“Is it the Queen? Or is it her ministers?”
“Ah, there you have it. She is a fanatic surrounded by fanatics.”
“These burnings at the stake. There was never such horror here before.”
“You forget those who were hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
“There are those too and in addition that fearsome pall of smoke that seems to hang forever over Smithfield. I wonder what is coming to us all.”
“There is the great consolation that it cannot last. It is the Spanish influence. These burnings of which you speak have been a feature of Spanish life since Torquemada and Isabella revived the Inquisition in Spain. If the Spaniards should get a hold on England it would be the same story here.”
“God forbid!”
“Have a care, Damask. It is better to speak only of these things to those whom you trust—and whom can one trust?”
“All this in the name of religion!” I cried.
“In the name of envy, malice and covetousness perhaps. Many men go to their death sent by someone who covets an estate, a woman—or even desires revenge. Who sent Simon Caseman to his death, think you?” I was silent and she went on: “Bruno? Such a short time ago he threatened Bruno.”
“Only a lucky chance prevented Bruno’s being taken, I am sure.”
“A miracle?” she said mockingly. “With Bruno there must always be miracles.”
We were silent for a while and then she went on: “It will not last, Damask. It is said that the Queen cannot live long. She is the most unhappy woman in England. Her husband does not love her. She is distasteful to him, they say. He prefers to roam far from her and they say he is happier spending a night in an inn with the landlord’s daughter than with her. I have heard some of our servants singing a rhyme which would no doubt cost them their lives if they were overheard in some quarters. I’ll whisper it to you:
‘The baker’s daughter in her russet gown
Better than Queen Mary without her crown.’
There. But is it true? He is a strange, cold man, and we shall never understand these Spaniards.”
“I am sorry for her but I deplore this sorry state into which we have fallen. It seems one is a heretic if one as much as discusses a new idea.”
“Ah, we have a hint—and only a hint—what religious persecution can mean. But there is a growing resentment in the people. It might well be that if Wyatt had waited a few years…if he had risen now he might have had enough support to put Elizabeth on the throne.”
“You think life would be different under her?”
“Who can say? She is young. She is clever. How many times do you think she has come within an inch of losing her head? The Queen has a softness for her sister though. She would rather remove her from the succession by giving birth to a child.”
“Can she do this?”
“You will have heard of those supposed pregnancies which were not pregnancies at all. Poor woman. She suffers from dropsy, they say, and so great is her desire to bear a child that she believes she is about to do so. Imagine her grief when she discovers it is a false pregnancy.”
“Poor lady. It is no great good fortune to be a Queen.”
“It is no great good fortune to be any of us in this age,” said Kate with a laugh. “Unless of course you are as clever as I am. Tomorrow at the ball you will meet good Catholic families most fervently loyal to the Queen and those who, like myself, reserve their judgment. They are the wise ones. They are poised…watchful of events and ready to leap to the appropriate side a moment before the rest of the country realizes what is happening. The wise ones are like me. They take their religion mildly; they are not fanatical or fervent…calmly swaying with the wind. Remember this, my dear Damask, and you will enjoy my ball.”
The ballroom of the castle was decorated with leaves and flowers and the musicians were in the minstrels’ gallery, almost hidden from view by the heavy curtains on either side of it.
At six o’clock we feasted in the great hall and I had rarely seen such elaborate dishes. I thought how Clement would have loved to examine the contents of those massive pies and to test the quality of the crust. The leading families present had the pleasure of seeing their coats of arms and crests on the pies; the sucking pigs were brought in steaming hot on dishes which were carried around the tables by Kate’s servants in the Remus livery; and when the sirloin was brought in we all stood up and made obeisance to the dish which had been knighted by King Henry.
Cakes had been baked and topped with ginger; in one of these cakes was a tiny figure in the shape of a king. These were distributed among the men; and the one to find the king in his cake was elected King of the Revels for the night or Lord of Misrule.
There was a great deal of amusement when Carey found the king’s figure; it was clear that he was hoping that a very pretty girl, Mary Ennis, daughter of Lord Calperton, who was a guest with her father and her brother Edward, would win the queen’s figure. He was well mannered enough to hide his dismay when Catherine won it.
Catherine laughed with delight and I could not help smiling, recalling how solemn she had been when wondering whether she ought to leave the Abbey and join in our frivolity.
She and Carey must needs now put their heads together and plan games and antics for our amusement; and this they did. There were charades and guessing games and we became very merry.
Carey and Catherine must lead us in the dance and they did so with some decorum though I overheard Catherine whisper to Carey fiercely: “And I’m almost as old as you in any case and everybody knows that girls grow up more quickly than boys.”
I found myself dancing with Rupert.
“It is pleasant to be here,” he said.
“I have not felt so content for a long time,” I told him.
“This is how life should always be,” he said. “Not just a little oasis of pleasure. But families gathering together like this.”
“And yet, Rupert,” I said, “even on such an occasion we must guard our tongues lest we betray something which could bring harm to us. It is only with our nearest and our trusted friends that we can be frank.”
“Damask,” he said, “how frank are you prepared to be?”
“In what way?”
“I wonder about you so much. I think of you constantly. Sometimes I brood on what it might have been if everything had turned out differently. Then I think of you at the Abbey there.”
“Yes, Rupert.”
“A strange life,” he said. “How is it there, Damask? Are you happy?”
“I have the girls,” I said.
“And they suffice?”
“They mean a great deal to me, but they will marry and have lives of their own. You should have married, Rupert. Then you would have had children.”
“Who would marry and have lives of their own. But I should like children.”
“You are young yet. Who knows, perhaps at this very gathering you will meet someone. You are in your thirties…some say it is the prime.”
“Let us sit down,” he said. “This conversation interests me so much that I prefer not to fit it to the dance.”
So we sat and I watched my girls. Honey, breathtakingly lovely as all must think her, dancing with Edward Ennis, and Catherine with Carey, scowling at him now and then when he trod on her toe and yet her eyes aflame with excitement, for she loved to dance. And how well it suited her, far better than brooding on whether she should go into a convent, if, now that we were under a rigorous Catholic rule, one could be found for her.
“You know I shall not,” said Rupert.
“What was that? I was thinking of Catherine.”
“Marry and settle. And you know why.”
I looked at him and seeing the expression in his eyes I was amazed that he had remained faithful all those years. I could not help my pleasure, which was wrong for it was no life for him to hope for a woman who was married to someone else.