“He is another such as Wolsey,” went on Jane. “A butcher’s son of Ipswich. And Thomas Cromwell, a cloth weaver’s son, from I know not where. And look where they ended.”
“As I have said before, many of noble birth have gone the same way.”
“Well, the Bishop is a clever man. I’ll grant you that. He made his way to Cambridge, and had an education to match any, they say. He sidled his way into a great family. None other than your own, Mistress Howard. Did you know that the high and mighty Bishop, when he was plain Stephen Gardiner, was once a tutor to the son of the great Duke of Norfolk?”
“No, I did not.”
“I swear that was so. And there he was, under the patronage of the noble Duke, all set to take the leap to fame and fortune. All he had to do was ingratiate himself with the Duke—and that he clearly did. I will grant you, he has been of service to the Duke ever since. Is it not true that these two great men go hand in glove together, and doubtless will do so until it suits either of them to do otherwise.”
There were times when I was sorry for Jane. She was clearly an unhappy woman. Life had not been kind to her, but that was perhaps due to herself. I believe she had loved her husband passionately, but he was not of her kind. Erudite, witty, a courtier to his fingertips, another such as his sister. And they had both ignored poor Jane. Perhaps if they had been more thoughtful of her, kinder to her, she would have been different, not so embittered that, when the time came for revenge, she took it. And now, she must live with that. Was she, I often wondered, haunted by memories?
“Do you think I shall make some mistake, Jane?” I asked. “I believe Court etiquette is very strict.”
She looked at me through narrowed eyes and smiled grimly.
“That,” she said, “I will not deny is a possibility. You learned little of courtly ways in the Duchess’s household.”
I was not too put out. I would pass through the ordeal somehow, I was sure, and in any case, Jane was only trying to alarm me because she was piqued, not having herself been invited to the banquet.
The Countess of Rutland sent for me.
“You are prepared for the banquet, I hope,” she said.
I told her I was. “The Duchess thinks my gown suitable,” I added.
“That is well. The King likes to hear ladies sing at the table when the meal is over. The Bishop has arranged for a lady of his choice to entertain the King thus. Alas, she has some malaise of the throat and may not be able to perform.”
She paused and her next words startled me. “I believe, Mistress Howard, that you have a low and pleasant voice. One or two ladies will sing, of course, but if it should be necessary to include another … you could be called on.”
“I … to sing at the King’s table … !”
“Oh, he will not notice you. He is just fond of music, and likes to hear it at all times. If the need should arise, I want you to be prepared. You play the lute, do you not?”
“Yes, Countess.”
“Well, be ready. You could sing and strum as you do so. Do you know ‘Greensleeves’? It is a favorite with the King.”
“Oh yes … but I am not very good. I am sure someone else …”
“Do not be nervous. I will hear you sing and if you are practiced enough … I should think you could do very well. Let us go to the music-room and I shall judge whether you should sing … should the need arise.”
We went and I sang, nervously at first, and then I was carried away by the music. I had always loved the haunting melody of “Greensleeves.” It was said that the King himself had written the words and composed the music. It seemed strange that such a majestic and terrifying looking man should write so gently of love.
“You will do very well, if you are not nervous,” said the Countess. “So, if it should be necessary, I will tell my Lord Bishop that you will sing.”
It had spoilt the pleasure a little. I told myself that it was hardly likely that I should be asked. And yet, uneasy as I was, I should be a little disappointed if I were not.
How excited I was as we took the barge to the Bishop’s residence. All the ladies and gentlemen of the Court were laughing and merry and no one took any notice of me.
I was dressed in a gown of scarlet velvet which my grandmother had provided when I came to Court, and I knew it became me. It had seemed very grand until I mingled with the dazzlingly clad ladies of the Court. This was my first grand banquet, and the King himself was to be there. Perhaps I should be able to observe him at closer quarters than I had hitherto. But perhaps not. I should certainly not be seated near him at the table.
Should I be called upon to sing? Now that I was at this brilliant assembly, all my delight in the prospect disappeared. I wanted to hide away, watch them all and not be seen. Even more did I feel this when I saw that among the guests arriving at the Bishop’s house was my Uncle Norfolk. I hoped his eyes would not alight on me.
To my surprise, I was given a place at the high table.
“Because,” whispered the Countess, who happened to be close to me, “it may be that you will be called upon to sing. Be ready. Have you your lute with you?”
I said I had, and began to tremble with apprehension. I felt very insignificant.
The King sat in the center of the high table, looking out over the room; on his right was the Bishop, on his left my uncle. I recognized others; the King’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Suffolk, the Earl of Southampton, the Earl of Hertford and Sir Thomas Seymour. I was right at the end of the table with my back to the room.
It gave me an opportunity to look at the King. I had to do this surreptitiously, as I had been warned not to stare; and I knew that if I were found guilty of any unseemly conduct, this would be the last time I went to a banquet.
There sat the King, grand and glittering in his padded surcoat, with its puffed sleeves, which made him look even bigger than he really was. Jewels as big as eggs glittered in his garments, and his fingers shone with them as they moved.
The table was laden with food. I had never seen so much. I thought fleetingly of the days in my father’s house when there was often not even enough for all of us. There were several kinds of fish and pies of all shapes; the pastry of many of these had been formed into the shape of crowns or Tudor roses. Scullions were dashing to and fro, carrying dishes of sucking-pig, hot and steaming.
The King took the food in his hands and ate with relish, while the Bishop watched him eagerly, well pleased. Whenever the King spoke, everyone was silent, listening attentively. My uncle looked subdued and humble, as he had in the gardens.
The meal had been going on for some time and several of the guests were nodding over their wine. Then one of the ladies started to sing in a high treble voice which could scarcely be heard above the conversation. Her song over, another began to sing.
They will not want to hear me, I comforted myself. They really pay little attention to the singing. I wonder why they want anyone to do it.
The singing had ceased, and I was suddenly aware of my uncle’s eyes on me. I felt uneasy. Had I committed some fault? What? I had just been sitting quietly, listening. What could I have done?
The Duke nodded to someone. I could not see to whom. I told myself I was mistaken. He had not really been looking at me.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. A young man was standing immediately behind me. He picked up the lute, which was at my feet, and put it into my hands.
“My Lord Duke wishes you to sing, Mistress,” said the young man.
“My Lord Duke!” I looked along the table. There was no doubt now. His eyes were on me, cold, critical. My fingers trembled. They would not do as I wished. Frantically, I forced them to pluck at the lute and the feel of the instrument immediately gave me courage. I made myself think of the music-room, and pretended I was alone. I would play and sing as though to myself. I knew I could both play and sing well. I had so few accomplishments that I must be aware of this one which was mine. And no one was listening. They were all too interested in their own conversation.