Suddenly the trumpets in the minstrel’s gallery blared, and into the hall leapt a tall gentleman. He was all dressed in green, his costume sewn with small gold and silver bells that jingled and twinkled as he danced. He wore a marvelous feathered masque of blue and green gold gilt that covered his eyes and his nose. Upon entering the hall he danced immediately up to the high board where the king, the queen, the princesses, the Countess of Richmond, and the Archbishop of Canterbury sat. He tipped his hat to the king, and then, whirling about, began to cavort all through the hall, gaily dancing here and there, as the reeds, the pipes, and the nakers, a double-drum, played. At each table the dancer stopped and tipped his hat. The revelers tossed coins into the Lucky Bird’s hat and he danced on.
Rosamund took a penny from her pocket. When the dancer reached her table she reached out to drop the penny into the bird’s hat. The coin had no sooner left her fingers than the gentleman’s fingers closed about her, and pulling her up, he placed a quick kiss upon her lips before dancing off to the laughter of all present. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, and her shyness, Rosamund quickly sat down again. She wondered if Meg and Kate had seen the dancer’s outrageous behavior.
“It’s all right, Rosamund,” a familiar voice said, and Sir Owein Meredith pushed in next to her on the bench. “Sometimes the Lucky Bird kisses a lady. ’Tis all part of the fun. Ah, I see he left you one of his feathers. That is an honor usually reserved for those at the high board. Here, lass, put it in your pocket. Would you mind if I sat with you?” He smiled at her.
“No, sir, I should like it. I am so used to being with Meg and with Kate that I hardly know anybody else. I am not, of course, invited to the high board.”
“No,” he answered her. Then, “Ah, look! The bird is about to finish his dance. See, he is going a final time to the high board to importune the king for alms. The coins he collects go to the poor.”
The resplendent Lucky Bird gamboled nimbly before the royal family. With a flourish he tipped his hat, first to the Venerable Margaret, feigning amazement at her donation of gold coins. Then to the queen, whom he thanked prettily, and finally to each princess. The king, he saved for the very last. Prancing gaily, he bowed to King Henry VII, and with a flourish presented his beribboned and feathered hat. The king’s slender hand passed over the hat. The Lucky Bird cocked his head to one side and then shook it, disappointed. He furiously waved his cap beneath the king’s long nose. A wave of laughter rippled through the hall. With a mock sigh of resignation the king reached into his robes and drew out a velvet bag. Reluctantly, he opened it, drawing forth two additional coins. There was more laughter, for the king was known to be tight with his coin. The Venerable Margaret reached out and poked the king, who with another audible sigh dropped the entire velvet bag of coins into the bird’s hat.
The Lucky Bird crowed triumphantly. The crowd in the hall roared their approval of the king’s actions. Henry VII favored them with one of his very rare smiles. The dancer pranced elegantly up before the Archbishop of Canterbury to present the hat filled with alms to the cleric. The bird bowed. Then he ripped off his feathered masque to reveal young Prince Henry. His appearance was met with cheering. He bowed to his audience a last time, and then took his place at the high board with his family.
“Oh my!” Rosamund said, realizing who had kissed her.
“So now,” Sir Owein teased her gently, “you can return home to say you were kissed by England’s next king.”
“I forget he is a boy, for he is so very big,” Rosamund said.
“His grandfather of York, whom he favors, was a big man as well,” the knight told her.
“Was his grandfather of York so bold?” she asked.
Owein Meredith laughed. “Aye, he was. May I be allowed to say how pretty you look tonight, my lady Rosamund.”
“The bodice is Meg’s hand-me-down, and the Countess of Richmond gave me the sarcenet sleeves,” Rosamund told him. “Maybel altered my skirt so it would be more fashionable. Meg’s Tillie showed her how.”
“So you are getting on better now,” he remarked. “I am glad for it, Rosamund. I know how much you miss your Friarsgate.”
“I hope that when the Queen of the Scots goes north to Scotland in the summer I shall be allowed to go home. I do miss it, sir,” Rosamund admitted. “The court is very exciting, but I do not like moving from place to place all the time. I am a stay-by-the-fire, and not ashamed to say it. Besides, other than the princesses, I have no friends. The other girls my age think themselves too high and mighty to be bothered with me. They envy my friendship with Meg. And Kate is little better off than I am, I fear.”
“Then make—and keep—her friendship as well, Rosamund. Then when the king’s daughter leaves you, you will not, perhaps, be lonely. Besides, it is very likely that one day Katherine of Aragon will be England’s queen. It cannot hurt to have such a lady in your debt.”
“You give me good advice, sir. And will you remain my friend as well? I should like to believe that you will be my friend forever.”
“I should like to be your friend forever,” Owein answered her, and his look warmed her, “but someday, Rosamund, you will have a husband again. He may not approve of our friendship. You must be prepared for such a possibility.”
“I should never wed a man who would not accept my friendships,” she replied. “Hugh taught me that I must think for myself and decide what is best for me and for Friarsgate.”
“Mayhap he should not have,” Owein said sadly. “Most men are not as modern in their thought as your late husband was. Think of your uncle Henry, Rosamund. Most men are like him.”
“Then I shall not marry again,” Rosamund told him firmly.
He didn’t know whether or not to laugh. He quickly realized that she was in deadly earnest. So he said, “I am certain that you will be able to charm any husband to your way of thinking, Rosamund.” She was still so young and so damned innocent. He wondered what would happen to her here at court once her protectress, the king’s daughter, departed for Scotland. Rosamund would certainly not be included in her retinue of ladies. She was neither important enough nor well enough bred. She had no significant family connections. She was just another of the royal wards, although she had been fortunate enough to catch the eye of young Margaret Tudor. Owein Meredith didn’t know why he cared what happened to this girl, but he did. He certainly was not beginning to harbor feelings for her. He had no right to such feelings—but he realized that he did care.
He did not see Rosamund again until Twelfth Night, the last of the Twelve Days of Christmas. The day began with the choosing of the King and the Queen of the Bean. Twin cakes were brought into the hall. One for the men, the other for the women. Everyone received a slice of their respective cake in the search for the elusive bean. To her great surprise, it was Rosamund who found the bean in the women’s cake. At first she was afraid to speak out among so many important females, but Meg, realizing her friend’s good fortune, cried out for all to hear.
“’Tis Lady Rosamund Bolton who has found the bean! Now, who will be her king?”
“I am her king,” young Henry Tudor cried out, grinning from ear to ear. “I am the King of the Bean! Bring me my queen!”
Rosamund was brought up to the high board and seated next to Prince Henry. A paper gilt crown, decorated with paste jewels, was placed on her head. A matching crown was put upon the prince’s head.
“All hail the King and Queen of the Bean!” the assembled in the Great Hall of Richmond Palace cried enthusiastically.
“Thank heavens ’tis a pretty girl who is my queen,” the prince said as the servers began to bring the morning meal into the hall. “I feared when I found the bean that I should be shackled to some crone among the women. ’Tis why I held back admitting my good fortune.”
“And had it been somecrone,” Rosamund said boldly, “would you have put your prize back amid the crumbs, my lord?”
