As the King swept out of the room, she touched her hand to her lips,
at the very place where he'd kissed her, and she gazed out over the
Avon, seeing nothing, just the delicate strains of his music running
through her head.
CHAPTER TEN
On New Year's Day the entire household gathered in the great hall.
With the King's gracious permission, Sabine collected all the
servants, from her Maids of Honor to the stable hands, and they were
granted the honor of spending a few hours in the King's presence.
Sabine had gotten them all gifts, and they were distributed before
the King and Queen's arrival.
When the royal retinue appeared, they personally exchanged gifts
with Sabine and the girls. The King had presented them all with
necklaces—pear shaped diamonds suspended on gold chains of varying
lengths—the longest with the biggest diamond for Sabine, and
gradually smaller sizes for the girls. They presented the King with
a solid gold replica of the key to Warwick Castle's main gate
mounted on a plaque depicting the Warwickshire arms of the bear and
ragged staff.
"This represents our eternal gratitude for granting us this land,
your grace," Sabine told the King upon presentation of the key.
"Warwick Castle will always be your home as it is ours."
He gracefully accepted the gift, kissing Sabine's hand.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur of merrymaking but one
moment did stand out in her mind.
"God willing, we shall meet again, Lady Amethyst," Henry said, as
the retinue prepared to depart for London the following day. He took
her hand as she curtsied, his bejeweled cloak a sweeping flash of
glitter as she dipped down and back up again.
"I look forward to it, sire." She tried to keep the quiver out of
her voice as she spoke. She wanted to say more, but he'd already
moved on, for there were many goodbyes to be said, and when the
castle emptied of the retinue, her heart plummeted and hit a bottom
as hard as the stone floor on which she stood. This brief taste of
court life had been her most magnificent experience ever. It was a
life she longed for, a life she had tasted once and felt she could
never get enough of or tire of. When would she ever get to make such
joyful music with such talented people. And when would she ever get
to see the King again?
"So you met Henry then?" Topaz said with a disinterested air as she
and Amethyst watched Edward chase a butterfly through Warwick
Castle's rose garden. They hadn't seen each other since just before
court visited the castle at Christmas.
Edward was now a spirited, energetic three-year-old, looking like a
miniature adult in his blue breeches and doublet, tiny gold buttons
marching down his little breast and her heart turned over at how
regal and adult his bearing had become in only a few short weeks
since she had last seen him.
"Aye, he was just fascinating. A marvelous dancer, superb musician,
so easy to talk to..."
Topaz stopped in her tracks and pushed a lock of hair off her
forehead. "He
talked
to you?"
The warm breeze stirred the soft fragrance of roses and Amethyst
peered through the cedars to watch Edward rolling in the grass,
yanking clover out of the ground, chewing on it and spitting it out.
"Aye, we had a lovely chat. We even played music together, in the
conservatory, just the two of us."
"How cozy." Topaz caressed the petals of a rose. "What could he
possibly have found to talk with you about?"
"We talked about music mostly. His love for music is even greater
than mine. We had a musical afternoon. We harmonized beautifully
together."
"Aye, so I heard the King has been known to harmonize with many
ladies, but not necessarily in the musical sense," she sneered.
"The King's private affairs are none of ours," Amethyst said. "He is
a modern man. He told me we should marry for love."
"Hah! That's a joke! Only because he wishes he will someday."
"Why? Do you not believe he loves the Queen Catherine?"
"Surely you jest, Amethyst. He marries his brother's widow for an
alliance with Spain and he has the gall to talk about love! There is
some gossip that he isn't even legally married to Catherine, she
being Arthur's widow."
"Oh, Topaz! Where do you get such absurd ideas?"
"'Tis a well-known fact. The Pope erred in granting them a
dispensation to marry. Therefore, they've never been married in the
eyes of God. He is a bachelor and the Princess Mary is a bastard,
just like his son by that whore Bessie Blount."
Amethyst gasped, staring in disbelief at the cocky grin on her face.
"Topaz, you may talk like this with me, for I am your own sister,
and I shall never let your words go any further than the two of us.
But if anyone ever hears you speaking of the King like this, well,
'tis treason."
"'Tis no secret, Amethyst. God's truth, the man is not the Almighty.
He's a man, a mere mortal. And mortals make mistakes. He'll make
many more, no doubt, before he departs this earth." She called
Edward over. "Tell Auntie Amethyst all about the King."
Edward scampered over to them, his tiny fist full of daisies. He
thrust them out at Amethyst, who accepted graciously.
"The King is not really married to the Queen," Edward recited in his
high-pitched, yet carefully articulated voice.
"And what is the Princess Mary?" Topaz goaded.
"The Princess Mary is a bastard," Edward nearly sang.
"Who else is a bastard?" she coached, to her sister's growing
horror. "Who else?"
"His son, Henry Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond. The King longs for an
heir but is cursed with two bastards." The boy giggled, squirmed,
then, his eye catching another butterfly, sprinted off in the other
direction, a powder-blue bundle of energy.
Amethyst shook her head in dismay. That wasn't her nephew talking.
That was Topaz, talking through him, feeding his mind with all this
scandal about the King. She feared for his life as she thought of
their innocent father locked in the Tower for life, nary a harsh
word about any king ever passing his lips!
"Topaz, how could you! How could you teach that boy all those
dreadful things!"
"He knows of what he speaks, Amethyst." Topaz plucked a red rose
from the vine and ran it down her neck, crushing it between her
breasts. She inhaled deeply of its soft fragrance. "He knows who he
is. I will never forget who I am, and never forget all Henry and the
Tudors have taken from us."
"But Henry is not his father. He gave us Warwick–"
"A bauble compared to all I should have as queen."
"No queen has ever ruled in England–"
"Not so. There was Matilda."
"Who was reviled and hated for the civil war she brought about.
Think, sister, that is the path you will be set on if you persist in
this folly. And if you insist on making your son parrot the poison
you spew, none of us will ever be safe."
"Nay, not 'til I am on the throne. 'Tis true. I am so glad you
understand my position at last. And now I must go find my husband.
One healthy child is a good start but it is high time I was breeding
again. After all, it is even better to have an heir and a spare."
With that she strode away, leaving Amethyst gaping after her in
stunned dismay.
Topaz gave birth to another boy, Richard George, in November of
1518. Once again, Amethyst and Sabine were both present at the
birth, at Topaz's insistence. Yet this birth was much easier, as if
Topaz knew what to expect.
She'd mastered the breathing techniques, the rhythmic pushing and
bearing down, and brought forth a beautiful boy weighing just over
eight pounds. Just like his brother, he was crowned with a shock of
copper hair, and emitted a squall that could have been heard in the
far reaches of Scotland.
"Richard George Plantagenet Gilford, Duke of Lancaster!" she recited
in a resonant voice, so unlike her weak yet determined proclamation
of Edward's name upon his delivery.
"Aye, Topaz, a lovely name," Amethyst soothed, smoothing Topaz's
hair off her forehead. She turned to watch her new nephew taking his
first breaths of life. "Richard after our mother's father, George
after our father's father!"
Edward, of course, had been named for their father. He bore no
middle name. He was simply Edward. What Matthew his father thought
of that was anyone's guess.
As soon as Topaz was able, she fetched the leather-bound journal
from her writing desk, a pen and some ink. The pen scratched across
the pages just as they had when she began recording her thoughts at
age eight.
Now that my two heirs are upon this earth, the succession is
secured. I shall engage Henry's enemies (and he has collected more
than a few) and begin my quest for the throne. And what a queen I
shall be. I shall lift the heavy tax burden from my good subjects
and distribute the Crown's fortune among the poor.
The fortune was hoarded away by the miserly old Henry Tudor, and
is made up of the profits he extorted under his false pretenses,
the riches he reaped by digging up breaches of forgotten laws, and
from the confiscation of the property of his political offenders,
my own father included!
I shall shorten working hours for the peasants and their children
so that there will be time for learning. They may learn medicine
to heal the sick of plague and sweat. They may learn law, to
uphold justice throughout the land. They may learn drama and
poetry and music, so that they may sing and dance and spend their
leisure hours on refined entertainment. They may learn economics,
so they can engage in equitable commerce, trade fairly and evenly,
and watch their hoards grow into comfortable sums.
The prison will be a tolerable place to repent, a place to reform
and prepare those convicted for another chance to live among
society, to be treated like human beings, a much more effective
deterrent to crime than torture.
There will be wine and ale for everyone, and at the same time, no
one will be fat and overfed, like these royal pigs who stuff their
faces to corpulence with the flesh of the deer that roam the wild
forests... The forests will once again belong to the animals not
the spoiled King to keep as his royal prerogative, and the lands
shall belong to the people. My realm will love me and my son after
me, King Edward the Sixth!
She clapped the book shut as Edward's governess brought him into the
bed chamber. He was tall and lanky, and stood straight, his chin up,
his shoulders back, and moved not with that gawky movement of
four-year-olds whose undeveloped muscles undermined them, but with
the grace and pomp of a well-trained soldier, a man—a future king!
"And have you beheld your baby brother today, Edward?"
"Aye, Mother, he sleeps. He is such a quiet pup."
"So unlike his brother," Topaz laughed, reaching out to hug her son,
her heir. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?" she asked
him, as his tutor asked all the children, sons and daughters of
nobles and gentry, who invariably answered, "Liege of many lands,"
or "Healer of the sick."
Only one boy answered, "I shall be king."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Warwick Castle, June, 1521
Amethyst was leading her nephew Edward around the stable grounds on
his new pony on a glorious June day. The animal was small and
compact, and upon it sat the tall and lanky Edward, his feet stuffed
into the stirrups, the reins wound round his long fingers. The pony
was her seventh birthday present to him.
Topaz had nearly fainted with fright when she saw her son mount the
beast, but Amethyst had checked her annoyance and chided her sister.
"God's foot, Topaz, you were riding the back of the Royal
Menagerie's camel when you were but a four-year-old. Why are you so
worried about Edward?"
"Because he's my first-born son, and I don't want any accidents at
his delicate age."
"'Tis a pony, not a wild stallion. A sweet, gentle pony. What would
you name him, Edward?"
"Oh, 'tis a him? I would name her Mary if he were a girl."
"Name him that anyway," scoffed Topaz. "I hear the bastard Princess
has a voice as deep as a well. She must get her masculine features
from her mother."
Amethyst wanted to box her sister's ears for continuing this
badgering of the Tudors in front of the children, but she did her
best to stay out of it and not argue. She still harbored a strange
respect for her sister for maintaining her belief, out of reverence
for their father, but the family had long since given up trying.
Reprimands, logic, and reasoning had all failed to curb her sister's
opinions so it was best to just ignore her.
Through the entrance of the stables she glimpsed a messenger riding
towards the gatehouse. She recognized the royal livery, would know
it anywhere.