Jane Boleyn, Whitehall Palace, January 1540 We have moved to Whitehall Palace, where the wedding is to be celebrated by a weeklong jousting tournament, and then the last of the visitors will go back to Cleves and we will all settle into our new lives with a new Queen Anne. She has never before seen anything on the scale or of the style of this tournament, and she is rather endearing in her excitement.
"Lady Jane, where I sit? " she demands of me. "And how? How? "
I smile at her bright face. "You sit here, " I say, showing her the queen"s box. "And the knights will come into the arena, and the heralds will announce them. Sometimes they will tell a story, sometimes recite a p"m about their costume. Then they fight either on horseback, riding down the lists here; or hand-to-hand with swords, on the ground. " I think how to explain.
I never know how much she understands now, she is learning to speak so quickly. "It is the greatest tournament the king has planned in many years, " I say. "It will last for a week. There will be days of celebrations with beautiful costumes, and everyone in London will come to see the masques and the battles. The court will be at the forefront, of course, but behind them will be the gentry and the great citizens of London and then behind them the common people will come in their thousands. It is a great celebration for the whole country. "
"I sit here? " she says, gesturing at the throne.
I watch her take her seat. Of course, to me this box is filled with ghosts. The seat is hers now; but it was Queen Jane"s before her, and Queen Anne"s before that, and when I was a young woman, not even married, just a girl filled with hopes and ambitions and pa.s.sionately in love, I served Queen Katherine, who sat in that very chair under her own canopy that the king had ordered should be sewn with little gold Ks and Hs for Katherine and Henry, and he himself had ridden out under the name Sir Loyal Heart.
"This new is? " she asks, patting the curtains that are swagged around the royal box.
"No, " I say, forced by my memories to tell the truth. "These are the curtains that are always used. Look, you can see. " I turn the fabric over and she can see where other initials have been. They have cut the embroidery from the front of the curtains but left the old sewing at the back. Clearly one can see K and H, entwined with lovers" knots. Oversewn, beside each H, is an H&A. It is like summoning a ghost to see her initials here again. These were the curtains which kept the sun from her head that May Day tournament when it was so hot, and we all knew that the king was angry, and we all knew that the king was in love with Jane Seymour, but none of us knew what would happen next.
I remember Anne leaning over the front of the box and dropping her handkerchief down to one of the jousters, shooting a side-long smile at the king to see if he was jealous. I remember the cold look on his face, and I remember she went pale and sat back again. He had the warrant for her arrest in his doublet then, at that very moment, but he said nothing. He was planning to send her to her death, but he sat beside her for much of the day. She laughed and she chattered and she gave out her favors. She smiled at him and flirted, and she had no idea he had made up his mind that she would die. How could he do such a thing to her? How could he? How could he sit beside her, with his new lover standing smiling, behind them both, and know that within days Anne would be dead? Dead, and my husband dead with her, my husband dying for her, my husband dying for love of her. G.o.d forgive me for my jealousy. G.o.d forgive her for her sins.
Seated in her place, her initials showing like a dark stain on the hidden underside of her curtains, I shudder as if someone has laid a cold finger on my neck. If any place is haunted, it will be here. These curtains have been st.i.tched and overst.i.tched with the initials of three doomed, pretty girls. Will the court seamstresses be ripping out another A in a few years? Will this box host another ghost? Will another queen come after this new Anne?
"What? " she asks me, the new girl who knows nothing.
I point to the neat st.i.tches. "K: Katherine of Aragon, " I say simply. "A: Anne Boleyn. J: Jane Seymour. " I turn the curtain right side round so that she can see her own initials standing proud and new on the fair side of the fabric. "And now, Anne of Cleves. "
She looks at me with her straight gaze, and for the very first time I think that perhaps I have underestimated this girl. Perhaps she is not a fool. Perhaps behind that honest face there is quick intelligence. Because she cannot speak my language I have talked to her as if she is a child and I have thought of her with the wit of a child. But she is not frightened by these ghosts *she is not even haunted by them, as I am.
She shrugs. "Queens before, " she says. "Now: Anne of Cleves. "
Either this is a high courage, or it is the stoicism of the very stupid.
"Are you not afraid? " I ask very quietly.
She understands the words, I know she d"s. I can see it in her stillness and the sudden attentive tilt of her head. She looks at me directly. "Afraid of nothing, " she says firmly. "Never afraid. "
For a moment I want to warn her. She is not the only brave girl to sit in this box to be honored as queen and then end her life stripped of her t.i.tle, facing death alone. Katherine of Aragon had the courage of a crusader, Anne the nerves of a wh.o.r.e. The king brought them both down to nothing. "You must take care, " I say.
"I afraid of nothing, am, " she says again. "Never afraid. "
Anne, Whitehall Palace, January 1540 I was dazzled by the beauty of the palace of Greenwich, but I am shaken to my sh"s by Whitehall. More like a town than a palace, it is a thousand halls and houses, gardens and courts, in which only the n.o.bly born and bred seem to find their way around. It has been the home of the Kings of England forever, and every great lord and his family have their own houses built inside the half a dozen acres of the sprawling palace. Everyone knows a secret pa.s.sage, everyone knows a quick route, everyone knows a door that is conveniently left open to the streets, and a quick way down to a pier on the river where you can get a boat. Everyone but me and my Cleves amba.s.sadors, who are lost inside this warren a dozen times a day and who feel more stupid and more like peasants abroad each time.
Beyond the gates of the palace is the city of London, one of the most crowded, noisy, populous cities in the world. From dawn I can hear the street sellers calling, even from my set of rooms hidden deep inside the palace. As the day g"s on the noise and business increases until it seems that there is nowhere in the world that can be at peace. There is a constant stream of people through the palace gates with things to sell and bargains to make and, from what Lady Jane tells me, a continual stream of pet.i.tions for the king. This is the true home of his Privy Council; his parliament sits just down the road at the Palace of Westminster. The Tower of London, the great fortified lodestone of every king"s power, is just down the river. If I am to make this great kingdom my home, I shall have to learn my way around this palace, and then find my way around London. There is no point in hiding in my closet, overwhelmed by the noise and the bustle; I have to get out into the palace and let the people *who crowd in their thousands from dawn till nightfall *look at me.
My stepson, Prince Edward, is on a visit to court; he can watch the jousting tomorrow. He is allowed to court only seldom for fear of taking an infection, and never in the summertime for fear of the plague. His father worships the boy, for his own little fair head, I am sure; but also because he is the only boy, the only Tudor heir. A single boy is such a precious thing. All the hopes of this new line rest on little Edward.
Lucky that he is such a strong, healthy child. He has hair of the fairest gold, and a smile that makes you want to catch him up and hug him. But he is strongly independent and would be most offended if I were to press my kisses on him. So when we go to his nursery, I take care only to sit near him and let him bring his toys to me, one by one, and each one he puts into my hand, with great pleasure and interest. "Glish, " he says. "Maow. " And I never catch his little fat hand and plant a kiss in the warm palm, though he looks up at me with eyes as dark and as round as toffee and with a smile as sweet.
I wish I could stay in his nursery all day. It d"s not matter to him that I cannot speak English or French or Latin. He hands a carved wooden top to me and says solemnly, "moppet, " and I reply, "moppet, " and then he fetches something else. We neither of us need a great deal of language nor a great deal of cleverness to pa.s.s an hour together.
When it is time for him to eat, he allows me to lift him up into his little seat, and sit beside him as he is served with all the honor and respect that his own father commands. They serve this little boy on bended knee, and he sits up and takes his share from any one of a dozen rich dishes as if he were king already.
I say nothing as yet, because it is early days for me as his stepmother; but after I have been here awhile longer, perhaps after my coronation next month, I shall ask my lord the king if the boy cannot have a little more freedom to run about and play, and a plainer diet. Perhaps we can visit him more often in his own household, even if he cannot come to court. Perhaps I might be allowed to see him often. I think of him, poor little boy, without a mother to care for him, and I think that I might have the raising of him, and see him grow into a young man, a good young man to be King Edward for England. And then I could laugh at myself for the selfishness of duty. Of course I want to be a good stepmother and queen to him, but more than anything else I long to mother him. I want to see his little face light up when I come into the room, not just for these few days, but every day. I want to hear him say "Kwan, " which is all he can manage of "Queen Anne. " I want to teach him his prayers and his letters and his manners. I want him for my own. Not just because he is motherless, but because I am childless and I want someone to love.
This is not my only stepchild, of course. But the Lady Elizabeth is not allowed to come to court at all. She is to stay at Hatfield Palace, some distance from London, and the king d"s not recognize her except as his b.a.s.t.a.r.d, got on Lady Anne Boleyn; there are those who say she is not even that, but another man"s child. Lady Jane Rochford *who knows everything *showed me a portrait of Elizabeth and pointed to her hair, which is red as coals in a brazier, and smiled as if to say there could be little doubt that this is the king"s child. But King Henry has made it his right to decide which children he shall acknowledge, and Lady Elizabeth will be brought up away from court as a royal b.a.s.t.a.r.d and married to a minor n.o.bleman when she is of age. Unless I can speak to him first. Perhaps, when we have been married awhile, perhaps if I can give him a second son, perhaps then he will be kinder to the little girl who needs kindness.
In contrast, the Princess Mary is now allowed to court, though Lady Rochford tells me that she has been out of favor for years, ever since the defiance of her mother. The refusal of Queen Katherine to let Henry go meant that he denied the marriage and denied their child. I have to try not to think the worse of him for this. It was too long ago, and I am not fit to judge. But to visit on a child the coldness earned by the mother seems to me to be cruel. Just so did my brother blame me for the love that my father felt for me. Of course the Princess Mary is a child no longer. She is a young woman and ready for marriage. I think she is in poor health; she has not been well enough to come to court and meet me, though Lady Rochford says that she is well enough but that she is trying to avoid the court because the king has a new betrothal in mind for her.
I cannot blame her for that; she was to be betrothed to my brother William at one time, and then to a Prince of France, and then to a Hapsburg prince. It is natural that her marriage should be a matter of continual debate until she is settled. What is more odd is the fact that no one can ever know what they are getting when they buy her. There is no telling her pedigree, since her father has disowned her once and now recognizes her again, but could disown her again at any time, since nothing has any weight with him but his own opinion, which he says is the will of G.o.d.
When I become more of a power and an influence with my lord the king, I shall talk to him about settling the Princess Mary"s position once and for all. It is not fair to her that she should not know whether she is princess or a nothing, and she will never be able to marry any man of any substance while her position is so unreliable. I daresay the king has not thought of it from her point of view. And there has been no one to be an advocate for her. It would surely be the right thing to do, as his wife, to help him see the needs of his daughters, as well as the demands of his own dignity.
Princess Mary is a most determined Papist; and I have been raised in a country that rejects the abuses of Papists and calls for a purer church. We might be enemies over doctrine and yet become friends. More than anything, I want to be a good queen for England, and a good friend to her, and surely, she should understand that. Of all the things that people say of Katherine of Aragon, everyone knows that she was a good queen and a good mother. All I want to do is follow her example; her daughter might even welcome that.
Katherine, Whitehall Palace, January 1540 I am summoned to practice a masque, a tableau to open the tournament. The king is going to come in disguised as a knight from the sea, and we are to be waves or fish or something like that in his train and dance for the queen and the court. His composer has the score of the music, and there are to be six of us. I think we represent the muses, but I am not sure. Now I come to think of it, I don"t even know what a muse is. But I hope that it is the sort of thing that has a costume made from very fine silks.
Anne Ba.s.sett is another dancer, and Alison, and Jane, Mary, Catherine Carey, and me. Of the six of us probably Anne is the prettiest girl, she has the fairest blond hair and big blue eyes and she has this trick, which I must learn, of looking down and looking up again as if she had heard something most interesting and indecent. If you tell her the price of a yard of buckram, she will look down and back up, as if you have whispered that you love her. Only if someone else is watching, of course. If we are just on our own, she d"sn"t bother with it. It d"s make her most engaging when she is trying hard. After her, I am certain that I am the prettiest girl. She is the daughter of Lord and Lady Lisle and a great favorite of the king"s, who is very much taken with this up-and-down look and has promised to give her a horse, which I think a pretty good fee for doing nothing more than fluttering eyelashes. Truly, there is a fortune to be made at court if you know how.
I enter the room at a run because I am late, and there is the king himself, with three of his greatest friends *Charles Brandon, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and young Thomas Culpepper *standing with the musicians with the score in his hand.
I curtsy very low at once, and I see that Anne Ba.s.sett is there, in the forefront, looking very demure, and with her are the four others, preening themselves like a nest of cygnets and hoping to catch the royal eye.
But it is me whom the king smiles to see. He really d"s. He turns and says, "Ah! My little friend from Rochester. "
Down I go into my curtsy again and up I come tilted forward so that the men can get a good sight of my low neckline and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and "Your Grace! " I breathe, as if I can hardly speak for l.u.s.t.
I can see they all enjoy this, and Thomas Culpepper, who has the most dazzling blue eyes, gives me a naughty wink as one Howard kinsman to another.
"Did you really not know me at Rochester, sweetheart? " the king asks. And he comes across the room and puts his finger under my chin and turns my face up to him as if I were a child, which I don"t like much, but I make myself stand still and say: "Truly, sire, I did not. I would know you again, though. "
"How would you know me again? " he says indulgently, like a kind father at Christmas.
Well, this has me stuck because I don"t know. I don"t have anything to say; I was simply being pleasant. I have to say something, but nothing at all comes to mind. So I look up at him as if my head were full of confessions but I dare say nothing, and to my enormous pleasure I can feel a little heat in my cheeks and I know that I am blushing.
I am blushing for nothing but vanity, of course, and the pleasure of being singled out by the king himself in front of that s.l.u.t Anne Ba.s.sett, but also for the discomfort of having nothing to say and not a thought in my head; but he sees the blush and mistakes it for modesty, and he at once tucks my hand in the crook of his arm and leads me away from the others. I keep my eyes down; I don"t even wink back at Master Culpepper.
"Hush, child, " he says very kindly. "Poor sweet child, I didn"t mean to embarra.s.s you. "
"Too kind, " is all I manage to murmur. I can see Anne Ba.s.sett looking after us as if she would kill me. "I"m so shy. "
"Sweetest child, " he says more warmly.
"It was when you asked me "
"When I asked you what? "
I take a little breath. If he were not king, I would know better how to play this. But he is the king, and this makes me uncertain. Besides he is a man old enough to be my grandfather, it seems quite indecent to flirt with him. Then I take a little glance upward at him, and I know I am right. He has got that look on his face. The look that so many men have when they look at me. As if they want to just swallow me up, just capture me, and have me in one gulp.
"When you asked me whether I would know you again, " I say in a thin, little-girl voice. "Because I would. "
"How would you? " He bends down to hear me, and I suddenly realize in a rush of excitement that it d"s not matter that he is king. He is sweet on me like my lady grandmother"s steward. It is exactly the same soft, doting look in his face. I swear I recognize it. I should do; I have seen it often enough. It is that stupid, wet look that old men have when they see me, rather nasty really. It is how old men look at women young enough to be their daughters and imagine themselves to be as young as their sons. It is how old men look when they l.u.s.t for a woman who is young enough to be their daughter, and they know they should not.
"Because you are so handsome, " I say, looking directly at him, taking the risk and seeing what will happen. "You are the handsomest man at court, Your Grace. "
He stands quite still, almost like a man who suddenly hears beautiful music. Like a man enchanted. "You think I am the handsomest man at court? " he asks incredulously. "Sweet child, I am old enough to be your father. "
Closer to my grandfather if truth be told, but I gaze up at him. "Are you? " I pipe, as if I don"t know that he is near to fifty and I am not yet fifteen. "But I don"t like boys. They always seem so silly. "
"They trouble you? " he demands instantly.
"Oh, no, " I say. "I have nothing at all to do with them. But I would rather walk and talk with a man who knows something of the world. Who can advise me. Someone I can trust. "
"You shall walk and talk with me this very afternoon, " he promises. "And you shall tell me all your little troubles. And if anyone has troubled you, anyone, no matter how great: he shall answer to me for it. "
I sink into a curtsy. I am so close to him that I almost brush his breeches with my bent head. If that d"sn"t cause a little stirring, then I shall be very surprised. I look up at him and I smile up at him and I give a tiny little shake of my head as if in wonderment. I think to myself that this really is awfully good. "Such an honor, " I whisper.
Anne, Whitehall Palace, January 11, 1540 This is a most wonderful day, I feel that I am queen indeed. I am seated in the royal box, my own box, the queen"s box, in the newly built gatehouse at Whitehall, and in the jousting ground below me is half the n.o.bility of England, with some great gentlemen from France and Spain come also to show their courage and to seek my favor.
Yes, my favor, for though I am inside still Anne of Cleves, not much regarded and neither the prettiest nor the sweetest of the Cleves girls, on the outside I am now Queen of England, and it is amazing how much taller and more beautiful I turn out to be once I have a crown on my head.
The new gown d"s much to help with my confidence. It is made in the English style, and, although I feel dangerously naked with a low-cut gown and no neckpiece of muslin to come up to my chin, at last I am looking more like the other ladies and less like a newcomer to court. I am even wearing a hood in the French style, though I have it pulled forward to hide my hair. It feels very light, and I have to remember not to toss my head about and laugh at the sense of freedom. I do not want to seem too changed, too loose in my behavior. My mother would be terribly shocked by my appearance. I don"t want to let her down, nor my country.
Already, I have young men asking for my favor to ride in the lists, bowing low and smiling up at me with a special warmth in their eyes. With meticulous care, I keep my dignity and I award my favor only to those who already carry the king"s regard, or those who carry his wagers. Lady Rochford is a safe advisor in these matters; she will keep me away from the danger of causing offense, and the far greater danger of causing scandal. I never forget that a Queen of England must be above any whisper of flirtation. I never forget that it was at a joust, such as this one, when one young man and then another carried the queen"s handkerchief, and that day was ended with their arrest for adultery, and her merry day was ended on the block.
This court has no memory of that; though the men who gave evidence and handed down the sentence of her death are here today in the bright sunshine, smiling and shouting orders into the jousting ring, and those who survived, like Thomas Wyatt, smile at me as if they have not seen three other women in the place where I sit now.
The arena is lined with painted boards and marked out with poles painted in the Tudor green-and-white stripes, standards fluttering at every flagpole. There are thousands of people here, all dressed in their best and looking for entertainment. The place is noisy with people shouting their wares, the flower girls singing out their prices, and the c.h.i.n.k of coins as bets change hands. The citizens cheer me whenever I glance in their direction, and their wives and their daughters wave their handkerchiefs and call, "Good Queen Anne! " to me when I raise my hand to acknowledge their attention. The men throw their hats in the air and bellow my name, and there is a constant stream of n.o.blemen and gentry to the royal box to bow over my hand and introduce their ladies, come to London especially for the tournament.
The arena is sweet with the smell of a thousand nosegays and freshly dampened clean sand, and when the horses enter at a gallop, skid to a standstill, and rear, they kick up a golden spray. The knights are glorious in their armor, each piece burnished to shine like silver and most of them gorgeously engraved and inlaid with rich metals. Their standard-bearers carry flags of brilliant silks embroidered with special mott"s. There are many who come as mystery knights, with their visors down and strange and romantic names bellowed out as their challenge; some of them are accompanied by a bard who tells their tragic story in p"try, or sings their song before the joust. I was afraid that it would be a day of fighting and that I wouldn"t understand what was going on, but it is as good as the most beautiful pageant to see the fine horses come into the lists, the handsome men in their pride, and the crowds of thousands cheering them on.
They promenade before they start and there is a tableau to welcome them to the arena. The king himself is the center of the scene, dressed as a knight from Jerusalem, and the ladies of my court are in his train, dressed in costume and sitting on a great wagon that comes in towed by horses that are draped in yards of blue silk. They represent the sea, I can tell, but what the ladies are supposed to be is beyond me. Given the brilliant smile of little Katherine Howard as she stands at the front, her hand raised to shield her bright eyes, I think she is supposed to be lookout mermaid, or something of that nature, perhaps a siren. Certainly she is swathed in white muslin drapery, which might represent sea foam, and she has accidentally let it fall so that one lovely shoulder is showing, as if she is emerging naked from the sea.
When I have a little more command of the language I shall talk to her about taking care with her reputation and modesty. She d"s not have her mother, who died when she was a little child, and her father is a careless spendthrift who lives abroad in Calais. She was brought up by a step-grandmother, Jane tells me, so perhaps she has not had anyone to warn her that the king is most alert to any sort of improper behavior. Her dress today is perhaps allowed, since it is part of a tableau, but the way it is sliding down to show her slim white back is, I know, very wrong.
The ladies dance in the arena and then curtsy and escort the king to my box, and he comes to sit beside me. I smile and give him my hand *it is as if we are part of the pageant *and the crowd roars their pleasure to see him kiss my hand. It is my part to smile very sweetly and curtsy to him and welcome him to his great reinforced seat, which towers over mine. Lady Jane sees that he is served with a cup of wine and some sweetmeats, and she nods to me that I am to take my seat beside him.
The ladies retreat as half a dozen knights, all in dark armor and flying a sea blue flag, ride in, so I imagine that they are the tide or Neptune or something. I feel very ignorant not understanding all the meaning of this, but it hardly matters for once they ride around the ring and the heralds bawl out their t.i.tles and the crowds roar their approval the jousting will start.
The crowds are packed into the tiered seating, and the poorer people are crammed into the s.p.a.ces between. Every time a knight comes to present his arms to me there is a great bellow of approval from the crowd, and they shout "Anna! Anna Cleves! " over and over again. I stand and smile and wave my thanks, I cannot imagine what I have done to earn such public acclaim, but it is so wonderful to know that the people of England have taken to me, just as naturally and easily as I have taken to them. The king stands up beside me and takes my hand before them all.
"Well done, " he says shortly to me, and then he g"s from the box. I look to Lady Jane Boleyn, in case I should go with him. She shakes her head. "He will have gone to talk with the knights, " she says. "And the girls of course. You stay here. "
I take my seat and see that the king has appeared in his own royal box opposite to mine. He waves at me, and I wave at him. He sits, and I sit a few moments after him.
"You are already beloved, " Lord Lisle says quietly to me in English, and I grasp what he means.
"Why? "
He smiles. "Because you are young. " He pauses for my nod of comprehension. "They want you to have a son. Because you are pretty, and because you smile and wave at them. They want a pretty, happy queen who will give them a son. "
I shrug a little at the simple ways of these most complicated people. If all they want is for me to be happy, that is easy. I have never been so happy in my life. I have never been so far from my mother"s disapproval and my brother"s rages. I am a woman in my own right, with my own place, with my own friends. I am queen of a great country that I think will grow yet more prosperous and more ambitious. The king is a whimsical master of a nervous court, even I can see that; but here, too, I might be able to make a difference. I might give this court the steadiness that it needs; I might even be able to advise the king to have more patience. I can see my life here; I can imagine myself as queen. I know I can do this. I smile at Lord Lisle, who has been distant from me over these last few days and who has not been his usual kindly self.
"Thank you, " I say. "I hope. "
He nods.
"You are well? " I ask awkwardly. "Happy? "
He looks surprised at my question. "Er, yes. Yes, Your Grace. "
I think for the word I need. "No trouble? "
For a moment I see it, the fear that crosses his face, the momentary thought of confiding in me. Then it is gone. "No trouble, Your Grace. "
I see his eyes drift across the jousting arena to the opposite side where the king is sitting. Lord Thomas Cromwell is at his side, whispering in his ear. I know that in a court there are always factions, a king"s favor comes and g"s. Perhaps Lord Lisle has offended the king in some way.
"I know you good friend to me, " I say.
He nods. "G.o.d keep Your Grace, whatever comes next, " he says, and steps away from my chair to stand at the back of the box.
I watch the king stand and go to the front of his box. A pageboy keeps him steady on his lame leg. He takes his great gauntlet and holds it above his head. The people in the crowd fall silent, their eyes on this, their greatest king, the man who has made himself king, emperor, and pope. Then, cleverly, when all the attention is on him, he bows to me and gestures with his gauntlet. The crowd roars its approval. It is for me to start the joust.
I rise from my great chair with the gold canopy over my head. On either side of the box the curtains billow in the Tudor colors of green and white, my initials are everywhere, my crest is everywhere. The other initials of all the other queens are on the underside of the curtains only and they don"t show. To judge from today, there has only ever been one queen: myself. The court, the people, the king, all conspire to forget the others, and I am not going to remind them. This joust is for me as if I were the very first of Henry"s queens.
I raise my hand, and the whole arena g"s silent. I drop my glove, and at either end of the jousting line the horses dive forward as the spurs strike their sides. The two riders thunder toward each other; the one on the left, Lord Richman, lowers his lance a little later, and his aim is good. With a tremendous thud like an axe going into a tree, the lance catches his opponent in the very center of his breast-plate and the man bellows out and is thrown violently backward off his horse. Lord Richman rides to the end of the line, and his squire catches the horse as his lordship pushes back his dark visor and looks at his opponent, thrown down into the sand.
Among my ladies, Lady Lisle gives a little scream and rises to her feet.
Unsteadily, the young man rises, his legs tottering.
"He is hurt? " I ask in a quiet undertone to Lady Rochford.
She is avidly watching. "He may be, " she says, a delighted exultant tone in her voice. "It is a violent sport. He knows the risks. "
"Is there a " I do not know the English word for doctor.
"He is walking. " She points. "He is unhurt. "
They have his helmet off; he is white as a sheet, poor young man. His brown curly hair is dark with sweat and sticking to his pale face.
"Thomas Culpepper, " Lady Rochford tells me. "A distant kinsman of mine. Such a handsome boy. " She gives me a sly smile. "Lady Lisle had given him her favor; he has a desperate reputation with the ladies. "
I smile down at him as he takes a few shaky strides to come before the queen"s box and bows low to me. His squire has a hand on his elbow to help him up from his bow.
"Poor boy, " I say. "Poor boy. "
"I am honored to fall in your service, " he says. His words are obscured by the bruise on his mouth. He is a devastatingly handsome young man; even I, raised by the strictest of mothers, have a sudden desire to take him away from the arena and bathe him.
"With your permission, I shall ride for you again, " he says. "Perhaps tomorrow, if I can mount. "