For a long time we sat listening to the wind howl outside the chamber window. I could say little more. I consoled myself with the thought that it would be weeks yet, perhaps even months, before anyone could set sail. The destruction of King Philip’s fleet was proof enough of the foolishness of travel by sea at this time of year.
“He has never asked anything of me before,” Harry murmured.
Scrambling to my feet, I circled the brazier and fell to my knees beside him and hugged him tightly. “Stay here, Harry. You belong with Prince Henry. You cannot abandon a brilliant future for an uncertain fate.”
My face was so close to his that I could see the agony of indecision in his eyes.
“Someday Prince Henry will be king. He’ll make you a knight, if his father has not already done so. Serve him well and you’ll end up a baron at the least, or perhaps even a viscount. Kings reward loyalty, Harry.”
He still did not look convinced, so I searched harder for an argument that would convince him.
“Prince Henry will need you beside him when he passes his sixteenth birthday and begins training for the lists. With your jousting experience, you’ll know how to keep His Grace safe from injuries while he learns how to fight in tournaments.”
Like dawn breaking, relief flooded into Harry’s face. “I knew I could count on your good sense!” He leaned over and squeezed me so tightly that I let out a squeak of protest. Grinning, he released me and stood. “That excuse is one my father will understand. He will see that I have no choice but to stay with the prince.”
TO ENTERTAIN KING Philip there was more dancing, as well as hunts and tennis matches, bear baitings and horse baitings. Then, a week after Candlemas, Queen Juana arrived.
The very next day, the Lady Mary and her household and the princess dowager and her attendants left Windsor to go ahead to Richmond Palace. King Henry was to follow with King Philip in a few days.
“Such a pity,” the Lady Mary murmured as we set out aboard one of the royal barges. The Thames was open again and our journey would be far easier and far swifter than it had been by road.
“What is, Your Grace?”
“That Queen Juana remains behind at Windsor when she and the princess dowager have only just been reunited.”
“They will be able to spend time together at Richmond.”
But the princess shook her head. “No, they will not. By the time King Philip and my father join us there, Juana will be on her way to Plymouth, where their ships are being repaired.”
“But they cannot hope to sail for many weeks yet.”
Mary looked more solemn than her years. “It is a ploy, Jane, to keep Catherine and Juana apart. Do you not remember who their father is?”
“King Ferdinand of Aragon,” I said slowly, comprehending at last. At the time of the marriage between Princess Catherine and Prince Arthur, King Ferdinand had been England’s ally. But now, no doubt because he had refused to pay the remainder of Catherine’s dowry after Arthur’s death, King Ferdinand and King Henry were at odds. King Henry feared that the two sisters might somehow conspire against him to aid their father.
A tournament was held at Richmond to entertain King Philip. Charles Brandon acquitted himself well. During the next weeks, Charles continued to pay court to me and even stole the occasional kiss, but he made no further attempt to spirit me away to some secluded chamber. I convinced myself that he was being careful of my reputation.
KING PHILIP TOOK his leave of the English court in early March. In early April, Sir Richard Guildford, newly pardoned by King Henry, sailed from England for the Holy Land—without Harry. By then, Charles Brandon seemed to have lost all interest in me. I consoled myself by flirting with Harry, and with Will Compton, neither of whom took me seriously.
Then in September word came that King Philip had died suddenly during his visit to Spain. Rumors flew. Some said his wife, Queen Juana, had poisoned him in a fit of jealousy. Others suggested King Ferdinand was the villain, since it was Ferdinand who would not govern Castile for Philip and Juana’s six-year-old son, Charles.
I pitied Queen Juana. She had lost her beloved husband and was said to have run mad with grief. But I felt much greater sympathy for Harry Guildford. The news arrived in England in October that Sir Richard had reached Jerusalem only to die there.
I was never certain how Mother Guildford felt about her husband’s fate. She did not permit her emotions to show. When she asked me to step into her lodgings on a fine, sunny morning in mid-November, murmuring the name “Charles,” I assumed she wished to discuss plans for the Lady Mary’s betrothal to Charles of Castile.
King Henry and King Ferdinand were friends again. They had agreed that King Henry’s daughter Mary would marry King Ferdinand’s grandson Charles and there was even talk that King Henry himself might marry King Ferdinand’s widowed daughter Juana. The ceremony to bind Mary to Charles was scheduled to take place in a few weeks. She would not leave England for several years, but as soon as she was officially betrothed, she could call herself queen of Castile even though Queen Juana was still alive. Everyone in her household would also be elevated in importance.
“Sit, Jane,” Mother Guildford said, indicating a wooden stool. She had the luxury of a chair with a plump cushion to pad the seat. Her lips were pursed tight and she had a look of disapproval in her eyes.
“Is something amiss, madam?”
“I could not help but observe, Jane, that you showed a marked interest in Master Charles Brandon during the king of Castile’s visit and afterward.”
I folded my hands primly in my lap and said, “He is a handsome man, madam. Few women could avoid noticing him.”
“Was your heart engaged, Jane?”
I thought about that for a moment before I answered. “No, madam.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Her posture relaxed a fraction. “Still, better you hear the news from me than elsewhere. Master Brandon has wed a wealthy London widow, Lady Mortimer.”
I sighed. “I suppose, if I’d had a large dowry, he might have made an offer for me.”
“Consider this a lucky escape. Master Brandon’s treatment of gently born young women leaves much to be desired.”
I started to defend Charles, but she cut me off, wagging a finger at me. “Remember this, Jane: What happens away from court is not always known to us here until much later. Nor do we always hear the whole story behind some of the rumors that do reach us. Charles Brandon was betrothed to another young woman at the same time he was courting you. Mistress Anne Browne was once a maid of honor to Queen Elizabeth. He kept her as his mistress for years after the queen died, and she bore him a child.”
“If he was betrothed to her, why did he not marry her? Indeed, how could he marry someone else?” Betrothals were supposed to be almost as binding as marriages.
“An excellent question, and one for which I have no answer.” Mother Guildford looked thoughtful. “I do not believe we have heard the last of this matter.”
Shortly after that conversation, Charles Brandon returned to court. He did not bring his new wife with him. He continued to be one of Prince Henry’s boon companions, along with Tom Knyvett, Lord Edward Howard, Ned Neville, Will Compton, Harry Guildford, and Harry’s older half brother, Edward.
IN THE SPRING following King Philip’s visit, King Henry was seriously ill. I was seventeen and horribly afraid that he, too, might die and leave behind a son too young to rule for himself. The king recovered, but he was sick again the following year. His physicians said it was only gout, and he was well enough by the end of February to receive two envoys from King Ferdinand. One was Francisco di Grimaldo, an elderly Italian banker. The other was the new Spanish ambassador, Don Gutiene Gomez de Fuensalida. They had come to discuss Catherine of Aragon’s still unpaid dowry.