Honor in the Dust (22 page)

As for lust, Stuart had armed himself at first with a firm determination to keep himself from this vice. But there were no barriers to sex at the court. He laughed at himself for once defending the king. Well he knew now of Henry's conquests. The king himself acknowledged his illegitimate child, Henry Fitzroy, born five years past.

The women of noble rank were immoral as a rule, but it was a voluptuous lady's maid named Betty who seduced Stuart. She caught him when he was half drunk, disgruntled over an early refusal from Nell, and laughed at his attempts to turn from her. She had drawn him to her bed and was experienced in love, as she liked to call it. Stuart knew that what they had was not love, but he found himself unable to resist her. She was a lusty woman, and within a few weeks, Stuart found himself as much captive to the pleasures of bedding a woman as he was to wine. And it was not only Betty who had assuaged his need over the years.

As Stuart stood at the edge of the great hall, he was approached by Simon, dressed for the masque in the costume of a court fool. He was half drunk. He pulled at Stuart's arm, saying, “Come, lad! Join the fun!”

But Stuart was deep into one of his guilty moods. “Simon, at what point did I lose my honor?”

Simon stared at him, then laughed. “Why, you lost your honor the same way I lost mine.”

“And when was that?”

“A crumb at a time, lad! Do you think I woke up one morning a fine, innocent man and said, ‘Well, now, enough of this good behavior! I'm going to become a drunk, a lecher, a cheater at cards, a liar, and a thief'?” He leaned closer, the wine on his breath wafting about them. “No, Stuart, I lost my honor a little bit at a time. Just a little sin, you know? And then another—and another.” He stared at Stuart with bitterness in his eyes. “I was as good a man as you once—at least, as good as you were when I first met you. But a tiny mouse came and carried away a little of my goodness. Then another came and got a crumb. And little by little the mice carried away all that was good in me. That's how I lost my honor, and that's the way you lost yours too.”

Simon's bitter words entered Stuart's breast like a hot sword. “My father read me a verse in the Bible once, from the Psalms. The verse spoke of men who lose their honor. Honor in the dust! That's where I've thrown it, Simon!”

Simon Clayton regarded him with regret. Finally he said, “The king ordered me to look out for you, Stuart, but I've failed his charge. Forgive me.” He whirled and moved quickly through the crowd, leaving Stuart feeling alone and alienated from all that was good. Wine. Wine was what he needed.

He reached a table and poured a goblet full, then turned to view the masque. Masques, sometimes called
mummeries,
were entertainments loosely organized around an allegorical plot, performed on movable stages. Singers and musicians were employed, but the principal feature of the masque was dancing by disguised members of the court. The dances were intricate and demanding, taking many hours to learn.

Simon had once told him, grinning, “Actually they're just another excuse to get drunk and wind up in bed with a willing female.” King Henry loved masques and almost always joined in
the fanciful activities; the more elaborate they were, the better he liked it.

A castle of timber had been set up in the hall, and as Stuart watched, three knights came out of the door ready to do battle with challengers. The challengers soon appeared, and the six fought with blunted spears and then naked swords. After they left the scene, a queen and six of her ladies came out.

All the guests were dressed in extremely colorful and expensive gowns and dresses, and the men no less so. Some of them wore satin mantles trimmed with silk; others wore masking hats and Asian-influenced fashion of yellow and red sarcenet.

Stuart still searched for Nell while he watched the guests, still fascinated by their costumes. The room was full of Italian, Greek, German, and Turkish fashions, and the styles changed rapidly, with the cut of men's hose and doublets often more colorful and elaborate than that of the women's gowns. The room was aglow with an array of silks and brocades and metallic fabrics of gold and silver.

Indeed, guests—who were permitted occasionally at court masques—found Henry's courtiers magnificent. They wrote of the handsome gold chains the men wore, thick links of gold as much as a hand's breadth wide. There were also smaller chains around ankles, as if some of those who wore them were prisoners. So in a gorgeous array the courtiers formed a spangled, be-jeweled backdrop—but always in front of this was King Henry VIII. He outdid all the others, of course. It would have been a fatal mistake for any of the guests to have outdressed the king.

Henry came by now, dancing. The king was a fine dancer indeed. For all his size he was light on his feet, very graceful, and the masque gave the king a chance to show off this particular expertise.

He was holding a young woman in his arms in a dance that was astonishingly sensual. His costume was luxuriant and brilliant. It dazzled with jewels. Gold ornaments hung from his
doublet, cap, and sleeves. His goldsmith had wasted more of the precious metal in this one costume than most men would see in a lifetime.

“You're not dancing.”

Stuart's attention had been on the spectacle in front of him. It quickly shifted at the sound of the voice. He saw a small but full-figured young woman who wore an ornate and fantastic mask that covered the upper part of her face but left the lower part bare. The costume she wore was pure silk, crimson and emerald green, and glittered with inset jewels and a mass of pearls. He had seen the woman dancing with a man and wondered who she was. Now he turned to face her and bowed slightly. “No, I am not.”

“What a shame.” The woman's mouth formed a Cupid's bow, and she shook her head and raised her hand in a mock blow. “It is un-English not to dance at one of the king's masques.”

“I would not offend the king.”

“Then come. You must dance with me. I can tell you are a fine dancer.”

Stuart smiled. He was wearing a relatively simple costume, his mask leaving his eyes free. As they began to move across the floor amid the other masquers, he was aware of a strong incenselike perfume that rose from his partner. He was also aware that she moved in a sensuous fashion in his arms, leaving no question in his mind about her interest in him.

Finally the woman, who had obviously been drinking a great deal, stumbled a little. She fell against him and whispered, “Oh, my, you're so tall and so strong. I am quite impressed.”

She ran a hand down his arm and then reached up to cup his cheek. “Who are you? You are a handsome man. Why is it that we have not yet met?”

“I suppose that's why masques are so enjoyable. You never know who you might meet.”

“Or bed,” she said quietly.

There,
Stuart thought,
it's out in the open. Nothing subtle about this at all
. He did not respond. She took his arm, pulled him off the floor, and led him toward a convenient corridor. He hesitated. “Why, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, madam, at all.”

“Come. We will enjoy ourselves.” She reached up, put her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down. Her lips were hungry as she pulled him ever closer; he could smell the wine on her breath.

Suddenly Stuart straightened up and broke contact with her. He knew that he had accepted such offers before, but his reflections on what he had become disgusted him. “I am sorry, madam, you must find another partner.”

“What is that you say?” The woman suddenly flew into a rage. “You are rejecting me?”

“It is nothing personal.”

She attempted to slap Stuart's face. She was so drunk that only her fingertips came into contact with his chin. She whispered a curse at him and, staggering somewhat, moved back onto the dance floor.

“That's right, lovely,” he whispered, “go find yourself a more willing partner.” He moved back into the shadows.

“Well I know what my parents would think of this,” Stuart muttered. And then another thought came, equally troublesome.
And what Heather would think.
They had all warned him often enough. They had been steadfastly and completely against his coming to court. His grandmother had been even more outspoken, saying more often than not, “They will corrupt you, Stuart. You will not be able to resist.” He had insisted that he would, and lamented his failure.

Then he caught sight of Nell Fenton.

He had really come to the masque in order to see her. For years he had pursued her, and she had tantalized him and laughed at him, but he was so bewitched by her that it did not
seem to matter. She seemed to welcome him, appreciate him, love him for weeks at a time, and then all at once, all this seemed to have been a dream.

He went to her at once, admiring her dress and the strand of Venetian glass and diamonds glittering at her throat. He wondered where she had obtained such finery, for he knew that Nell did not have the resources to pay for it. It was most likely one of the wealthy women of the court who had treated her to this costume. Or was it a suitor? Was this the reason for her coldness of late? She was moving across the floor, but he caught up with her.

“Good evening, Nell.”

“Why, Stuart, I'm glad to see you.” She had a way of looking at a man as if he were the only man who existed in the world, but he knew that it meant nothing; as soon as she left his side, she'd make the next man feel the same.

“I must have a word with you, Nell.”

“Not now.”

“Yes, now. Come along.” Without apology he pulled her from the room and into an alcove filled with flowering plants. He turned and faced her. “Nell, you haven't allowed me to see you for weeks now. Are you angry with me again?”

“Well, of course not. Why would you think that? I've been occupied. And so have you.”

Indeed, that was partially true. More and more the king relied upon Stuart for companionship on hunts and even in court, but he knew that the ladies of the court did nothing but primp and work on costumes and exchange gossip. He shook his head almost violently. “There's been time enough. Why are you treating me like this?”

Nell grew more serious. “Stuart, I've tried to tell you before that you need to find another object for your love.”

“Do you think I can simply turn from you?”

“You must.”

“Why? Don't you care for me at all, Nell?” Anger flooded him now at the thought of her leaving him. In desperation he said, “Why don't we marry?”

Nell laughed with pure amusement. “That would be impossible!”

“Why? Do you love me?”

“We both of us must marry for money.”

“Some people are happy without money. My parents are.”

“Come, now. You've told me what a terrible time they had.”

“But they still love each other and always will.”

Nell sighed heavily, put her hand on his chest, and gave him a slight shove. “That kind of love is like a rare exotic animal seen in a king's menagerie. Unattainable for most of us. I must go.”

As Stuart watched her walk away, something seemed to grow cold inside him.
Have I lost my mind? Am I bewitched by this woman?
The thought pursued him. He could not stand the thought of any more of the masque.

He turned and left, as depressed as he had ever been in his life.

The memory of Nell telling him to marry for money and that she would do the same plagued Stuart.

A week later he was at the lists to watch the jousting. The king liked to have him present at all courtly functions. Evidently Stuart was still finding favor with him, regardless of his somber mood.

Feigning interest, Stuart watched as the king mounted his horse and his opponent at the other end of the field prepared himself. Henry was an excellent jouster. He was bigger than most men, two inches over six feet, stronger and athletically inclined in every way. He bore a wooden lance—as did his opponent. Now, as he cried out, his black horse churned forward. The two came against each other, the horses' hooves on the turf
thundered, and then came the tremendous clash of impact. Neville, the king's opponent, flew out of the saddle and hit the ground with a crash.

“Looks as if he has broken every bone in his body,” Stuart said.

“No, I doubt that,” Vining said. “He knows how to fall even if he doesn't know how to joust.”

It still surprised Stuart that he now called Sir Charles Vining friend. After their first meeting, when he heard Vining speak ill of King Henry, he thought never to go near him again, but somehow, over the months and years, the two had drifted together. In time, Stuart decided Vining was a well enough intentioned fellow, even though he found it amusing that Stuart had been ready to die for the good name of King Henry.

“Really, Stuart,” he said, “you are the only man in the court who would be upset by hearing Henry's mistresses mentioned.” He then laughed and slapped Stuart on his shoulder. “It's not talked about elsewhere, but here at court it's like keeping score at a joust. Who is the king sleeping with now? Everybody knows it, the king knows that everybody knows it, and it's no trouble to anyone.”