Chapter 2
"We'll lay the Queen in state at Baynard's Castle, then process her to Worcester Cathedral on the first of next month, if that suits Your Highness," Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk and Earl Marshal of England, glanced up at the young Duchess of Suffolk.
She nodded, "Of course."
"You are sure that this is what His Majesty would want? For Her Majesty to be interred with His Highness, Prince Arthur?"
"His Majesty is too prostrate with grief to be able to worry himself over the details of the funeral, my Lord Norfolk. He has left such matters to me and I can think of nothing more fitting than laying the Queen to rest beside the husband of her youth. In any case, if my brother the King so chooses, he too can be interred at Worcester when the time comes."
The young Duchess spoke with a determination that could not be gainsaid. The Earl Marshal bowed his head.
"As you wish, My Lady. I assume you will be Chief Mourner?"
"Aye, Thomas, I will. It is my duty, both as Katherine's sister and as Her Majesty's loyal subject, to see her interred as befits a Queen. Lady Willoughby shall carry my train."
"Is that wise, Your Highness? Forgive me, but Lady Willoughby is a Spaniard born. There are many English ladies of noble birth who would relish the opportunity to do their Queen this final service."
"You forget, Lord Norfolk, that just as Lady Willoughby is a Spaniard born, so too was our noble Queen. Lady Willoughby was both a loyal servant and a trusted friend to Her Majesty from the earliest days of their youth. I can think of no one more fitting to fulfill the office than Lady Wiloughby."
With that, Mary Brandon nee Tudor rose to her feet.
"T think that is all, My Lord. I will leave the further details to you. After all, you have my mother's funeral before you as a precedent, so I do not see how you can go wrong."
"Madam," Thomas Howard bowed his head and then the Duchess of Suffolk swept from the chamber.
"My Lady Suffolk."
The courteous whispers of acknowledgement were muted. Everywhere she looked, there was black. Black and grey and ashen, sleepless faces. It was clear the courtiers were reeling. Their Queen had gone and she'd taken their sense of security with her.
Not for the first time, Mary wished her brother were here; that he hadn't withdrawn into his chambers. He was needed here. Not for his gaiety, but for his ability to lead. If he'd been here, he could have stabilised the Court; let them share in his grief at the same time as he shared in theirs. But he wasn't here and so, as his sister and their Princess; as the premier noblewoman in England, now that Katherine was dead and little Mary had been taken to Beaulieu, it was up to her.
Mary forced a look of calm to her face and clenched her hands inside her sleeves to keep them from trembling as she addressed the crowd. "My Lords, My Ladies. Your concern for us in this time of distress is commendable and I thank you for it. Rest assured, you will all get your chance to say farewell to the Queen. She will be lying in state at Baynard's Castle from tomorrow, now that the embalmers and the waxwork makers have finished their work."
Taking a deep breath, she glanced around the group of people gathered before her. There was not a dry eye in sight. Choking back her own tears, she continued, "Your obvious grief for the Queen is a balm to my wounded soul. It gladdens my heart to know that the woman I loved as my older sister was so dearly loved and will be sorely missed by all of you. Were His Majesty here to see it, I know it would gladden him too."
Seeing her husband at the other end of the Hall, she inclined her head slightly and then started towards him. The crowd parted to let her through and, within moments, she was at his side.
"Charles," She clasped his arm, drawing strength from the warmth of his skin. He lowered his head to kiss her briefly.
"Mary. You have the details sorted?"
"Yes. Katherine's body will begin lying in state tomorrow."
"Where?"
"Baynard's Castle. She'll be buried at Worcester, next to my brother Arthur."
"Next to Arthur? Does Henry know? Are you sure he'd approve?"
"No. But since he won't see me and would never talk about death even if he would, I'm doing the best I can. What's good enough to be the resting place of the future King of England strikes me as fitting for the final resting place of the Queen Consort who came to England to be his bride first."
"Very well. You're the Princess. You were trained in ritual and statecraft. I was not," Charles bent and kissed Mary again, before saying "I went to your brother's rooms again."
"Did he see you?"
"What do you think?"
Mary sighed. "I wish he wouldn't do this. I wish he wouldn't lock himself away like this."
She swung her husband around so that he could see the courtiers for himself.
"They need him, Charles. They're reeling and they need their King."
"We all do, Mary. We all do," Charles sighed regretfully, "And we shall have him. Sooner or later, we shall have him. Sooner or later, he'll pull himself around. I promise. But in the meantime, we shall simply have to make do with the Duchess of Suffolk."
Mary managed a wan smile at his flattery.
"Stop it, Charles!" she chided, batting his shoulder playfully as they rounded the corner. Even as she did so, however, she was grateful for the brief moment of levity. As much as she grieved for Katherine, she needed to have something to distract her from her next duty. The duty of acting as Chief Mourner at her Queen's funeral.
The fog pressed thick and close about the funeral cortege, muffling the hoof beats. The Londoners had to strain to see the bier as it was borne past them. Nevertheless, every man, woman and child in the crowd behaved with the solemnity that befitted the occasion. None jeered or catcalled. Every man doffed his cap. Many of the women and children stretched costly lighted tapers – far more costly than they could really afford- out to the procession, or else fell to their knees, weeping openly, as it passed.
However, Queen Katherine wasn't just being mourned in the streets of London. Up in the great rooms of Greenwich Palace, her former husband was also watching the procession pass by. He hadn't intended to; hadn't wanted to put himself through the pain, but he hadn't been able to keep away. His conscience, the sense that Cata deserved to have him pay his respects, had driven him to the window.
He saw his sister ride by, her young back drawn up ramrod straight as she tried to put on a strong façade for the people. Sweet Mary. What would he have done without her in these last two weeks? Henry didn't know, but he didn't have time to consider it.
As Cata's bier reached the section of street directly beneath his window, the sun suddenly broke through the fog. The burst of golden light illuminated the body on top of the bier, accentuating the richness of her scarlet robes-of-state, sparking off the jewel-encrusted rings, brooches and necklaces draped over the figure's slender fingers, full breasts and graceful neck. It caught her flaming auburn hair and made it flame up, bright as the fires she had loved to sit beside.
What impressed Henry most, though, was the way the light caught the golden circlet mounted on her brow. It made it gleam, encircled Cata in a ring of golden light. It was almost as though God had already made her an angel.
"Take her then. Take her and take care of her. For she of all people deserves to be with you. She was the sweetest, most caring, most beautiful..," Henry couldn't go on. His tears threatened to choke him and all he could do was emit a strangled gasp that sounded something like, "Cata! Cata!"
He sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Why, Lord, why? Why her? Why him? Why them? Don't I deserve them? Don't I deserve a son? A Queen and a son? Why did you take them from me? Why?"
The tears started flowing and this time he didn't hold them back. Instead, he let himself howl for his Queen, howl out the pain that had lodged itself so deeply within his broken heart.
"No! No! No sleep! No!"
Lady Salisbury heard her young charge's screams long before the maid appeared in the doorway.
"She won't sleep?"
"No, My Lady Salisbury. The Princess is exhausted, but she's fighting it."
"Again," Lady Salisbury sighed. The maid nodded.
"If I might be so bold, Lady Salisbury?"
"Go on."
"The Princess needs her father. If we could only persuade the King to pay her a visit, things might be easier. Her Highness isn't just grieving for her mother, it seems to me. She's aching for her father too. I don't think she knows he loves her anymore."
Exhaling slowly, Lady Salisbury got to her feet.
"Your concern does you credit, Joanna. But the King is the King. We cannot presume to tell His Majesty what to do."
"But then, is there anything we can do?" Joanna's face fell, even as she saw the sense in the older woman's words. Lady Salisbury laid a gentle hand on the young woman's shoulder.
"Her Grace the Duchess of Suffolk is His Majesty's sister and, next to Queen Katherine, the woman he loves most in England. There is a chance that she may be able to exert some influence on him. Let me settle the Princess and then I will write to her."
"Yes, Lady Salisbury," Joanna curtsied and drew back to let the older woman past as she went to try to soothe the Princess.
Inside the opulent bedchamber clustered four or five young women, all desperately trying to calm the screaming toddler who lay in their midst.
"No sleep! No! Want Papa! He no make me sleep! Papa! Papa!"
"Leave us, Ladies," Lady Salisbury's voice rang out hard over the Princess's screams. Looking relieved, the bevy dropped the requisite curtsies, murmured, "Your Highness. Lady Salisbury," and disappeared through the open door. Lady Salisbury sat down on the end of the bed and drew the sobbing child on to her lap.
"Come, Your Highness, what's all this noise, hmm? Princesses aren't supposed to behave like this, are they?"
"I no want sleep, 'Bury," Exhausted by her fit of temper and reassured by the warmth of her governess's lap, Mary appeared reasonably calm, but Lady Salisbury knew it wouldn't last. They'd been over this ground too many times in recent weeks for her to be taken in by this lull in the storm.
"I know, Your Highness, but you have to sleep. Otherwise you won't be able to enjoy tomorrow."
"But I no want sleep! Want Papa," Mary cried, "Want Papa!"
"Papa's not here, Princess. I'm trying to get him to come and visit you, but he hasn't come yet. He'll come soon, though. I promise. And he'll come all the sooner if you're a good girl and get some sleep. Hush now. Hush."
"No. Papa! Papa!"
"You can't have Papa. You've got to sleep."
All of a sudden, the little girl broke in the face of her governess's implacable reasoning.
"I no want sleep! I scared, 'Bury!"
"Your Highness, there's nothing to be scared of. Sleeping's lovely and we all need it. I do too, you know."
"Is! What if I no wake? Mama no wake, what if I no wake?"
The innocent question sent a knife through Lady Salisbury's heart. "Oh Your Highness!"
"Mama no wake. What if I no wake?" Mary repeated. Lady Salisbury pulled the child even closer.
"You will," she promised, "You will. Mama's an angel now. She'll watch over you and make sure you do. And I'll wake you myself. Go to sleep now and I'll wake you in the morning."
"Promise?" Mary's candid eyes were begging.
"On England, Harry and St George," Lady Salisbury kissed her charge's brow and tucked the warm swans-down covers around her. She rose to leave, but Mary clung to her.
"Stay. Hold," she demanded.
And Lady Salisbury couldn't resist. Even though it went against all her principles of child-rearing, she lay down upon Mary's luxurious four-poster bed, fully clothed, and drew the little girl into her arms. They stayed like that until Mary had fallen asleep.
Once she had, Lady Salisbury kissed her one last time, then slowly rose and untangled herself. Going to her own room, she fetched parchment, quill and ink and began to write a letter to the Duchess of Suffolk.
"Your Grace,
Firstly, let me extend the deepest condolences from all of us here at Beaulieu over the loss of Queen Katherine.
I realise that now, with Her Majesty scarcely cold and indeed not yet buried, is perhaps not the most fitting time to ask this, but I don't know who else to turn to.
The fact of the matter is, Her Highness Princess Mary is suffering greatly from the loss of her mother. She is either incredibly meek and quiet or else impossibly wild. While I am sure that these violent mood swings are largely caused by grief, I feel that the fact that His Majesty hasn't visited her here at Beaulieu has only exacerbated the matter.
Please, Your Grace, I beg of you, if you can, use your influence with His Majesty and try to persuade him to visit the Princess here. I feel sure that a visit from the King would help Her Highness settle into her new home.
A thousand thank yous and, once again, I offer my deepest condolences over the loss of Queen Katherine.
I remain, Madam,
Your devoted Servant,
Lady Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury."
When she had finished, Lady Salisbury let the letter dry, then lit a candle and sealed it with dripping wax. Calling a page, she handed him the letter.
"For the Duchess of Suffolk. She'll be somewhere on route to Worcester, so leave as soon as it's light."
The lad nodded, bowed and was gone. Lady Salisbury watched him go and then turned to her embroidery, always keeping an ear open for the muffled cries that heralded Princess Mary's awakening from a nightmare.