Daughter of York (42 page)

As soon as the last of the purple-, crimson-and black-liveried servants had filed past, Margaret’s carriage was moved forward to follow them. And thus, as torrents of rain pelted the open-sided chariot, she entered Bruges, gazed at by hundreds of spectators hanging from garlanded windows, seated on hastily constructed stands along the sides of the canal or hoisted up on parents’ shoulders, all unconcerned by the weather.

Margaret felt sorry for the gorgeously arrayed cavalcade, which was not protected from the elements as she was. Some of the dyes in the men’s hats were running down their faces, staining their cheeks. Along the route, the carriage would stop at wooden stages, where players would present a colorful pageant for her. Their themes were mostly biblical, such as Solomon and Sheba, Adam and Eve and the Marriage at Canaan. By the tenth, Margaret’s stomach was grumbling, and she had a desperate need for the jakes. She hoped they would reach the palace before long.

She was disappointed that her first view of this beautiful city was marred by the lowering clouds and hampered by the waving mass of people. She caught glimpses of the magnificent houses of the merchants, the exquisite Gothic town hall in the Burg, St. Donatian’s cathedral and the tall belfry watchtower in the Market Square before they finally reached the palace.

Sculpted archers set in the doorway to the courtyard spouted red and white wine from their bows, and on the limb of an artificial tree, a great golden pelican spurted sweet hippocras from its breast. Margaret was handed a cup to taste, and she gratefully swallowed the honeyed drink and ate a few wafers from the proffered plate as she admired the fanciful pelican.

Her mother-in-law greeted her graciously, and took her hand and led the way into the palace, which was grander even than Westminster, every inch of it painted in the colors and arms of Burgundy and hung with enormous tapestries woven from silk, wool, golden and silver thread. At last she came to her own rooms, all freshly painted with her own marguerites, and walls covered with more tapestries. There Isabella left her to rest before dinner.

Margaret allowed her ladies to remove her mantle, crown and shoes and then collapsed, not very gracefully, onto the biggest bed she had ever seen. She could not sleep for the myriad sights and sounds she had experienced this extraordinary day. She wondered if Edward would hear of it and smiled, imagining his wide eyes at the lavishness of the occasion. Certes, there has been nothing in England to rival what I have seen today, she told herself. She did not know that Burgundy had never seen anything like it before either—or would again. Charles had taken this occasion to show his people for the first time since he had become duke that he was every bit as capable as Philip of mounting an extravagant show of pomp and ceremony. But there he hoped all comparisons with his dead father ceased. Not the least of which was Philip’s fondness for women.

S
TILL IN HER
shining white cloth of gold gown, Margaret made her entrance at the first banquet of the nine days of wedding festivities.

Adolphe of Cleves, Lord Ravenstein, and after Charles, Burgundy’s most important noble, accompanied her to her place at the high dais. He told her much of the hall had been made in Brussels and brought by river and canal to Bruges that spring for the Golden Fleece chapter meeting. She was not expecting the temporary hall to be much more than hurriedly constructed scaffolding, and so she gasped when she first saw it. It was graced on the outside by turrets, had glass windows and boasted two upper galleries, where guests were already ensconced. More gorgeous
tapestries hung above her richly decorated throne, one in gold and silver silk telling the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece, and the tables were covered in cloth of gold. The ceiling was draped with blue and white cloth. Margaret felt diminutive in the magnificent space.

“Duke Charles will not join you for dinner, your grace,” Ravenstein told her, his grave face reminding Margaret of a lugubrious statue of a long-dead abbot she had seen in a church somewhere. His hawk nose jutted out from his face, and his close-set eagle eyes under hooded lids never seemed to blink. Somewhere in his forties, he was one of Charles’s councilors and brother of the duke of Cleves, also a vassal of Charles’s. Despite his austere countenance, Margaret thought the man seemed trustworthy and was possibly kinder than he looked.

The company dazzled her eyes as she walked between their bowing figures, and she imagined she had arrived in some earthly paradise. Never in her life had she seen such a display of wealth as she had that day, and it was only half spent!

The noblest persons from England and Burgundy were seated at two tables on the first dais that she mounted. Her table was upon a third level. Isabella and Mary graced either end, standing and bowing to her as she reached her throne. As wife of Margaret’s presenter, Eliza Scales had been given the honor of serving her that night, the irony of which was not lost on Margaret, and for the Burgundians, the other place was given to Marie de Charny.

Once on her throne, she could now marvel at the ingenuity of the decorations. At either end of the hall was a rocky mountain on which perched a beautifully constructed castle, the tower of which served as an enormous candleholder. Around the mountain paths were models of men and women on foot or on horseback, farm and wild animals, trees, flowers and shrubs.

The banquet was a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach. Roast swan and peacock, egret and pheasant were borne in on huge silver platters by servants dressed in the Burgundian crimson and black. Venison, beef and mutton followed great carp and bream wrapped in gold foil and then came decorated jellies and custards. Margaret was happy to nibble at a salat, and she marveled at this mixture of cress, lettuce, nasturtium, leek, fennel and herbs all covered with flowers.

And the entremets, or between courses, entertained her as she digested each delicacy before being served another. Huge, intricately carved mechanical animals magically rolled through the hall; live animals burst from inside enormous pies; dozens of monkeys raced up and down a tall tower; and the faces of black bears simultaneously appeared at every window, making the women cry out in fear and wonderment.

Fortunata, who was seated at the bottom of the dais steps, clapped excitedly at each marvel, and when a dwarf dressed to look like the Queen of Sheba rode in on a gilded lion, she rose to her feet and gleefully pointed her out to Margaret. Fortunata found it difficult to maintain silence, which seemed to be the way the court preferred to feast except for music on lutes and viols, but Margaret nodded and smiled at Fortunata, mouthing, “She’s the lady Mary’s” to her. Margaret’s stomach had stopped grumbling, but her head was beginning to pound. She motioned to Lord Ravenstein, who hurried up the stairs to her.

“I wish to address the company, messire. I trust it will not be breaking with court etiquette?” she asked.

She saw the softening that she had been certain lay underneath the aloof exterior. I was not wrong, she thought, pleased.

“Your grace, you make the court etiquette today. I will arrange it. And perhaps you should know, the duke will join you soon to lead you to the tournament for the first day of jousting.” He saw a hint of a grimace flit across her face, but then she was all smiles. He made a note. The new duchess is not enamored of jousting.

“Of course, my lord. The tournament of the Golden Tree. His grace did tell me. I shall look forward to it,” she murmured, wishing her headache would go away. Ravenstein bowed, took her hand and led her to the edge of the dais. Then he motioned to the trumpeters, who blew a short fanfare. All eyes turned to the tall young duchess, standing so confidently before them.

“I am humbled by your gracious hospitality and welcome in Bruges,
messires et mesdames.
I know I can speak for all of my countrymen here today when I say thank you from the bottom of my heart. I shall endeavor to be as wise and kind a duchess as the dowager has been to Burgundy and earn the honor you have done me today. May God give you all his blessing and to my husband, Duke Charles.” Her clear voice rang out across the hall
as she raised her goblet, and a thousand voices answered her: “May God bless you,
Madame la duchesse.
”

It was the signal to rise and move to the tournament. As Fortunata followed Margaret out, she slipped through the crowd to find Madame de Beaugrand, the other dwarf.

Charles was at the viewing stand to greet his bride, putting in his first appearance at the occasion after graciously allowing Margaret all the glory. Margaret hardly recognized him. His clothes were made of gold and covered with pearls and jewels. On his hat shone the largest ruby she had ever seen, which she was to learn had a name: the Ballas of Flanders. Despite her lovely gown, fashioned by the best tailors in London, she felt dowdy and insignificant next to him.

Her hand shook as she took his to be presented to the jubilant spectators and the splendid array of knights lined up in front of them on the muddy ground. One by one they were announced and stepped forward to kneel to the duke and the duchess before walking stiffly in their armor back to the gaily colored pavilions set up around the edge of the field. Anthony bowed his head, holding his helmet under his arm, and she almost gasped when she saw the torn silver scarf fluttering from it. He must have kept it from the Smithfield tournament, she thought with a thrill. As her official escort, Margaret decided Anthony warranted a special word.

“God’s greeting to you, Lord Scales. May fortune be with you this day. All England is counting on you!” she called coolly.

Anthony bowed gravely, a small smile on his lips. “We are honored to represent our sovereign lord—and you, your grace. With God’s help, we shall not let you down on this auspicious day. Surely, my lord duke,” he said, now addressing Charles, “what we are witnessing today”—and he swept his arm to encompass the city—“is as close to Camelot as it can come.” A thrill went through Margaret, knowing he was speaking directly to her. A small smile told him she understood and made him bolder. “And rest assured, Lady Margaret, that we will carry you in our hearts as we fight—and back to England with us,” he said into her eyes.

Charles nodded, his generous mouth curved in a smile, but then he waved his hands impatiently. “Well said, milord. But now I pray you no more pretty speeches. Let us witness your skill.” He would not fight today,
but he was anxious to show off his prowess to Margaret later in the week, he told her. “God be with you all,” he cried, and signaled for the first joust to begin.

As Anthony strode to his tent, Margaret heard one of her new ladies whisper: “Sweet Jesu, but he is handsome.”

F
ORTUNATA COULD NOT
wait to talk to Margaret later that night as the ladies were readying their mistress for her marriage bed. No one dared approach Margaret at the prie-dieu. Her English women were used to Fortunata always at her side there, and so they had explained this to the fierce Marie de Charny, who on the first night in Sluis had attempted to remove Fortunata. Margaret deduced this was going to be the only time in her crowded life when she could have a private conversation with her confidante, and she used it as often as she could. Consequently, the Burgundian ladies were impressed by the new duchess’s piety.

“What?” Margaret whispered, incredulously. “Who said such a thing?”

“Madame de Beaugrand told me this, milady. She does not lie. Everybody has heard about it. I told her it was not true, and maybe she will tell others. I hope.” Fortunata shrugged. Margaret bowed over her rosary, but her mind was not on her prayers. She could not believe her ears. It seemed a rumor had been started after the marriage contract was signed that she was not coming to Charles’s marriage bed a virgin! The rumor went further. It was common knowledge at the English court that Margaret had had a child. Sweet Jesu, she panicked, how can I face Charles now? She took heart knowing that as soon as he bedded her, he would know she was in fact a virgin, but it did not lessen her worry. In her anxiety, she forgot the civil way he had greeted her every day in Sluis, even kissing her each time and conversing quite amicably. What must he think? She was mortified.

Fortunata was tugging at her skirt. “
Madonna,
you are not listening to me. There is more.”

Margaret lifted her head and stared at the exquisite diptych in front of her. “Go on,” she murmured disconsolately. “It cannot get worse, in truth.”

“Nay, milady, this is better.” Fortunata’s eyes twinkled. “Madame de
Beaugrand said Duke Charles was so angry when he heard the rumor, he shouted that if anyone said it again he would throw them in the river.” She finished triumphantly, “Maybe your husband is not so bad,
madonna.
”

Maybe he believed it and that was why he became so angry, Margaret thought miserably. And for the next hour, as she was bathed, perfumed and dressed in a silk chemise, she wondered how she could face him. She was exhausted, homesick and unnerved by so many strange women fussing about her, touching her, stroking her hair.

Suddenly, Cecily’s face appeared to her, and Margaret almost cried out in anguish for her mother. She gritted her teeth, held back her tears and called for wine. Fortunata was there in a flash with a goblet. Margaret was vaguely aware that the vessel was encrusted with jewels, but her mind was unable to absorb any more luxury after everything she had seen that day. It was all one golden blur.

The wine revived her a little, and she allowed herself to be put into bed, which was draped in the Burgundian colors, elaborate entwined letters of C and M embroidered upon them, and made up with sheets of the finest lawn scented with lavender and rose petals. The rich velvet bedspread was trimmed with ermine, and she almost called for her crown, because she felt underdressed lying there.

And then they waited. And they waited. Margaret could no longer keep her eyes open, and she whispered to Fortunata she was going to take a nap and to make sure she gave fair warning of the duke’s arrival.