Philippa (39 page)

“Oh, Crispin, don’t!” she pleaded. “I need it! I need it!”

“In a moment, little one,” he promised her, and his mouth found her sweet lips, brushing them gently at first, and then kissing her with a fierce and demanding yearning. He began to move within her once more, feeling himself so swollen that he actually ached with the pleasure being inside of her gave him.

Philippa had thought she would die of the unfulfilled longing that had swept over her when he had briefly stopped. Then he had kissed her, and she was quickly lost in her own desire for him. The storm began to once more brew. It burgeoned and swelled until it finally burst over them both, and he collapsed breathless atop her. Suddenly she could feel the hard wood of the table beneath her shoulders, her back, and her buttocks. Philippa began to laugh. “Get off me, you great beastie!” she told him. “Your wicked games have made it necessary for me to get back in the tub again.” She pushed at him.

Crispin groaned. He was drained. His limbs felt like jellies. She pushed at him again, and he managed to pull himself up. “God’s boots, woman,” he complained at her, “you weaken me to the point of exhaustion with your constant demands.”

“My demands?” Philippa sat up, and then she slid from the table. “My lord, you are mistaken, I fear. ’Tis your demands that are so insatiable!”

“Nay,” he insisted. “Now, countess, just look at those adorable little breasts of yours. They plead with me to be caressed.” He bent his ash brown head and kissed one of her nipples. “Do you not see? It is pointing at me, for I see no other here it points to, do you, madame?” He was grinning at her.

“You are a wicked man, my lord earl,” she scolded him, but she was smiling. Then she pushed past him, and climbing back into the small tub she sat down and washed herself free of any residue of their shared passions. Then standing up again she instructed him, “Bring that smaller cauldron of water, for the bath is too cool to be comfortable for you.” She stepped from the tub and began to dry herself off again.

He reheated the little tub and then, pulling the remainder of his clothing off, he climbed in and began to wash himself. When he had finished she helped him dry himself. He donned his shirt, and she was already in her chemise. Gathering up their clothing they walked upstairs past the lovely hall, and climbed a second flight of steps up to their bedchamber.

“Call Lucy, and tell her to go to bed,” he whispered to her.

She nodded. “But remember we must leave at the very hour of dawn,” Philippa said. She drew back the coverlet for him, taking the shirt before he entered their bed. Then she called Lucy, and bid her go to bed. “We depart early,” she reminded her tiring woman. “But put the tub away before you sleep,” she concluded.

Lucy nodded. “I’ll see to it, and then lock the kitchen door. Peter is in the stables with the others for the night, my lady. Good night. Good night, my lord.” Then she was gone, and Philippa could hear her footsteps hurrying off down the corridor.

“Come to bed,” Crispin called sleepily.

Philippa drew off her chemise and laid it aside before climbing in with her husband. She smiled when he wrapped his arms about her. He was already sleepy, she knew, and sure enough the earl was shortly snoring. But in the dark hours of the night he awoke, and made passionate love to her before falling asleep again.

“Won’t be able to do that again until we reach France,” he murmured in her ear.

“The king and the queen would be shocked by your lust, my lord,” she teased him, but Philippa had thought it too. In the past few weeks she had become less prudish about their coupling. It had been from the very beginning a pleasurable experience lying with her husband. Obviously the queen did not find it so, although she had certainly never said it. How sad, Philippa considered. She wondered if every woman had such delight in bedsport with her husband.

The next day dawned fair, and they saw the sunrise on the road to Canterbury. It was the twenty-fourth day of May. The closer they came to the town, the more crowded the roads they traveled became. Finally reaching Canterbury where they would meet up with the court, they found their way to a small inn, the Swan, where Lord Cambridge had thoughtfully arranged for them to stay. But the inn was so crowded that Peter was housed in the stable loft with several other men, and Lucy slept on a trundle bed in her lord and lady’s room.

The emperor had not yet arrived but was expected any day. Philippa reported to the queen, who was pleased to see her.

“You are happy, my child?” she inquired solicitously.

“Very,” Philippa admitted, “but I am ready to serve you, madame.”

“When we return,” the queen said, “I am releasing you from my service. I have women aplenty around me, and you have been as your sire before you, most faithful to the house of Tudor. Now, however, your first duty must be to supply your husband with an heir. No one knows this requirement of a successful marriage better than I do, child.”

“But, madame,” Philippa protested, “I am willing to serve you forever!”

The queen reached out and touched the young woman’s face gently. “I know that, my dear,” she said. “If I have been fortunate in anything, it is the love that both you and your good mother have borne me. But like Rosamund you must now live your own life, not live that life through me. I have allowed you and your husband to come to France with us on this glorious progress as a reward for your faithfulness. But when we return, Philippa, I shall bid you adieu. You will always be welcome at court, but I know that you know your first duty is to provide children for your husband’s family.”

“Ohh, madame, my heart is broken,” Philippa said, and her eyes filled with tears. “I should have never wed if I knew I could no longer serve you.”

“Nonsense! ”The queen laughed softly. “You are not the proper material for the church, despite your passionate declarations last year. Like your mother before you, you are meant to be a wife and a mother yourself. There is nothing else for a woman, Philippa. Now dry your eyes. You are among my prettiest ladies, and I want you to be with us when we greet my nephew’s arrival.”

“Very well, madame,” Philippa replied. When she managed to see her husband later that evening she told him, half angrily, of the queen’s decision.

“I am sorry,” he said, “but the queen does what she thinks is best for you. We are very fortunate to have her friendship, Philippa. If we have a daughter she may one day serve the queen, or Princess Mary.”

“We are still welcome at court,” Philippa answered him. “We will come for the Christmas revels, won’t we?”

“Let us see when we return from France, and from visiting your family in the north, how we feel about it. You could be with child, Philippa, and all that traveling might not be good for you. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Why?” she said cruelly. “You have the lands you sought.”

“Because I find you are of equal value to me as the lands,” he told her quietly.

She was surprised by his words. “Are you falling in love with me?” she asked him frankly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Our acquaintance is still new. Do you think you could ever love me, Philippa?”

She thought a long moment, and then replied, “I am not certain yet. I have seen what love looks like, how it can raise you to the heights, yet pain you deeply. I thought that I loved Giles FitzHugh but obviously I did not, for his loss is long gone from my memory and my heart. I think if I had really loved him it would not be.”

“But can you love me one day, Philippa?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” she teased him. “Our acquaintance is still new, Crispin.”

He laughed. “You are not an easy woman,” he told her.

Philippa had wondered if the princess Mary would travel to France with her parents to meet the Dauphin, her betrothed, but learned she would not. The little princess would remain in England keeping royal state at Richmond Palace under the eye of the duke of Norfolk and Bishop Foxe, who would share responsibility for the government as well. She had bid her parents good-bye at Greenwich, going from there to Richmond while her parents had moved towards the coast, staying at Leeds Castle on the twenty-second of May. The king and queen reached Canterbury late in the afternoon of the twenty-fourth of May. Two days later Emperor Charles V arrived with his fleet to a welcoming cannonade from the English fleet awaiting his arrival in the straits of Dover.

Crispin and Philippa had ridden to Dover upon learning that Cardinal Wolsey had been informed of the emperor’s impending arrival. They stood in the crowds on the waterfront watching as Charles V came ashore beneath a cloth of gold canopy that had his badge, a black eagle, upon it. The plump and haughty cardinal in his scarlet robes came forward to meet the emperor, bowing obsequiously, a smile on his lips. They could not hear his words for the noise of the crowds. They knew that Cardinal Wolsey would escort the emperor to Dover Castle where he was to spend the night.

The next day was Whitsunday. The king, having not been informed of his nephew’s arrival as quickly as the cardinal, made a hasty and very early departure for Dover. He was there to greet Charles V as the young emperor descended the staircase that morning. Henry then escorted him back to Canterbury. All along their route the English gathered to cheer both the emperor and their king. They did not like the French.

Upon their arrival in Canterbury the two men entered the cathedral for a high mass of thanksgiving celebrating not simply the church holiday itself, but the emperor’s safe arrival as well. Afterwards Henry showed Charles the shrine of St. Thomas à Becket. The holy relics were displayed: the hair shirt; the saintly archbishop’s cracked skull; the weapon that had done the damage. These, along with several other relics, the king and the emperor kissed devoutly. Then they moved on to Archbishop Warham’s palace where the royal party was staying so that Charles V might at last meet his aunt.

The earl of Witton moved discreetly among the cardinal’s party. His wife was among the queen’s ladies. They made a pretty show hurrying from the hallway to greet the king and the emperor at the palace door. It had, of course, all been planned that way. The ladies then escorted the gentlemen inside and back down the corridor, which was lined with twenty of the queen’s pages garbed in gold brocade and crimson satin. Finally reaching a wide marble staircase, the emperor looked up. There the queen sat, halfway up the marble steps upon a landing, waiting to greet him. She was gowned in ermine-lined cloth of gold robes, and about her neck were several strands of fat pearls. Katherine smiled in welcome. She had not his mother, Joanna’s, beauty. Indeed at this point in her life Katherine of Aragon was plump, matronly. But she was his nearest blood relation next to his mother and his sisters. Reaching her, he took the outstretched hands in his and kissed them lovingly. Katherine wept openly with her joy even as she took him to her heart, and he reciprocated.

The young emperor was not an attractive man by any stretch of the imagination. Philippa overheard several of the woman remarking on it, and hoped the queen did not. Charles V was twenty. He had a large misshapen jaw that was the most prominent feature of his face. His eyes were a watery blue, and his skin the white of a fish’s belly. His teeth were irregular in a large mouth, and it affected his speech somewhat. But he had grown a handsome beard to help disguise some of his deficiencies. He was nonetheless an intelligent and amusing man. As the lord of the Low Countries he was important to English trade, and while England had always been his firm and fast ally, this sudden attempt at harmony with France concerned the emperor enough that he felt a visit to England, however brief, was necessary. He did not think for one moment that he could change Henry Tudor’s plans, but he knew the French would be very annoyed by his meeting with the English king, even as he knew that Henry was extremely pleased by his visit. The royals and their immediate family adjourned for a private dinner, leaving the members of the court to wander about and find their own meal and entertainment.

Later that day the beautiful dowager queen of Aragon, Germaine de Foix, widow of Katherine’s father, Ferdinand, arrived with sixty of her ladies. That evening there was a large banquet for the court. The king, the emperor, and the three queens, Katherine, Germaine, and Mary Tudor, who had been France’s queen and was now the wife of Charles Brandon, the duke of Suffolk, sat at the high board. The food was lavish, the wine never stopped flowing, and a merry time was had by all in attendance.

One Spanish count became enamored of one of the queen’s ladies, and wooed her so vigorously with poetry and song that he at last fainted away and was carried from the room. The old duke of Alba, a charming gentleman, demonstrated with others in his party some Spanish dancing. The king, who loved to dance, now led his sister, Mary, onto the floor, and of course the others followed. Philippa defied convention by dancing with her husband first, but the king saw her, and having enjoyed dancing with her previously, took her for his partner for one of the dances.

“My dear countess,” he said with a grin. “Are you used to being called that yet, Philippa?” He lifted her high, and she laughed down into his handsome face.

“Nay, sire, I am not, but I expect in time it will become familiar,” she told him as he placed her back on the floor, and lifting her skirts she pranced by his side.

“How is your mother?” He twirled her about.

“I have heard naught since I learned she birthed twin sons, your majesty,” Philippa answered, dipping and then pirouetting.

“How many lads is that now?” He lifted her up again and swung her about.

“Four, sire,” Philippa replied, dancing gracefully by his side.

“May God grant your husband that you prove as good a breeder,” the king said, and she saw his eyes were troubled.

When the dance was over the king led Philippa to where the queen sat with her nephew. “Kate, my dear, perhaps you will introduce the countess to the emperor.” He kissed Philippa’s hand and moved off to dance again with his sister.