Ah, to engage in a musical interlude with the King! Amethyst
thrilled at the idea. To strum their lutes and intertwine their
voices in concordant harmony... She drifted away in a fantasy
whirlwind of court festivities, draped in a satin gown billowing
over layers of lacy skirts, alighting from a carriage at the palace
gates, partaking in the elegant dancing and sumptuous banqueting,
curtsying before her King. Perhaps at some later date it would be
reality, perhaps.
For an instant she thought about Topaz, and all the hateful things
she'd been saying about the Tudors all her life. Amethyst had never
known her father, the man Topaz so brazenly defended, recalling and
relaying that day to them so many times, repeating every detail.
Amethyst listened patiently every time Topaz recited the line of
succession, and studied the diagrams Topaz would scratch on
parchment, in wet sand with her finger, or in the ground with
sticks.
"This is our family tree, and this is where the throne went wayward,
not straight down to me, but detouring through the Tudors. Taffy
Harry is a murderer!" Topaz had pounded into Amethyst's head
incessantly, so she knew the routine by rote. "He murdered our
father! He is not the true king, and never will any of the Tudors
be!"
Amethyst was afraid for her sister—she knew the punishment for
treason and talk like that could get her killed.
Nevertheless, she was her sister. And she often wondered about her
father, the blur of a figure who had stumbled through the Tower,
been dragged over the flagstones, had suffered so much just for
being an heir to the throne. She felt the pain in her mother's eyes,
the tears that never fell, the unspoken grief interred deep inside
her, hidden by her murmurs, "the King's pleasure, 'twas the King's
pleasure."
But to speak out against the King—that was a death sentence in
itself! She simply nodded in agreement every time, holding in her
own anger and rage over the injustice. She knew how cruel Henry VII
had been, but he was dead now and no renewed civil war could ever
bring back all they had lost.
She knew Topaz's reactions were extreme. To try to displace the King
was akin to committing murder herself. Who wanted to rule a kingdom
anyway? Amethyst pictured herself as a courtier, delighting in the
intimate circle of royalty. That was good enough for her!
The procession finally ended, and the Archbishop of Canterbury
appeared at the Abbey doors. He strode down the aisle, nearly lost
in the thick folds of his heavy velvet robes. His appearance meant
one thing—the King and Queen were about to enter!
The gathering rose reverently. Amethyst, leaning out into the aisle,
could see the two figures blocking the light at the entrance. They
began their march toward the altar. Henry was on the left, closer to
her. She glimpsed Catherine on the far side, waves of golden-brown
hair spilling over her shoulders, her gown a cloud of virgin white.
Amethyst felt a sudden pang of envy for the young woman at Henry's
side who was about to become his queen. Then her eyes landed on him
and she stood transfixed.
Henry was draped in a full fur-lined purple cloak, its train falling
in gentle folds over an elaborately embroidered tunic of gold and
glittering rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. The broad lapels of his
shirt spilled over a crimson satin doublet, lined with alternating
diamonds and pearls. Breeches fit his muscled legs like a second
skin, threaded with stripes of gold silk. Black leather boots
reached his knee.
She studied his features, trying to drink him all in as quickly as
possible before he swept by—the shock of lustrous red-gold hair, the
eyes betraying but a wisp of wisdom behind the youthful playfulness.
His stride was confident, his movements graceful. They were coming
closer, closer—the end of his cloak touched the toe of her shoe and
for an instant their eyes met.
She wasn't sure she imagined it, but it seemed that at that very
instant he slowed his step just slightly to let his gaze linger for
another second upon hers. She held her breath and stood in adoring
awe of this beautiful man who would within moments be her King.
Then he and Catherine were past them, approaching the high altar, as
Henry went to the centuries-old coronation throne, its finish
scratched and marred. He sat upon it regally as the High Priest
turned to face the assembly and asked if they would have Henry for
king.
"Aye, aye, aye!" The voices rang through the openness, fading away
into the high arches reaching towards heaven. The High Priest
anointed Henry with oil, then placed the glittering orb in his hand.
"All hail King Henry!" filled the hallowed space, rose to the high
vaulted ceiling and died within the deepest recesses of the ancient
sanctuary.
The people had a new King. Amethyst, as did all his subjects in the
very first moments of his reign, adored him.
CHAPTER TWO
Marchington Manor, Buckinghamshire
Amethyst could hear the clatter of hoof beats approaching as she sat
under her favorite oak tree strumming her lute. The instrument
slipped from her hands as the messenger came into focus—was that
royal livery he was wearing? The red dragon of Cadwallader blazed on
a field of green and white, and the same finery draped his horse.
He dismounted, handing the reins to an equally startled stable boy.
"Is the Mistress Sabine about?" he asked, as two other servants came
bustling out of the house, clutching their skirts.
Amethyst rose and addressed him. "Mother is abed, Sir. She's got a
frightful summer ague. May I deliver the message to her?"
"I suppose. It is from the King." He handed her a roll of parchment
embossed with the royal seal.
"Indeed." Amethyst's heart gave a fluttering leap at the thought of
holding in her humble grasp what had been touched by her great King.
"I shall deliver it to her. It bears good tidings, pray God."
"I am but a messenger, my lady. I know not what news the parchment
betells." He tipped his hat and turned back to his mount.
"Would you like to stay for the evening meal? We have food aplenty."
"Nay, my lady. I must be on my way." He pulled on the reins and the
horse turned and began trotting back down the path.
"Well, I bid you Godspeed then..."
But he'd already galloped away.
She held the roll in her hands, stroking it with her fingers.
'Tis
from
the King, this actually came from the King.
She dared not open it, but headed back towards the house. She prayed
her mother would recover a lot faster, if it were good news. If not,
well…. She didn't dare think about that.
Amethyst met Topaz coming from the animal infirmary she'd set up in
the south wing of the stables, wisps of dog and cat hair clinging to
her skirts.
"What is that you hold?" Topaz peered at it more closely, her eyes
squinting at the royal seal. "From the court? From Henry?" she
gasped.
Never had she referred to him—or his late father before him—as king.
"Aye, a messenger just brought it. 'Tis for Mother."
"I shall read it, then," Topaz said, reaching out to snatch the roll
from Amethyst's hand. "She's ill and if it bears bad tidings, 'twill
only serve to make her worse."
"No!" She held her arm up out of Topaz's reach. "'Tis not yours!
'Tis for mother, and I shall deliver it unto to her. I'm sure it
brings glad tidings. What bad news would King Henry have to bring
upon our mother?"
"You naïve simpleton! It's probably our death warrants! He's
planning to haul us back to the Tower just like our poor little
cousins! Don't give it to her, Amethyst! Burn it, be gone with it!
We shall say we never got it!"
"Oh, no, not again! Topaz, you're turning into a right lunatic!"
Amethyst flattened her palm to her ear and turned to ascend the
stairs. "I'm bringing it to her and 'tis up to her whether she would
open it or not!"
"Take my word, Amethyst, when Mother reads that note you will be
facing one very disturbed woman!"
"No, I won't, because you are staying down here," she fired over her
shoulder as she continued upwards.
Sabine was sitting up in bed, propped up against pillows, drinking
from a pewter beaker when Amethyst arrived.
"Do you fare better, Mother?" she asked, hiding the missive behind
her back.
"Aye, but I would rather be out there enjoying the world," she
replied, sniffing, wiping her nose with a linen cloth.
"Well, have I got glad tidings for you!" Amethyst could never
imagine a message from King Henry being anything else. She held out
the parchment, the seal facing her mother. "From the King himself!
Open it, Mother! Pray open it! I'm dying to see what good King Henry
has to say! Perhaps he wished to invite us to court for Christmas!"
Her mother shook her head, but did not otherwise alter her manner in
any way. "'Tis but August, my dear."
Sabine broke the seal and calmly began to unroll the parchment.
Amethyst would have torn it to shreds in her nervousness. She sat on
her hands in excitement.
"Besides, why would the King want us..."
Sabine began reading, and just as Amethyst expected, a happy smile
brightened her face. "Oh, Blessed Jesu!"
"What is it? God's foot, tell me before I scream!"
"Our great King Henry, our generous King, behold what he's given
us!" She handed the note back to Amethyst.
There she read, in the King's own writing, the bestowing of an
annuity of one hundred pounds each to Sabine and to Margaret Pole to
atone for the great injustice of his father Henry Tudor having had
Edward Earl of Warwick executed.
"In addition, he is... Oh, Jesu! He's reversing the attainder
against Father and..." She stopped to catch her breath, "full
restitution is being made to the rights of the family! That means...
Oh, Mother!"
"Aye, my dear. Warwick Castle is to be ours once again!"
"Do you know what that means, Mother? Lands! Our very own Warwick
Castle! Titles! You're Lady Sabine, dowager Countess of Warwick. I'm
Lady Amethyst. This will mean dowries for me and Topaz and Emerald!
I must tell them! Oh, I must tell them!"
She could hardly take it all in. This restoration of her family's
statues meant she was no longer the simple village girl doomed to
the life of a commoner. She was now a lady, titled and landed,
bursting with gratitude for her generous King. Once again the misty
vision of court life unfolded from the remote fancy of her dreams to
an immediate possibility.
"Oh, Mother, King Henry is so good, so kind! How could we ever repay
him, how could we ever—"
"How, indeed? What do we have, save a few nights of rest at Warwick
Castle, that King Henry could ever want?" her mother said with a
sigh.
"Oh, I know not, Mother! I'll think of something!" She paused for a
moment, then suggested, "I would send him one of my songs!"
Her mother smiled kindly at the generous if naïve impulses of
her middle daughter. "Aye, he should like that."
"I would give him something of myself... A part of me, with my
song!" She danced around the room, fed by a rush of joy.
"Hah!" Topaz lingered in the doorway and Amethyst, overhearing her
sister's grunt of disgust, shook her head in perplexity. How could
Topaz be so ungrateful to the man who'd saved her family from the
doom of poverty?
Topaz turned her back and scowled. "That hypocrite!" she spat. "That
artless clotpole! I would take his annuities and his castles and his
reversed attainders and tell him to shove them all up his—"
"Topaz!" both women protested.
She tossed her auburn hair contemptuously. "Why mince words? He
isn't doing this out of kindness. 'Tis clear he wants something from
us. Time will soon tell. But I'll be damned if he'll take any more
from this family than he already has."
CHAPTER THREE
Warwickshire, September, 1510
On this sparkling autumn morning, the clouds were beginning to
disperse and the sun was struggling to share its comforting warmth.
Two wagons pulled through sticky muck, as the last days' rain had
left the road to Warwick splotched with pools of mud. The thin wheel
ruts were streaming with liquefied earth.
The carriage followed the wagons, carrying Sabine, Emerald and
Amethyst. Topaz had refused to partake in the family's sudden
recovery of their ancestral home. She had chosen to stay behind and
tend her animals. Amethyst so much wanted her sister at her side on
that day, to share in this joyous occasion, for they were finally
being granted a home that was rightly theirs. But it was not to be.