“Oh, never mind.”
“No, it was nothing really. I had the desire to look outside. To see the places where Hugh and I had been happy in the summer. I shouldn’t have gone; it only stirred memories I should really forget.”
“And now Cecilia is here!”
Ellen shrugged pragmatically. “What can’t be changed must simply be borne.”
A great roar came up from the arena, where two men were rolling and wrestling on the ground. Then King Henry rose triumphant, waving at the crowd.
“Men and their games,” said Lady Salisbury, “their foolish games.”
Returning to the combat, the king was set upon by Charles Brandon, and they gripped each other’s shoulders, wheeling about, each trying to catch the other off balance.
Thomasin’s eyes roamed the group of fighters, and there, predictably enough, was Rafe. He was pushing back against a tall, bearded man who seemed determined to knock him off his feet. Rafe was nimble, though, and managed to deflect his opponent’s weight, causing the man to stumble to the side. She watched him draw back, then run at the man again, using his wit against the sheer brute force of the other. This time, their bodies clashed together and the weight of it sent Rafe stumbling back. He quickly recovered, though, and dodged a second blow, returning to grab the man about his waist. Thomasin tried to draw her eyes away, to watch other competitors, especially as the king was roaring as he charged about the field, but she found herself drawn back to watching Rafe, intrigued to see how he could hold his own.
“Oh dear, poor uncle Charles!” said Princess Mary, clasping her hands together anxiously.
Thomasin followed the princess’s gaze to see Charles Brandon lying on his back, where he had been knocked by a well-aimed blow.
“He is alive, isn’t he?” the princess asked.
“Of course,” replied Mary Tudor. “He has seen far worse than that.” But her eyes were fixed upon her husband.
“He’s taking a while to rise,” the princess observed.
They all looked at Brandon, who was readying his limbs as if to move, but was still prostrate.
“Probably just winded,” the queen said.
Another combatant leaned down and offered the duke his hand, pulling him upright.
“There we are,” said Lady Salisbury, “all ready to risk life and limb for our entertainment again.”
But Thomasin’s attention was drawn to another figure. Allessandro Campeggio had entered the lists in shining black armour, holding his sword aloft.
“Who is that?” asked Catherine, also drawn to the sight of him.
“It’s the son of Cardinal Campeggio, if you please, my lady,” Thomasin supplied.
“Campeggio’s son? Sired by a cardinal, yet see how he wields his sword.”
Thomasin did watch. Even beside the king and Charles Brandon, Allessandro’s bearing in the lists was impressive. Henry was forced to acknowledge it, striding over to shake his hand, before engaging in a duel. The younger man clearly had the upper hand, moving nimbly with skill and experience, but diplomacy made him yield to the king right at the end.
“I heard he has been in the army,” said Ellen, “and that he fought at Pavia.”
The queen turned in surprise. “At Pavia? Where the French were defeated?”
“I believe so, my lady. He distinguished himself upon the field, and assisted in the capture of the French king.”
Catherine nodded. “A truly impressive young man. We must see what we can do for him.”
The armed combat section was drawing to a close and the men moved themselves into two teams. A long, knotted rope was brought out from one of the tents, bright with ribbons.
“Oh,” laughed Princess Mary, “tug of war. What fun!”
The men took up their positions in a line, the king at the front of one and Charles Brandon leading the opposition. On the word, they picked up the rope and braced themselves. A red flag in the middle showed the central point, while another was lowered to indicate the start of the contest.
The ground had been sprinkled with sawdust, but it was still churned up after the morning’s activities. As the men dug in their heels and leaned backwards, they slipped and slid, and dug down some more. The momentum favoured the king’s side first, but the others fought back and the central flag fluttered this way and that. Eventually, Brandon’s side seemed to be winning, making further and further ground, until like dominoes they fell, one by one, back upon each other, loosening their grips so that the rope was pulled clean out of their hands by the king’s side. Henry’s team raised his arms in victory and the crowd cheered.
