First of the Tudors. Joanna Hickson

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СКАЧАТЬ Royal Progress; Westminster & Greenwich

      SWEET JANE’S BONNY FEATURES were to become a recurring image in my mind throughout the year that followed, particularly those long, sweeping eyelashes shading her deep brown-velvet eyes. Certain memories made particularly vivid returns. In blessedly balmy weather we had shared the rustic delights of shepherding Hywel’s flock of sheep up to the high pastures and the picture of Jane, in a straw hat and long boots, with her skirts tucked up and a shepherd’s crook in her hand, made frequent visitations in my quieter moments. Later, on our return to Tŷ Cerrig, I had witnessed her handling the birth of Bethan’s baby, when she chased all the men out of the house and set about supervising the midwife, cheering the mother and reassuring the grandmother, all with seemingly unruffled efficiency. And meanwhile I managed to pick up a few words of Welsh, at least enough to identify a mab from a merch, which is to say a boy from a girl. I had little experience of females of any age but the sight of this smiling fourteen-year-old merch emerging from the front door of the farmhouse to present her father with his newborn daughter remained with me for months, inspiring comparison with church images of the Madonna and Child.

      Walking our horses to the field one day Edmund had been scornful of my friendship with Jane, pointing out to me that a relationship with a Welsh farm-girl, especially one whose grandfather had been outlawed for rebelling against the crown, would not be one to mention at court. ‘Enjoy her company while we are here, Jas, bed her if you will, not that beds seem to abound in this part of the world, but for pity’s sake keep silent on the subject of Jane when we return to Westminster.’

      I worried about Edmund’s attitude towards females. He did not seem to have absorbed any of the rules of chivalry drummed into us during the lessons on Arthurian legend, which the king had insisted should be part of our preparation for knighthood and which laid particular stress on respect for women. Edmund was always careful to impress our tutors with his grasp of Latin verse and philosophical texts but his moral code was that of the alehouse.

      I angrily rejected his implication that I had lecherous designs on Jane. ‘The only bedding I have done here is strawing down the horses, brother – and for pity’s sake will you please stop calling me Jas!’

      ‘Temper, temper!’ he cried. ‘What does plain Jane call you then? Rust-head?’

      ‘No, but I will tell you what she calls you. Pretty boy! You frightened the sheep in your bright red doublet and yellow hose – you should have left them in London.’

      ‘And you should leave those mud-coloured rags of yours in Wales,’ he retaliated. ‘Along with your Welsh words and your bumpkin shepherdess – Jas!’ He had to dodge under his horse’s neck to avoid my bunched fist.

      When we did return to court, however, it was not our clothes or my language which sparked a bout of teasing from our fellow squires but the tanned faces we had acquired after three months in field and saddle, weeks which we had both greatly enjoyed, no matter how much Edmund protested that he had stagnated in the ‘rural backwaters’ as he called West Wales.

      But there was no prospect of a return to Wales. Memories of Jane were all I was ever likely to have, for now that Edmund and I had both reached our majority our brother the king often summoned us into his company, significantly more than the other household squires. I suspected that this was due to prompting by Queen Marguerite, who seemed to relish the notion that we were first cousins; her father’s sister, Marie of Anjou, was also our aunt by marriage, being queen to our late mother’s brother, King Charles VII of France.

      ‘But we cannot make anything of this in the court,’ she warned privately, in what I considered her rather charmingly broken English, ‘because King Henry is still le Roi de France, however successful are the armies of our Uncle Charles in Normandy and Maine.’

      It was a moot point. According to the peace treaty that had married our mother to Henry’s father, he was officially king of France as well as England. But his commanders were gradually and ingloriously losing the vast swathes of French territory conquered by the fifth Henry and the peace of the realm was seriously threatened by hordes of displaced soldiers who, having settled in Normandy and Maine with their families, were now forced to flee the invading armies of King Charles and return to England, where many of them roamed the shires, homeless, penniless and desperate, stirring up trouble. This series of military setbacks had also drained the royal coffers and caused a dangerous split in the ranks of the English nobility. Earlier in the year the king’s distant cousin, Richard, Duke of York, who publicly lamented these failures, had been banished from court for bringing an army to London, demanding to be given command of the French wars and named as Henry’s heir.

      It was Queen Marguerite who told us that she and the king were going on a Royal Progress and Henry desired that Edmund and I accompany them, not as his household squires but as his brothers. ‘Henry will dispense justice to all the poor people who have been robbed and attacked by these renegades from France,’ she explained.

      This was undoubtedly an honour, intended to give us an intimate knowledge of our brother’s duties and beliefs. We were to lodge near the royal apartments and share the private solar.

      I learned a great deal during that Progress about the way the king’s justice was dispensed, and discovered the enormous discrepancy between those nobles who were actively involved and compassionate overlords and those who dealt with their tenants at third and fourth hand, often using unscrupulous methods of extracting their rents and revenues.

      I also found out a great deal about the king and queen themselves. They treated each other with unfailing courtesy but little apparent affection; the private time we spent with them significantly lacked laughter or casual exchange of the kind I expected between two people who had been joined in matrimony for more than six years. In fact, I felt there was a constant, underlying tension, which puzzled me. Of course love was no prerequisite in a dynastic marriage such as theirs but Henry scarcely seemed to notice that Queen Marguerite was undeniably lovely, with an exotic beauty and a graceful figure that elicited furtive but appreciative glances from most of the young men about court. He refrained from any comment on her dress or appearance unless he thought it too elaborate or excessively extravagant. He himself dressed more like a cleric than monarch despite Marguerite urging him to adopt the bright fabrics and brilliant jewels she considered appropriate to the royal state.

      She sought our support in this endeavour. ‘The people expect splendour of their king, do you not think? Edmund – you must agree for you are always á la mode. Perhaps you might advise his grace on what the nobility are wearing? I notice that the hems of the young courtiers’ gowns are getting shorter, their hose is more colourful and their jewellery more lavish but I cannot persuade Henry to adopt this style. He dresses as if every day were Vendredi Saint.’

      Nevertheless Henry continued to avoid splendour, even when attending the opulent feasts provided by our hosts during the Progress, all of them anxious to please their sovereign, hopeful of obtaining some reward. These occasions provided opportunities for dancing and masking, when many young male courtiers chose to display their physiques, stretching their hose tightly over their thighs and exposing more leg than would be wise in cold weather. King Henry certainly enjoyed a mask, especially if it was based on a biblical theme but his habit was to retire to his private chamber before the evening entertainment became too boisterous.

      Usually and much to Edmund’s vexation, he asked the two of us to retire with him. Henry then chose to drink small ale and talk over the events of the day, such as the judicial cases he had heard at the local assizes or a visit he had made to a religious shrine. As strains of dance music drifted through open windows, Edmund’s feet would start tapping out the rhythm, while he strove to preserve an expression of rapt interest in the king’s discourse. I confess that I was often guilty of this myself and reminded СКАЧАТЬ