The Jewels of Warwick (7 page)

 

 

"Are you breeding yet, my lady?" he asked, kissing the tip of her
nose.

 

 

"I hope so, but let's try again, shall we, just to make sure…"

 

 

He laughed in husky delight, eager to make her his once more. Yet
even as he did so, he wondered at the strange emptiness in her
expression which belied her passionate response and words.

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

Kenilworth Castle, August, 1513

 

 

"Bring hot water, linens aplenty, and make haste! Topaz is about to
birth!"

 

 

Amethyst whirled around from her bedside vigil and ordered the
chambermaids as Topaz's groans became high-pitched wails of agony.

 

 

"'Tis all right, love, the midwife is on her way. She's just coming,
I can hear the hoof beats now!" Amethyst moved the heavy drapery
aside and peered out the window facing the inner courtyard. There
she could see Mrs. Ellen slipping off her mount. A servant was now
guiding her through the front entrance. "She's here!"

 

 

Almost afraid to look, Amethyst forced herself to turn and face her
sister, to help her in this most crucial time. Even though she knew
nothing about the birthing process, she just wanted Topaz to know
she was there. Sabine was propping Topaz up on goose down pillows,
while her chambermaid was running a cloth over her face and pushing
back damp strands of auburn hair.

 

 

"Here, I'll do that." Amethyst took the cloth from the maid and
dipped it in the bowl of cool water. She looked down at her sister's
face, devoid of the radiance that always graced her lovely
complexion.

 

 

"There, there, is that better?" she soothed, trying to keep her
trembling hand steady as her sister's cries of pain intensified.

 

 

"Oh, Jesu, it feels like I'm being torn...apaaaart!"

 

 

Though she felt her sister's pain as if it were her own, Amethyst
couldn't help but wonder if just a tiny bit of theatrics was being
thrown in—Topaz was the sister most gifted with dramatic flair,
after all.

 

 

Just then Mrs. Ellen burst through the door, ordered a fresh bowl of
water and soap, and laid her black bag on the table next to the bed
where Topaz lay, looking so small, swallowed up in that cloud of
pillows, sheets and draperies. She sprinkled wallflower juice on the
linens, as it was known to ease childbirth pain.

 

 

Amethyst pressed a goblet to Topaz's lips. It spilled over and ran
down her chin. She sputtered and coughed, and that must have done
it, because at that instant the midwife announced the appearance of
the child's head.

 

 

"Take our hands!" Amethyst shouted, above Topaz's screams.

 

 

Her sister squeezed Amethyst's fingers so tightly she thought the
bones would break. In an instant, Topaz relaxed her grip and with a
sigh, threw her head back on the pillows in triumph at the sight and
began laughing weakly.

 

 

"You have a son, Lady Topaz," announced Mrs. Ellen from the foot of
the bed.

 

 

Amethyst's first sight of her nephew was the midwife holding him by
the feet, a bloody blue-red body covered with a glossy sheen. The
midwife began wiping him down, and the pinkish hue of healthy flesh
came into view along with a loud squalling cry, the babe's first
breath.

 

 

Amethyst heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, he's just lovely, Topaz. Your
son is just lovely. He's got a head of thick coppery hair, just like
you!"

 

 

"I did it. I did it. His name is Edward," Topaz whispered, so
faintly that only Amethyst could hear. "Edward Plantagenet. King
Edward the Sixth." She then turned her head away, and with a
languorous smile, drifted off into oblivion, leaving her sister
staring down at her in shocked dismay.
King Edward the Sixth?

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

Warwick Castle, Christmas, 1516

 

 

Sabine held her first grandson in her arms and swept through the
great hall, watching the servants readying the castle for the
holiday festivities. This Christmas was going to be like none other
at Warwick Castle—King Henry VIII and his court were coming to
visit!

 

 

She placed little Edward on the floor and watched him toddle towards
his pet cat. He is so much like my Edward, Sabine thought sadly, who
had never lived to see his youngest daughter. Now here was his first
grandson, his namesake, his hair the same deep brown laced with
threads of gold and red, those same blue eyes, the dimple indenting
his left cheek when he smiled, which was often.

 

 

Amethyst entered the great hall, carrying a silver-and-gold entwined
necklace dripping with sapphires. "Mother, do you think this is too
fancy to wear in front of King Henry? After all, we do not want to
outshine Queen Catherine!"

 

 

Sabine laughed. "I'm sure you will not, my dear. However, I hear the
Queen is very pious, and does not wear her jewels whilst on
progress. Wear it if you wish. I trust the King will have much else
to do whilst here than spend more than a few moments in polite
conversation with you lasses anyway."

 

 

Amethyst lowered her head in disappointment. "But I so hoped he
would listen to me play the song I wrote for him."

 

 

"If time permits, dear. We shall see." She patted her daughter's
cheek.

 

 

"If only Father were here to meet the King." Amethyst seemed to have
read Sabine's mood.

 

 

With a sigh, Sabine looked about the great hall, at the
oaken-paneled walls with their intricately carved design, the
ceiling that rose two stories, and the galleries above. A stab of
remorse shot through her, for her Edward had left here at age eight,
never to return. But she knew he was in heaven looking down on his
grandson, enjoying every moment of the child's life here and at
Kenilworth.

 

 

"How long will they stay, Mother?"

 

 

"Just until New Year's Day. These royal progresses are very
carefully planned, and they will be moving on to another noble's
domain once they have taken their ease here."

 

 

"Kenilworth perhaps?"

 

 

"God forbid." Sabine crossed herself. She feared for her eldest
daughter if that were the case, for she was sure Topaz could never
hold her tongue and keep her treasonable opinions to herself for
more than an hour or two in Henry's company.

 

 

"Windsor Castle will probably be their last visit on this progress,
as the roads will be impassible ere too long. We've been lucky so
far in that the winter's been mild, but it should be in like a lion
soon."

 

 

"I trust His Majesty will be spending much of his time with Aunt
Margaret," Amethyst said, as she remembered Margaret's titters of
delight when she broke yet another royal seal and unrolled one of
many letters from the King, chirping, "He says I'm 'the most saintly
woman in England!'"

 

 

Her mother laughed in a worldly way. "I can't help but wonder if
that was because Margaret had sent Cardinal Wolsey five thousand
marks for the King's wars with France," Sabine said. "'Tis a saintly
enough sum indeed. 'Tis good, though, the mutual admiration is still
going strong as ever, and Margaret carries her newly acquired title
and riches with aplomb, I must say. We've all got to stay in the
King's good graces, my dear, so we would do well to imitate her
goodness and piety and not aspire to higher than our station. We are
after all mere women in a man's world."

 

 

Amethyst understood the unspoken message in her mother's tone. She
was worried for Topaz, too. Topaz had her young son so convinced
that his name was Prince Edward, that prince had been the child's
very first word.

 

 

"The entire shire is buzzing with news of the King's visit here,
Mother," Amethyst said. Her throat was dry with excitement even
after yet another sip of water. "They'll all be trampling upon us
like an invasion!"

 

 

Sabine smiled, and Amethyst could see her own excitement reflected
in her mother's eyes. "Just consider our family very fortunate, my
dear. A visit from court is a great honor. Though one that will not
come cheaply, so we will need to practice economy wherever we can
without seeming as if we are stinting."

 

 

"As much as I'm going to miss having Topaz here, in a way I'm glad
she's staying with Matthew at Kenilworth. Who knows what kind of
trouble she would stir up if she got on her high horse."

 

 

"Oh, I don't think Topaz would dare cross the King to his face. I'm
sure she wouldn't want to see history repeated. But she can
certainly stir up gossip behind his back."

 

 

Amethyst put down her water goblet and took a sip of mead instead,
wondering why the thought seemed so disturbing all of a sudden.

 

 

 

The courtiers began arriving in mid-December—the jesters, privy
chamber attendants, clerks of the wardrobe, Queen's maid of honor,
ladies-in-waiting and ladies of the bed chamber, the King's Yeomen
of the Guard poised for duty at the doorway to His Royal Highness'
chambers.

 

 

Amethyst stood at the top of Guy's Tower, at the southeast corner of
the castle, the direction from which the royal party was travelling.
She hugged her cloak about her and pulled her ermine hat over her
ears to block the icy wind that was whipping round the tower. The
tower afforded a sweeping view of Warwickshire, the winding River
Avon and the surrounding countryside.

 

 

The timber-framed houses of the adjoining villages stood bunched
together as if huddled against the cold, thin streams of smoke
trailing from their chimneys. The parcels of land were strewn with
patches of brown through the spiky tree branches. The sun offered a
grayish tinge of light.

 

 

Then she saw the procession lumbering up the hill towards the castle
grounds, a parade of stallions draped in cloth of gold. Although the
majority of the party had already arrived, this procession was quite
long. She wondered if there would be enough food after all, for the
party now numbered in the hundreds. When the gold-trimmed royal
carriage reached the foot of Guy's Tower, Amethyst turned, ran along
the rampart walk, down the winding staircase, and stood catching her
breath at the bottom, forcing puffs of steam from her lungs.

 

 

Just as the party entered the gatehouse, she ran across the
courtyard and up to her chamber where her maids fitted her with a
much too cumbersome head-dress, but in the presence of royalty, a
sheer necessity. Ribbed bands of silk covered her forehead and let a
bit of her dark blonde hair show through. Framing her face, the
wired framework was covered with a broad silk band, a veil of silk
looped in back. Her satin waistcoat was embroidered with seed pearls
over which she wore a purple satin gown, opened down the front,
exposing the waistcoat. Her slashed sleeves showed the silver
waistcoat sleeves underneath. Round her waist she wore a beaded belt
terminating in a silver pendant lined with rubies.

 

 

Checking herself once more in the looking glass, she twirled round,
the rustle and swish of the rich satins making her feel almost like
royalty. Amethyst searched the private apartments to find her mother
and Emerald.

 

 

"They're here!" she shouted, when she found her mother in her
chamber, her maid of honor securing Sabine's head-dress. Just one
more visit with her maid to make sure the slightest wisp of hair
didn't hang astray, and she was ready.

 

 

In the great hall Amethyst took her first look at King Henry since
he had swept by her in Westminster Abbey. She was presented to Queen
Catherine first. From her pyramidal head-dress lined with diamonds
to her purple robe turned up at the sleeves displaying ermine, she
had all the charm and grace of royalty. Amethyst returned
Catherine's smile with a genuine one of her own.

 

 

She was then presented to the King. She dared to look into his eyes
once again, that clear gold, that playfulness yielding just a bit
now to maturity. A tentative smile brightened his face, and he
nodded almost in recognition, as if he'd seen her before, but not
knowing where. His eyes sparkled with a luster like his cloth of
gold doublet, trimmed with sable and open down the front displaying
a French chemay underneath, ornamented with an intricate needlework
pattern in black silk.

 

 

Gathered at the sleeves, a splaying of frills peeked through. The
shirt was open at the neck, exposing a mat of red-gold hair across
his chest. The skirted doublet gave way to the sturdy legs adorned
with slashed breeches to the knee. His hose was woven with gold
threads. His shoes were of black leather, in the new duckbill
fashion, widened at the toes, gold puffed silk within the slashings
of the leather, showing part of the gold hose inside. The slashings
were adorned with diamonds. He literally sparkled from head to toe.

 

 

"Your grace, welcome to Warwick Castle." She curtsied low and he
held out his hand. It was large, yet graceful and slender, with
fingers that could compel a keyboard into an exquisite blend of
harmony, fingers that could run rivers through a harp.

 

 

She rose and grasped his fingertips, and for the first time, she and
her King, that illusory object of her fancies, touched.

 

 

He smiled, obviously pleased at what he saw. "Lady Amethyst, the
Lady Sabine tells me you are quite a talented lutist and organist."
His voice was light and amicable.