“It is strange indeed to find a hermit in the tiltyard, and that he should wish to tilt stranger still. But our great King has such love for all his subjects that he would please them each and every one. The lowliest hermit shall tilt before us if it is his wish. But I warn you, hermit, it may cost you your life.”
“That I would willing give for my Queen and my King.”
“Then let it be,” cried Katharine.
The hermit stepped back, drew himself to his full height, threw off his gray tattered robe, and there was a Knight in shining armor—none other than Charles Brandon himself.
The Princess Mary, who was seated near the Queen, began to clap her hands, and all cheered.
Brandon now asked the Queen’s permission to present to her a knight of great valor who was desirous, like himself, of tilting in her honor.
“I pray you tell me the name of this knight,” said Katharine.
“Your Grace, his name is Sir Loyal Heart.”
“I like well his name,” said Katharine. “I pray you bring him to me.”
Brandon bowed and there was a fanfare of trumpets as Sir Loyal Heart rode into the arena.
There was no mistaking that tall figure, that gold hair, that fresh fair skin which glowed with health and youth.
“Sir Loyal Heart!” shouted the ushers. “Who comes to tilt in honor of the Queen’s Grace.”
Before the Queen’s throne Henry drew up, while the people roared their approval.
Katharine felt that her emotions might prevent her in that important moment making the right gesture. Sir Loyal Heart! How like him to choose such a name. So naïve, so boyish, so endearing.
Surely I am the most fortunate of women, she thought; Mother, if you could but see me now, it would make up for all you have suffered, for my brother Juan’s death, for my sister Isabella’s death in childbirth, for Juana’s madness. At least two of your daughters inherited what you desired for them. Maria is the happy Queen of Portugal, and I am happier still, as Queen of England, wife of this exuberant boy, who shows his devotion to me by entwining my initials with his, by riding into the arena as Sir Loyal Heart.
“How happy I am,” she said in a voice which was not without a tremor of emotion, “that Sir Loyal Heart comes hither to tilt in my honor.”
There was nothing she could have said which would have pleased Henry more.
“The happiness of Sir Loyal Heart equals that of Your Grace,” cried Henry.
He had turned—ready for the joust.
The tournament was opened.
DARKNESS CAME EARLY in February, and the Court had left the tiltyard for the whitehall of Westminster. This did not mean that the festivities were over. They would go on far into the night, for the King never tired and, until he declared the ball closed, it must go on.
He had scored great success in the tiltyard to the delight of the people. But none was more delighted than Henry. Yet now that the party had entered the Palace he had disappeared from Katharine’s side.
This could only mean one thing. Some pageant or masque was being planned in which he would play a major part. Several of his friends had crept away with him, and Katharine, talking to those who remained about her, tried to compose her features, tried to display great expectation while she hoped that she would be able to register that blank surprise when she was confronted with some denouement which she had guessed even before the play had begun.
One must remember, she reminded herself, that he has been brought up in a most parsimonious fashion. She knew that his father had ordered that his doublets must be worn as long as they held together and then turned if possible; he and the members of his household had been fed on the simplest foods and had even had to save candle ends. All this had been intended to teach him the ways of thrift. The result? He had rebelled against thrift. He was ready to dip into his father’s coffers to escape from the parsimony, which had been anathema to him, in order to satisfy his extravagance. His nature was such that he must passionately long for all that was denied him—so for him the scarlet and gold, the velvet and brocade; for him the rich banquets, the pomp and the glory. It was fortunate that the thrift of Henry VII had made it possible for Henry VIII to indulge his pleasure without resorting to the unpopular methods which his father had used to amass his wealth.
Katharine looked about the hall, which had been so lavishly decorated, and tried to calculate the cost to the exchequer. The English love of pageantry was unquestionable. What great pains had been taken to turn this hall into a forest. There were artificial hawthorns, maples and hazels, all so finely wrought that they looked real enough. There were the animals, a lion, an antelope, and an elephant all cleverly made. She did not know the price of the commodities necessary to make these things but she guessed it was high, for clearly no expense had been spared. There were beautiful ladies to roam the mock forest and they, with the wood-woos, who were wild men of the forest, had to be specially apparelled. The maids of the forest wore yellow damask, and the wood-woos russet sarcenet; she knew the high cost of these materials.
Should she remonstrate with the King? Should she point out that such pageants were well enough when there was some great event to celebrate—as there was at this time the birth of their son—but this was one among many. Since Henry had come to the throne feasting had followed feasting, and pageant, pageant.
She imagined herself saying: “Henry, I am older than you…and I had the advantage of spending my early years with my mother who was one of the wisest women in the world. Should you not curb these extravagances?”
What would be his response? She pictured the brows being drawn together over those brilliant blue eyes, the pout of a spoiled boy.
Yet was it not her duty?
One of the courtiers was at her elbow. “Your Grace?”
“You would speak with me?”
“Your Grace, I know of an arbor of gold, and in this arbor are ladies who would show you their pastime in the hope that they might please your Grace. Would you wish to see this arbor?”
“I greatly desire to see it.”
The courtier bowed, and then, drawing himself to his full height, he declaimed: “Her Grace Queen Katharine wishes to see the arbor of gold.”
A curtain which had been drawn across one end of the hall was then pulled back to disclose a pavilion in the form of an arbor. This was composed of pillars about which artificial flowers made of silk and satin climbed naturalistically. There were roses, hawthorn and eglantine, and the pillars had been decorated with ornaments of pure gold.
This arbor was carried by stout bearers and placed close to the Queen’s throne. She saw that in it were six of the most lovely girls, and that their dresses were of white and green satin which appeared to be covered with gold embroidery; but as they came closer she realized that what she had thought was embroidery were two letters entwined—the familiar H and K. She stared in admiration, for it was indeed a pretty sight, and as she did so six men dressed in purple satin which, like the gowns of the girls, was adorned with the entwined letters, sprang forth to stand three on either side of the arbor.
Each of these knights had his name on his doublet in letters of real gold; and there was one among them who stood out distinguished by his height and golden beauty; and across his doublet were written the words Sir Loyal Heart.
The ordinary people who revelled in these antics of the Court had pressed into the hall and now cheered loudly, calling “God bless his Grace! God bless the Queen!”
Henry stood before her, his face expressing his complete joy.
Katharine applauded with her ladies, and the King clapped his hands—a signal for the ladies to step from the arbor.