I could see by the dreamy look upon Kate’s face that she supposed it differently. ’Twas not the first, nor the last, time she would dismiss the plain truth for Sir Thomas More’s utopian view, and I worried for her lack of clear sight.
In spite of Lady Sussex’s dismal vision of execution at Smithfield, the business of the court was preparing for war with the French. As such I was able to dismiss the whole matter from my mind for a time. I noted, though, that when the queen signed her documents she did it as Kateryn the Queen, KP, retaining her given name’s initials.
Anne Askew had been maligned for that very same thing. And for gospelling.
In July the king left for war with France. As age and gout anchored themselves in His Majesty’s person, all suspected that this would be his last chance for martial glory. Thomas Seymour was commissioned to war, too, as were nearly all able-bodied men. Each time I read of St. George I allowed my heart to stay upon Jamie and prayed that he met with success and his knighthood. When I let my mind settle upon thoughts of men, ’twas not a fancy of Matthias, nor any man at court, such as Tristram, but of Jamie.
The king, showing great honor and trust in the queen, left her as regent, in charge of the realm in his absence. He also left her as both regent and governor over Prince Edward should the king meet with an untimely demise. Although she had a council to advise her, Kate was in command.
“Please instruct the households of the king’s children that we will be conveying them, ahead of the plague, to meet us at Hampton Court Palace,” she said. Before Kate left Greenwich Palace she dictated a loving letter to the king that she finally brought to a conclusion.
God, the knower of secrets, can judge these words not to be only written with ink, but most truly impressed in the heart.
Kateryn the Queen, KP
In late July we arrived at Hampton Court by royal barge with Edward and Mary. Although Edward remained the quiet, reserved boy with the brilliant mind he was already becoming known for, he warmed noticeably, as did we all, because of Kate’s love and laughter, nearly to the point of joy. In August, the king’s youngest daughter, Elizabeth, joined us.
The castle was one of Kate’s favorites; it had lovely gardens and fountains, and its sturdy red brick was softened by white casements and easements all sculpted most carefully, like dried-sugar syllabubs. Her quarters were sumptuous. I noted with delight the deference all paid her, not only as queen but as queen regnant. She, not the king, sat enthroned in the presence chamber.
I curtseyed as the king’s daughter approached that chamber one day. “Lady Elizabeth.”
She turned to me and smiled. “Mistress St. John.” She’d remembered our chess game, and waved me into the room with a true, rather than courtly, smile and I, thus honored, delightedly sat with her whilst Kate talked to her of court business.
Even as the queen and Elizabeth grew closer, the queen and Mary grew further apart. She did not like the reformed approach of Kate’s conferences in her chambers or the preaching of her chaplains. But Elizabeth gladly filled the space Mary’s absence created. Kate, for her part, allowed Elizabeth to remain nearby during several meetings with her council. They sat together whilst Kate dictated a letter to the king sharing the celebratory news that they had captured a ship off the Scottish coast bound to aid the king’s enemies, the French.
Elizabeth watched as Kate dispatched funds for the war and made arrangements for provisions to be sent. The queen was served her meals by attendants on bent knees. She disbursed funds and executed proclamations in her own name. The Earl of Hertford, Thomas’s brother, Edward, was on the queen’s council to advise in military matters, and as he was an accomplished soldier, she listened to him well. However, when Thomas Wriothesley, the lord chancellor for the finance of the war, spoke up too often and interrupted Kate, she hesitated not to rebuke him.
“Lord Thomas, I appreciate your concern and advice. I oft lean upon it. But His Majesty has left me, at the final, to make the determinations on his behalf. And I shall carry out that duty as I best see fit.”
“Your Grace,” Wriothesley replied, and bowed his head with a neat, tight nod. All who knew him understood that was not so much an indication of acquiescence as a hawk biding his time before the kill. I recalled that he held very conservative religious views, contrary to the queen’s, and that it was to his wife that Kate had sent her screed about not grieving overmuch a dead child, and I grew chilled.
The Lady Elizabeth, however, did not seem chilled. She seemed, if anything, warmed by this display, writing with admiration to the queen even though they saw one another daily, practicing Italian with her, seeking her affirmation on reading choices as well as on what to wear, and observing as Her Grace both confidently raised four thousand more men to aid the king and shared her thoughts and rationale with the young girl. They clearly held one another in deep love and affection.
I had the distinct impression, whilst watching and admiring them both, that Kate was preceptor in a most unusual Queens’ College.
“Victory is to the king!”
Sir William Herbert, married to the queen’s sister, strode into the queen’s presence a little more than two months after the king’s departure for war to announce the welcome news without waiting for the queen to invite him to speak. A great cheer rose among the small crowd and it traveled, like a wave, down the grandest halls, finally washing out in the furthest reaches of the scullery. Boulogne had fallen to His Majesty, a long-desired dream. Kate immediately sent word through the Earl of Shrewsbury to those fighting in Scotland so they might know that England was victorious and gain courage and force the Scots to wilt. Shortly thereafter, Wriothesley sent a letter to the queen asking that three ships, the Primrose, the Jennet, and the Sweepstakes, be sent immediately with provisions.
Kate dispatched the order with happiness. I caught her eye but held back a smile and a tease as others were in the room. Sir Thomas Seymour formerly commanded the Sweepstakes. I found it apt. Sir Thomas was in no way a primrose, demure and low to the ground. Nor was he a jennet, though he could be as obstinate as a donkey when he wished to be. Commanding the Sweepstakes, however, that was appropriate. I’d seen him at the card table. He was ever ready to gamble, always expected to best others, and did not mind if the stakes were high.
As winter seemed to have settled in early, Kate sent to one of her estates, Baynard’s Castle, for furs for all of us and then we set out on a small progress and hunt toward the coast. The king’s children were, of course, delighted for his victory. But now that it was over, he, and not they, must take precedence in Kate’s affections. She bid them a loving good-bye and went to meet her husband in Kent, and they made merry on their way back to London. The king seemed younger and happier than in all the time I’d been at court and spent a lot of time in Her Grace’s chamber, which he hadn’t done as often afore France.
I prayed for a prince.
Toward the end of progress the Countess of Sussex, the prophetess, received word that her young daughter, two-year-old Maud, had died of the plague far away at their home estate. The babe would have been quickly buried by few so as not to spread the disease whilst her parents were in London; there was no reason for the expense of leaving and returning to court, and the earl was expected to attend upon the king. The countess mourned, though, excusing herself from many of the festivities that would be held to instead remain quietly in her rooms. This time, Kate sent a letter full of compassion and hope. She’d learnt well since her letter to Lady Wriothesley upon the passing of her son, though she still had no child of her own.