The king chuckled. “You have sharp eyes, Annie,” he told her. “But rest assured that I love you best, and will love you even more when you birth our son.” Then, with a bow, Henry Tudor left his wife.
Chapter 18
On the day following the queen’s entry into London there was little official activity. The queen, in her sixth month of pregnancy, spent her time resting and playing cards. There was to be a banquet given for the eighteen noblemen being created Knights of the Bath the following day. The queen, however, did not attend this menonly function. Sixty other gentlemen would also be knighted, but in the usual way. Later in the evening the eighteen were bathed and shriven according to ancient custom. They would have honored places when Anne formally entered the city, and then later at the coronation itself. The king wanted to make the occasion of his wife’s coronation one that would always be remembered.
The next day, Saturday, the traditional coronation procession to Westminster was to take place. Although little time had been allowed for London to prepare, the streets were as decorated as they had been when Henry had been crowned over twenty years earlier. The queen’s litter would be carried along Fenchurch and Gracechurch to Ledenhall to Ludgate to Fleet Street and down the Strand to Westminster. Every house along the route was ordered to be hung with flags and buntings.
Philippa and Elizabeth were to ride among the queen’s ladies. Special cloth-of-gold gowns had been provided for them. Philippa was astounded when she was told she might keep her gown as a remembrance of this day. “Such generosity!” she bubbled, her elegant hands smoothing across the fabric of her skirts.
“You can have mine,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “I will have no use for it at Friarsgate. It is beautiful, though.”
“You will have to ride like a lady, and not astride,” Philippa warned her sister.
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe I can manage it,” she said. “I can hardly gallop through the streets in such finery.”
“Why do you think I was asked to ride in the procession?” Philippa wondered.
“I told Anne, the queen,” Elizabeth amended, “that while you would always love the princess of Aragon, you were a loyal subject of the king and queen.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I did not, however, name the queen, Philippa, so ’twas not really a lie.”
“I should not be here,” Philippa fretted.
“Your husband and your sons are here,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, you love spectacles such as this will be.”
“The Duchess of Norfolk will report to my lady Katherine everyone of any note who has attended. She will be so hurt and disappointed in me,” Philippa said softly.
“Blame Crispin,” Elizabeth said airily. “The princess of Aragon believes a woman should obey her husband. Your husband insisted you attend. He said you must put your own feelings aside and think of your sons.”
“That’s exactly what he said!” Philippa exclaimed. “How did you know it?”
“Because Crispin is a man of eminent good sense,” Elizabeth responded.
“The Duchess of Norfolk is not obeying her husband,” Philippa said.
Elizabeth snorted derisively. “In my brief stay at court I have learned that the Howard family are a lofty lot. They consider themselves better than those who sit on the throne. I will wager the duke did not order his wife to the coronation. He is in France on the king’s business and is excused. She does not go because she chooses not to go. A foot in both camps, sister. One day they will outsmart themselves and fall. And his old dowager mother will be in a fine litter following after the queen. Nay. The Howards will not be considered disloyal, and neither should you.”
“You have become so wise,” Philippa said. “Yet when we last saw each other you were a foolish girl who showed neither respect nor manners.”
“I am just a country woman, sister,” Elizabeth said. “And I miss my home, and I want to be there. I am so lonely for Baen. For our little son. But I have promised the queen I will stay by her side until her son is safely delivered.”
They had been walking in the tower gardens, but even so Philippa lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “What if it is not a son?” she said.
Elizabeth shuddered. “Do not even think it,” she murmured low.
“They say he is dallying with a lady,” Philippa confided. “But it is so discreet that no one knows who, or if it is even so.”
“The queen does not like the little Seymour girl,” Elizabeth noted.
“Jane Seymour of Wolf Hall?” the Countess of Witton said. “The family is of no importance, and the girl is foolish if she encourages the king. She’ll end up like Mary Boleyn or Bessie Blount. A big belly married off to a nonentity, and back in the country. She is not his type. I think her rather plain, and she is beyond meek, if such a thing is possible. Nay, Jane Seymour wouldn’t be to the king’s taste at all.”
“The princess of Aragon was a biddable wife,” Elizabeth said.
“But she was intelligent, and a good companion,” Philippa remarked. “Not at all like... this one.”
“Anne is intelligent and witty, but I will agree she is hot tempered. The king, however, seems to enjoy a bit of pepper,” Elizabeth remarked.
“Ladies! Ladies!” A serving woman was beckoning them frantically. “The procession is forming, and you are wanted.”
Picking up their beautiful delicate skirts, the two sisters ran to join the others. They were to ride their own horses, although mounts had been provided for those who didn’t have them. Philippa’s mare was black, and her sister’s gelding was a dappled gray. Their cloth-of-gold skirts against the dark hides was most striking. Philippa’s bridle was decorated with tiny silver bells, for she had grown to love the sounds the bells made.
