“Aye,” she said, looking up at him. “He knew about my mother’s famous wool. He said he had had complaints from the merchants in the Low Countries of its scarcity. Imagine, Crispin! The Holy Roman Emperor and king of Spain knew about Friarsgate Blue wool. I am astounded.”
“He is young,” the earl answered her, “but I suspect he will be a great man one day, little one. Nothing, it would seem, escapes his notice. Not even Friarsgate Blue.” He chuckled. “It has been quite an evening for you. You danced with the king, and you were introduced to and held a conversation with an emperor.”
“I have danced with the king before,” she said. “He is very demanding, and will only dance with the best dancers.”
“If he dances with you in France you will certainly catch the eye of King Francois,” her husband told her. “Then I shall have to be jealous.”
“Would you? Would you really be jealous?” Philippa demanded, eyes sparkling.
“Aye!” he replied without hesitation. “I should be insanely jealous.”
“Then I shall have to arrange it,” she teased him.
“Be careful, little one,” he warned her. “No lady, it is said, remains chaste at the French court. Tom Boleyn’s daughter, Mary, has been there for several years, and is said to have become a most accomplished whore. King Francois calls her his English Mare, and claims to have ridden her innumerable times to his pleasure.”
“What a terrible thing to claim of the earl of Wiltshire’s daughter!” Philippa cried.
“It would not be said of her were it not so, little one. So be cautious in your dealings with the noblemen of France,” he cautioned her. “I should not like to have to fight a duel over your honor. Not, at least, until you have given me a son or two.”
“Do you think you would not win?” she asked innocently, but her mouth was twitching with amusement.
“Vixen! Would you put some poor Frenchman in danger simply to amuse yourself? I see I may have to correct your behavior one of these days soon.”
“Correct my behavior?” She looked surprised. “How?”
“Have you never been spanked, madame?” he murmured.
“Crispin, you would not dare!” she exclaimed.
“You do not want to try my patience, madame,” he warned her.
“Not today at least,” she teased him.
“Unless you have a good reason for remaining here,” he told her, “we should return to the inn. Did you get enough to eat? It seemed to me that those of us not at the high board or the tables directly below it tonight were stinted.”
Philippa nodded. “The presentation of the dishes was splendid, but I scarce saw a thing upon my plate,” she admitted. “Do you think the innkeeper will have a crust of bread and a rind of cheese he might spare us?” She was smiling.
“Now I can see how you survived at court as a maid of honor,” he said, smiling back. “I think we can do better than a crust and a rind. I was considering a fat capon, strawberries, fresh bread, butter, and a lovely runny Brie cheese, madame.” He escorted her from the hall, and from the bishop’s palace.
She sighed. “It sounds wonderful!” she agreed as they came out onto the streets of the town.
They had walked from the inn earlier, and now they returned the same way. Because of the king’s visit the streets were well lit and patrolled tonight. And they had not far to go. He held her hand, and walking along in the spring night Philippa considered that never before had she strolled hand in hand with a gentleman. Her marriage to Crispin St. Claire was bringing her many new adventures, and she had earlier decided that she liked it. And after tonight she knew that she liked being the countess of Witton. It was much more fun being a countess than just an ordinary girl. Her sisters would simply be pea green with envy when she saw them again and told them. And Banon was only marrying a second son, even if she did love him. And as for Bessie, what could poor Bessie expect with nothing to recommend her but a small dowry? No, it was definitely better to be the countess of Witton.
Chapter 16
The king would make no treaty excluding France with his wife’s nephew. Henry Tudor preferred to keep all his options open. He did agree to meet again with Charles at Gravelines, which was imperial territory, after his meeting with King Francois. The young emperor left for Sandwich on Tuesday evening, the twenty-ninth of May. The following morning, the king and the court departed for Dover where they embarked in a fleet of twenty-seven vessels led by his majesty’s own personal ship,Henri Grace à Dieu,more familiarly known as theGreat Harry.It took nine hundred sailors to manage the huge vessel, which had been built seven years earlier to the king’s exact specifications by over a hundred carpenters and shipwrights.
Newly refitted for this summer progress, theGreat Harryhad magnificent cloth of gold sails that billowed perfectly in the summer breezes. There was not a mast that did not fly a beautiful banner or exquisite pennant. The king knew the French had nothing like this incredible ship. And while he was sorry his rival king would not be at Calais to see it, he knew that everything about the vessel would be reported in minute detail to Francois. Only his late brother-in-law’s theGreat Michaelcould have come close to the sumptuousness of the Great Harry. But James IV of Scotland was dead, and his ship lost but to memory.
Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven persons made up the king’s retinue. There were peers and bishops; the king’s personal secretary, Richard Pace; twelve chaplains; and the entire staff of the Chapel Royal. There were heralds, two hundred guards, seventy grooms of the chamber, and two hundred sixty-six household officers, each with their own servants. The queen’s party totaled eleven hundred and seventy-five persons, all of whom traveled with their servants. Philippa and Lucy were counted among them. Cardinal Wolsey had a train of gentlemen, among them the earl of Witton, chaplains, and two hundred thirty-seven servants. The duke of Buckingham and Archbishop Warham were not allowed as many retainers as was Wolsey All in all, five thousand one hundred seventy-two people and two thousand eight hundred sixty-five horses traveled to France.
The great royal summer progress departed Dover just before dawn on the morning of May thirty-first. By noon they had sailed across the gentle seas to arrive at Calais. The earl and countess of Witton had taken with them in their private ship six of the queen’s ladies and their servants. Among them was Thomas Boleyn’s eldest daughter, Mary, who had spent time at the French court when Mary Tudor had been France’s queen. She seemed pleasant enough to Philippa, but Crispin was not pleased to have her aboard his transport.
“She has a bad reputation,” he told his wife.
“The queen asked me to take her,” Philippa answered her husband. “I could not refuse her, could I? She seems a quiet girl, my lord. What do you hear of her?”
“That she whores easily,” he replied.
