‘And there are letters regarding Cerensthorpe,’ he had slurred.
Now, Elizabeth brought her horse to a halt under an oak tree and gazed into the mist. She had read the letter concerning Cerensthorpe Abbey while waiting for her palfrey to be saddled and she was concerned. When the abbey had been mooted as part of her dowry, the abbess had agreed to transfer the lands to her in exchange for protection and comfortable pensions for the sisters. This was done under a papal dispensation making Cerensthorpe Abbey legally secure and giving Elizabeth personal responsibility for its future. This had thrilled Elizabeth, who had felt her mother would have approved.
Unfortunately, the abbey, like many others, was sinking into poverty due to the lack of new novices and the aging nuns, and the abbess had written to Elizabeth for help, fearing the convent might face closure. Elizabeth wanted to help them, but she was aware the property was in a strategic position for her and Thomas, being situated in Hampshire between Winchester and London. She pondered the possibilities and decided she would raise the matter with both her husband and father. There were ways to change the use of church buildings, to ‘secularise’ them, converting them from religious houses to colleges of secular chaplains, which dissolved monastic vows while keeping the property intact. They would be able to convert the abbey into a manor house, while allowing the women to be housed in the grounds, even though they were no longer nuns, but they would continue to pray for the souls of the Boleyn family.
There would be paperwork, but Elizabeth knew her husband’s scribes would deal with the details. She felt this was a suitable way forward: it would enable her to save the property for her family’s use and rehouse the remaining sisters as lay gentlewomen, providing for them in old age. It was a cheering thought that her position as Lady Boleyn would enable her to help these women. Then, she remembered Thomas’s words about her brother, Younger, wanting a favour. Younger was determined to become a powerful man in the new court and his favours rarely helped anyone other than himself.
I must concoct a variety of reasons why I won’t be able to help Younger,she thought.If necessary, I’ll invent a crisis requiring my immediate departure for Hever Castle.
Her mind had wandered to the masque she and Thomas would take part in later, a lavish retelling ofRobin Hood,with the king as Robin and the queen as Maid Marian, but after this, the festivities would wind down. The season of riotous goodwill and misrule was nearly at an end. If Younger’s request wasunpalatable, she would not be missed if she left for Kent a few days earlier than she and Thomas had originally planned.
Elizabeth turned her face into the breeze, breathing deeply, her uneasy thoughts banished by her decisions and the beauty of the morning. The mists were clearing and the tang of the river water floated on the air, the deep rich smells of the earth and the hypnotic sound of the bare rustling branches created a magic all their own. In the distance, she saw her falconer, Wainwright, accompanied by the cadgers carrying the perches with the birds. She made a clicking noise with her tongue and dug gentle heels into the side of her palfrey, trotting towards the waiting men.
‘Good morning, my lady,’ Wainwright said with a bow as she approached. ‘I thought there might be others enjoying this beautiful morning.’ The warm soft burr of his Kentish accent was a familiar sound of home on the stark morning. His words created a cloud of white mist in the cold morning air.
‘If Sir Thomas is representative of the revels of last night,’ said Elizabeth with a smile, ‘then very few men will be out hunting until later.’
Wainwright offered Elizabeth a leather hunting gauntlet, before ordering the cadger forward with Elizabeth’s merlin. The bird shifted around on the glove, finding its balance, feathers ruffling, whether in irritation or anticipation of flight, was not clear. Wainwright climbed onto his own horse, ready to accompany her on the hunt. He was steady and reliable, a trusted member of the Boleyn household.
They rode further along the curve of the meadows, discussing the merits of finding prey in a nearby copse of hazel trees when they heard the jangle of a horse’s bridle. Beside her, Wainwright gasped and reined in his horse, retreating to allow the newcomer space to approach her. Before she could turn to see who had joined them, he spoke, his voice low, familiar and far too close.
‘Lady Boleyn, what an unexpected pleasure.’
Her stomach clenched in horror as the king drew up beside her, smiling down from his chestnut hunter.
‘Your Majesty,’ said Elizabeth, lowering her eyes and bowing her head.
He was dressed in moss-green, a young gyrfalcon perched on his fist. The shade suited his colouring and was tailored to show off his slender waist and broad shoulders.
‘I thought to ride alone this morning,’ he said, ‘but then my groom told me he had seen you in the mews. I wondered whether we might fly together.’
Elizabeth forced a smile. ‘As Your Majesty wishes,’ she replied, raising her head, but her expression faltered when she met the intensity of gaze. Sweat and revulsion prickled on the back of her neck as she found herself unable to look away, then her merlin squawked and Henry broke eye contact, laughing.
‘She’s a fine bird,’ he said. ‘Her plumage is unusual; you don’t often see such pale feathers.’
‘It was a gift from my husband,’ Elizabeth said.
A small indentation of annoyance appeared between the king’s eyebrows at the mention of her husband.
‘Do you remember the day we once discussed falcons in my mother’s chamber?’ asked the king. ‘I was a small boy; you were kind enough to spare the time to discussThe Squire’s Taleand the magical ring which gave Canacee the power to talk to the birds.’
Elizabeth stared at him in surprise. ‘It’s a wonder you remember,’ she said.
‘I shall never forget it,’ he replied. ‘Your wisdom and gentleness, combined with your beauty, set a high standard, Lady Boleyn. I’m not sure even my revered queen matches your magnificence.’
‘Your Majesty, you jest,’ said Elizabeth, aware her palms were sweating inside her gloves. The expression on the king’s face was clear, focused and determined.
‘I was watching you while you and your horse idled by the oak tree,’ he said. ‘You appeared to be considering a serious issue. I am king, perhaps I could help?’
Elizabeth’s instinct was to refuse. She preferred to speak with her husband about property matters; to discuss them with the king first felt akin to a betrayal.
‘Do not bother yourself…’ she began.
‘Tell me,’ he said and the hint of command in his voice brooked no refusal.
‘An abbey came to me in my dowry,’ she began and quickly explained the dilemma with Cerensthorpe.
‘You’ll require a licence from the Crown for the conversion from religious to secular house,’ he said. ‘Tell Thomas to give me the details and I’ll ensure it is done immediately.’
