The king had planned a week’s worth of celebrations for his war victory. First was to be a wrestling match; His Majesty could no longer wrestle on account of his ulcerated leg, but he was a great enthusiast of his men wrestling and jousting and sporting in every way he once had.
Next there was to be a play, based upon the sacking of Troy, to illustrate England’s great victory, and finally a banquet. Kate, having anticipated her husband’s victory like every goodwife of any status, had arranged for us all to have new gowns made. We were thus ready to celebrate.
“I’ve not been to a wrestling match,” I confided to Dorothy as we sat in the stands. We were not attending upon the queen that day, as many of her higher-ranked ladies were there for this very public celebration. Sir Tristram Tyrwhitt came and stood by me.
“May I keep company with you?” He looked first at me and then at Dorothy. It seemed to me that his smiles were equal for both of us, and it must have seemed that way to Dorothy too because she lit with joy.
“Oh, yes,” she said. She moved over so he could sit between us and I thought that clever of her; he would not have to choose one of us over the other, thus appearing less gallant. “I’ve heard you performed wonderfully well in France,” she said.
He looked at her with surprise but also pleasure. “From whom did you hear this?”
“Your aunt Lady Tyrwhitt,” she said.
“I had not heard,” I added. “But I am not surprised. I’m sure the French cowed like maidens when they saw you coming.” I grinned.
“A jest, mistress?” Tristram asked.
“I admit to it. But a friendly one, well intentioned,” I said. “I congratulate you.”
He nodded. “And now, I thought I heard you say you had not been to a wrestling match before. I know Mistress Dorothy has, so I shall concentrate my explanations upon you.” With that he turned his back, slightly, to Dorothy and began to explain the rules to me. I tried to lean forward to include Dorothy, but it was to no avail. She leaned back in ill humor and would not be engaged.
Among the wrestlers that day were the Seymour brothers, Thomas and Edward. Edward bested his brother in the first match, but Thomas won the second. Watching them put me in mind of Jacob and Esau.
“A third match!” Thomas cried out, throwing his fist in the air. “To proclaim the victor!”
Edward politely declined, cuffing his brother on the shoulder, and Thomas eventually, gracefully, accepted a truce. I saw the ring on his small finger; he still wore it. My stomach turned as though I’d eaten bad fish with the reminder of the prophecy. I’d asked after that ring one night, casually, whilst attending to my lady. Kate had told me once that it had been a gift from his brother Edward and that inscribed within were the words, “What I have, I hold.”
I wondered if that inscription was a warning from the giver to the bearer. The story of Jacob and Esau did not end happily for either brother.
The next night was the banquet and I wore a gown of peach-colored velvet cut slightly lower than usual, a beguiling plunge. Because my mother sent money I was able to supplement the budget Kate had set with matching shoes and fine pearl strings to weave into my hair. I softened some kohl in the corners of my eyes and plucked my brows as Kate had taught me.
Dorothy looked becoming in a violet gown that made her complexion seem even fairer. “Would you like to borrow some of my essence of rose to lightly tint your lips?” I offered as she stopped by my chamber. Elisabeth had already left and the maid with whom Dorothy shared a chamber was often late. Dorothy nodded and I took a small piece of linen cloth and helped her apply it. “It took me months to get it right myself,” I said, so she wouldn’t feel bad that I was assisting her. “For quite some time I looked unwholesomely bruised!”
At that, she relented and willingly let me assist her.
“Sir Tristram will find you irresistible!” I said, and that, finally, coaxed a smile. When we left our chamber and stopped by to inquire if Lady Margaret Neville was ready to attend Her Grace, as we were wont to do, we found Margaret still in a linen dressing gown; her face matched the paleness of the cloth.
“Please give my regrets to Her Grace,” she begged. “I have been most unwell and fear that I may faint should I attend this evening’s activities.”
“Do rest and don’t concern yourself unduly. Dorothy and I will tell the queen,” I said as she slipped back into her chamber. Later we decided to tell Lady Herbert, the queen’s sister, who would pose the news in a way that would not unduly discomfit Kate on this evening. ’Twas the zenith of the king’s celebration and Kate must revel with him.
The king’s cooks had limited themselves to fifty courses, including the king’s favorite dish: roast swan on a large platter, well larded afore being regowned in its feathers and ruffs, presented to the king with a sauce of vinegar and herbs. That was followed by jellied eels, gray and curled like sleeping snails, and black broiled carp with roast porpoise.
I picked at some marchpane and sugared fruit; politely refused a dance with Tristram, suggesting Dorothy instead; and looked for Jamie. Distressingly, he was nowhere to be found. I was surprised when, some minutes later, Sir Thomas sought me out for a dance.
“Certainly,” I replied, though I was a bit bewildered at why he had chosen me. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“How is Her Grace?” he asked me. “Truly.”
“Truly, sir, she does well. I know that circumstances have not always been … arranged to her preferences. But she has made do admirably. You would be proud of her.” As he was my benefactor, and always and ever a champion of Kate, I felt as though I could speak freely. Perhaps I was, as my mother had once claimed, too trusting.
“I am glad of it,” Sir Thomas said. “You shall tell me if she has some need, of a private sort, that she cannot share with another?”
“I shall,” I said, but thought it like as not that I would take care when trading confidences with Sir Thomas unless there were no other manner to inform myself. I knew he well loved my lady but also was apt to act and speak rashly. And then I went ahead and spoke rashly myself, because I knew of no one else I might ask. “One of your men, James Hart. Has he accompanied you back to court? Did he … fare well in France?”
Sir Thomas held me at arm’s length. “Unless I am mistaken, mistress, and I rarely am, you asked about that very same gentleman when we last danced.”
“I am surprised that you would remember anything I said,” I rushed on, trying to cover my shame, but I only worsened matters with my lack of composure.
He laughed. “I am very interested in what you have to say, Juliana,” he said. “James Hart has won his knighthood and, I suspect, returned to Ireland to tell his mother and crow to the local ladies about his conquests. He’ll be back at court presently.”
“Thank you, Sir Thomas,” I said, broken. I’d convinced myself that Jamie had thought of and wished for me on the long nights alone as often as I had yearned for him. Perhaps he’d not given much thought to me at all. Perhaps his nights had not been spent alone. I forfeited honesty for a bright smile as I turned back to dip my head at Sir Thomas.
He bowed and I curtseyed, and as he took his leave Tristram took my elbow. “May I?”
I smiled, glad of his friendly company to distract my mind from Jamie’s absence. “You may.” We danced and he tried to entertain me with stories of battle and bravery but they were a bit stilted in the retelling, perhaps due nothing to his own storytelling abilities but rather to my lukewarm interest in the one recounting them. Over his shoulder I noted that the queen danced two dances in a row with Sir Thomas. They kept a discreet distance from one another, their hands barely touching, their smiles and voices at a respectable level. But when Kate reached up and smoothed a wrinkle from the top of Sir Thomas’s doublet, a loving gesture, I held my breath. I looked to the king, who seemed deep in conversation. I knew, though, in spite of his recently waning eyesight and gray-spiced beard, that His Majesty missed nothing.