are all those people gathering by the landing quay?” Rosamund asked nervously.
“Oh, probably the lord mayor of the city, his aldermen, and various members of the court,” Meg said offhandedly. “You will meet my grandmother today. There is no one like her, Rosamund, but do not let her frighten you. She expects good manners and respect, but do not grovel. Grandmama hates groveling. She has no patience with it. Everyone defers to her, even the king himself,” the princess said admiringly. “I hope I can be like her one day.”
They debarked their barge. The king, the queen, the Venerable Margaret, and Prince Henry were ahead of them. Rosamund dutifully followed her companions, almost lost among their attendants. In a smaller family hall the king was embracing his mother, a queenly lady with an elegant carriage and sharp dark eyes. She was dressed all in black, her hair covered by an architectural headdress with a white veil.
“You look pale, Elizabeth,” she greeted her daughter-in-law, kissing her on both cheeks. “Are your women seeing you take that tonic I prescribed for you? Young Henry is robust now, but one never knows. We could certainly use another healthy prince.”
“I am doing my best, madame,” the queen replied with a smile. “Why is it that the responsibility for a child’s sex is always placed upon the mother? You are learned, madame. Can you tell me why?”
The king’s mother chuckled. “When, my dear Elizabeth, have you ever known a man to accept the responsibility for anything so important? If pressed I should say it is God’s will. Still, you must continue to pray for a fair prince, my dear.”
“Am I not prince enough, madame?”
All eyes turned to the young boy, standing feet apart, his hands upon his hips. He had red-gold hair and bright blue eyes.
“If you fell off your horse and cracked your pate, Henry, what would we do?” his grandmother demanded. “There must always be at least two princes, in case of an accident.”
“I will have no accidents, madame,” young Henry Tudor said,
“and I will be king one day.”
“What think you, my son, of this bantam cock you have sired?” his mother chuckled. “He is, I suspect, very much like me though he looks like York.”
“He is nothing like you,” the king replied, “but I will agree with you that he looks like York, does he not, Bess?”
“He reminds me of my father, aye, but I see you in him also, my lord,” the queen answered quietly.
The Venerable Margaret cast a quick look at her daughter-in-law. Bess knew well how to dissemble
and
how to manage her husband. But she was devoted to Henry Tudor. For that her mother-in-law was grateful. “Where is my namesake?” she demanded.
“Here, madame,” said young Margaret Tudor, stepping forward and curtsying to her grandmother.
“You look well,” Margaret Beaufort noted. “I am glad to see it. And Kate, our Spanish Kate, come and let me see you as well. Ahhh, you all look like wee black crows in your mourning. The young should not have to wear black. Well, there is nothing to be done about it, I fear.” Her sharp eyes swept the group of young women with Margaret and Katherine. “And who,” she said, pointing a slender finger at Rosamund, “is that pretty child? I do not recognize her.”
“She is papa’s new ward,” Margaret answered her grandmother.
“What is your name, child?” the Countess of Richmond inquired, peering sharply at the subject of her query.
“I am Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate, madame,” Rosamund answered, curtsying nicely. What a regal figure the old lady made, she thought. She was more royal than the queen!
“You are from the north judging by your accent,” was the reply.
“Oh, dear,” Rosamund said, and then she blushed. She was truly trying to speak properly.
“We have several from the north, child,” the Venerable Margaret replied. “There is no shame in it. Do you know the Nevilles?”
“Nay, madame. Until I was brought to court I had never been more than a few miles from my home,” Rosamund answered politely.
“Ah,” came the understanding murmur. “And who put you in my son’s care, Rosamund Bolton? Was it your parents?”
“Nay, madame, ’twas my late husband. My parents died when I was but three. My husband was Sir Hugh Cabot, may God assoil his good soul,” Rosamund responded as she crossed herself.
“Indeed! Indeed!” the Venerable Margaret said, crossing herself as well. “Henry! Sir Hugh Cabot once saved your father’s life. Did you know that? We must take especially good care of his young widow.”
“Yes, mama,” the king said dutifully. “While I knew this lass had been put into our care, until today I had not laid eyes on her. She has been with the queen and the princesses.”
“Who brought you to court, my child?” the Venerable Margaret now inquired of Rosamund.