KINGS AND PAWNS
Chapter X
December 12th, 1555
GREENWICH PALACE, ENGLAND
As the day wore on, Margaret realized just how lazy Elizabeth's little retinue of ladies had become. She was tired as she reached for yet another red silk bow to hang over the railing above the great stairs. It was quite a difference than sipping wine, eating sweet meats, gossiping and doing needle point. But Mary said that was all apart of life for noble ladies as the winter months set in. Margaret didn't mind it. It sure beat digging animals from the barn, from beneath six feet of snow.
Her mind often wandered back to Croxden these days. The holidays in her sister's village had been nothing compared to this. The most privileged men and women in all of England were here to celebrate the season. Margaret had officially had her last country Christmas, of that she was sure. The great hall was busy as servants and workers prepped the palace for the celebrations. The twelve nights of Christmas began the next night and there was much to be done.
"Madge!" Eleanor called up "Come down here. Jane is useless!"
Margaret turned to Catherine who sniggered and nodded towards them. Mistress Ashley and Mistress Knollys nodded their approval and Madge headed down. Without Elizabeth there, the two women were their chaperones. As she neared the end of the stairs she noticed Jane was sulking in the corner.
"Oh you do mope so, you layabout!" Eleanor said roughly, her hands full of little evergreen boughs "There is work to be done aplenty. Elizabeth would see you lashed for this!"
That wasn't true. Elizabeth understood her younger cousin's melancholy. But this was the plight of women of high birth. She WOULD marry Guildford in a few days and there was nothing she could do. Margaret sat next to her.
"Come. You know you cannot pout. You can no surer run from this than you can from your own future dearest Jane."
Jane looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.
"My life is over." the frail, pale thing said "I will loose all I am, and I will be some man's property."
Madge held out a hand and Jane took it.
"You will still be Jane." she whispered "He cannot take all you are, and even if he tries, he can't contain you for long."
The words were encouraging, but both girls knew that wasn't true. Jane was going to be expected to be merry in bed and board for her new husband, and she would legally be his property. But Madge refused to let her fall into this state.
"Now come, and decorate the hall or I'll have them bleed all that hateful bile from you. It's the Yuletide, after all!"
And she did. There were times when Jane could almost make herself forget her future. And when she did remember she kept thanking god that Guildford and his Father were staunch Protestants and so she would never have to worry about the safety of her immortal soul.
"You soothed the unfortunate girl's nerves?" Catherine said as she came down, surveying their work "Our little Madge. The miracle worker."
"Don't blaspheme Cat." she said with a grin " Now, are you as hungry as I-"
"Margaret?" Eleanor walked up behind them, pointing "Is that not your brother? The good Sir Henry?"
Madge looked up and she did indeed spot her brother walking towards them. Mistress Ashley was walking down the stairs to fetch the girls and she motioned at them as he neared. Catherine sighed.
"Of course. No dalliance for me. I'm foresworn now. It's a shameful waste."
She winked and followed Jane and Eleanor up the stairs. As Henry neared, he smiled and reached out for her hand. Madge took it, and he covered it with both of his. He looked sad as his eyes took in her face. They had grown apart since her arrival at court and he missed the child she had been. She had looked at him with trust and love, like a Father. Now she looked as if she did not know him.
"Sister." he said, his voice lowered. Margaret felt her eyes water slightly and she took a deep breath, collecting herself.
"Henry. It has...I have..."
She stumbled, he squeezed her hand.
"Mary has told me to send you her love and tell you how much she misses you. When the babe is born, she wants you to be there."
Margaret was so thankful to her sister-in-law. All the tension faded and she smiled broadly. She was in her seventh month now and would be in her eighth in only two more weeks. The babe would be born in late January or early February.
"Oh how is she Henry?" she asked "I miss her dearly. Elizabeth asks of her nearly every day."
He smiled and brushed a strand of hair back from her face.
"She is well. She and the babe are healthy and the Midwife says she will have an easy birth." he paused "But what of you sister? How have you fared?"
Since their last meeting she had managed to become infatuated with a stable boy and come no closer to finding a way out of marrying the King. But of course, she would never let Henry know that. She let out a short breath.
"I have spent a lot of time in prayer."
He nodded, but still looked concerned. Madge's eyes narrowed.
"What troubles you Brother?"
Henry let go of her hand and paced in front of her, looking anxious. He stopped and pulled her aside, into an alcove.
"There are rumors Margaret."
She gasped. How? Not a soul had seen her with Paul and even Catherine didn't know her secret passion for him. He couldn't have told anyone! She prayed he hadn't.
"Henry they are but stories-"
"It matters not." he said stiffly "Because they endanger your life. You know that the King is against Rome and anything to do with the Catholics. With you being as close as you are to him now, how could you think...?"
"Catholics?"
He stopped.
"Yes Catholics. The whole court is abuzz at your weekly visits to Mary's rooms and how close you have become. She is disgraced Margaret! She live she under her brother's mercy but also under his watchful eye. It is dangerous to flirt with heresy, Madame."
Henry was angry, she could tell. She wondered if her mother had ever shown him the beautiful statues and golden plate and tapestries she had saved from a Monastery when King Henry had their razed. She wondered if she had ever brought him to the Chapel for a secret Mass. If she had, Henry had not been as effected as Margaret. She stepped back.
"Only a few decades ago, Protestants were called Heretics and the Church of England damned to hell."
He grabbed her, roughly, and pushed her into the dark.
"Do you want to live? Do you want Dudley to show your head on a spike on the city walls? Stop this madness. You are no Papist!"
"The Lady Mary is a good and honest woman. She has been very kind to me."
"She is in disgrace!"
"She is the King's sister."
"He has all but banished her! He's to have her betrothed to Sir Francis Russell."
Margaret froze. The very idea of the match would be unbearable to Mary. Russell was an outspoken Reformer and believed wholly in Edward's Church of England. He had risen to power under Dudley, who had assured his rise to Earl of Bedford five years earlier. Not only would she consider it a sin to marry a heretic, but his rank insulted her status as daughter of a King. It was a clear message.
"But the Lady Mary is my friend."
"Elizabeth is your friend. That is enough. Remember you are no longer just a girl, free in the country to bandy about as you please."
"No, I'm not." she said with a grimace "I am motherless, I am a pawn and I am without the Henry who would have kept me safe from anything."
She pulled away from his grasp.
"I will not forsake Mary. If he would kill me for being her friend, he would kill me for something else."
She dusted off her dress and turned to him right before she left.
"If you would like, I could call you Uncle Thomas as I will play the part of his niece Anne." Henry looked at the ground, in shame "They say he was in the audience when that French swordsman took her head."
As she turned to leave him she felt a pain grip her stomach. Her words were much more frightening than she could have imagined. Margaret knew that her life was to change forever. She only hoped, in this game of power and desire, that she could escape with her head.
The cold air brought no comfort as Paul tried to steady the horse he'd been working on all afternoon. The beast was breathing heavily, and was obviously not ready to cooperate.
"Come lad." he said with a smile "If you kick me, I'll only get right back up."
The stallion huffed, as if accepting his challenge, but slowly came back to his senses. He looked over at the hay bale, his body finally relaxing. Paul laughed and stooped again, to finish the shoe. When he was done he lead the horse back to his stall and slowly shut the gate. This was the King's stallion, a great war horse named Hal. After his father.
Paul rubbed his hands together, in an attempt to warm them, and walked through the stables and into the castle. Soon he was near the kitchens, watching as all of the palaces staff as they went about their business. It was nearing the beginning of Advent, and there was always much to be done. Food to be cooked, rooms to be decorated, Nobility to be tended to.
It always amazed him how many it took, to serve so few. He smiled and shook his head, ducking into the kitchens with a lithe step. He ducked beneath a table and reached one hand up, deftly grabbing a piece of bread before turning and leaving. No one had even seen him.
He laughed to himself as he ate a few bites of the fresh bread and stuffed the rest in his shirt. He would give some to Stephan tonight, before the boy went to sleep. Paul remembered being that small, and being hungry. It wasn't fault. Stephan didn't deserve it. And the meager rations his Father was given since he'd been injured didn't feed the family. William had once been a horse breeder. He'd been hired by King Henry to help him buy the best animals. The family had done well, but a few years ago Paul's father had fallen from a horse he'd been attempting to break. He had broken many bones, and had been unable to ride or work without pain since then.
Now, Paul was apprenticing, trying to support his family. But he hated his Father's business. He longed to breathe life into words, as the poets and writers in London did. Since King Henry had opened up England to the wonders of the Reformation, men like him could think more freely, and could teach their fellow Englishmen the letters, that so few truly knew.
Paul sighed as he neared his door. His Father said he was a dreamer, and it would be his biggest downfall. How could he not see that his son was destined for more than toiling for the aristocracy. Margaret had seen it. She had seen something in him, and it had made her forget everything she had learned in her days as the star of King Edward's court.
Stepping in their home, Paul was smiling and his Father recognized the look. Stephan was in the corner with his Psalter and a few wooden toys. His mother was stirring a pot over the fire. The large bed they all shared was made neatly. She had laundered them today.
"Good evening Mother, Father." he leaned down, stroking Stephan's hair "And Sir Stephan."
His brother smiled up at him and pointed to his book. The words, in English rather than Latin as a Catholic psalter would have been, were that of the Bible. Now, every Englishmen could read them. Even little Stephan Bingham.
"Paul we finished our meal nearly twenty minutes past. Where have you been? You're filthy."
Anne Bingham had her hands on her hips. William simply sat at a stool beside the hearth, gazing into the fire. Paul leaned down, kissing his mother's cheek.
"I had to shoe Hal's foot. Edward is to hunt tomorrow and he asked me to-"
"The King?" Anne said, her eyes lighting up "Oh William, it is as if they were boys again. Remember-"
"Anne. Quiet."
William's voice was cold. He didn't like talk of the past, of the family's former glories. The old King was dead, he had failed his family and they were on the brink of ruin. He realized now, more than ever, that he had to save his family. And it began with his eldest son.
"Boy, I have sat by and watched you grow." he said, leaning forward, still looking in the fire "You have made me proud, but you have hurt me. I have seen you, dallying about with servant girls, gambling, sneaking about. You are brash and proud and care not for the practicalities that a man should."
His mother sat, trying to look as if she was busy with mending, and not their talk.
"Father, why do you cut me down?" Paul asked, clenching his fists "It is always the same. I am never a goodly son in your eyes. I will never-"
"No." William shook his head, standing "You will not make me the guilty party Paul. I am your Father and I am to guide you. You may have found pleasure in these women, but she is no servant!"
Paul froze. He realized something was in his Father's grasp.
"This came for you. A pageboy brought it, dressed in livery. They were the colors of Sir Henry Sidney."
Anne Bingham looked up, suddenly interested. She was no Lady or Countess, but she had heard of the Sidney's rise to power under the banner of Henry's youngest sister Margaret. They said the King was going to make her his bride.
"What would a Sidney messenger be doing here?" she asked, William turned to her.
"Mayhap you would ask that question of your boy."
She looked up, concerned.
"Paul what is all this? Speak up boy, who is sending to you."
"I do not know."
He was looking at the floor and his face was hot. He didn't want to fight with his parents about Madge. It would bring his happiness to an abrupt halt.
"It is from his sister. The Lady Margaret. She and Paul are exchanging letters."
Anne put a hand to her heart, her eyes widened.
"Oh Paul. What have you done?"
She looked furious, as did William. He handed the letter to his son, the seal was unbroken.
"Take it. Burn it. Burn all of it. And then tell her that it is finished. All of it."
Paul went to speak, but William held up a hand.
"Do as I say. She will be your downfall boy, mark my words."
He took the letter and turned, walking right back out the door. He slammed the door and left it in his wake. What he needed was a drink and to get his mind off his parents. They were right. He had always been fast and loose with women. But this one was the rumored betrothed to his King. It was a dangerous place to be but he couldn't stop himself. Margaret was no wench to be bedded. He loved her, and wanted her to be his and only his. How she had entranced him he would never know, but he knew he could not burn her letter. Opening it, he felt the fear and worry melt away. He could almost hear her voice as he read the letter in his mind.
Sir Paul,
I cannot write long, as I have much to do before the Advent celebrations begin, but I could not bear the thought of being so far removed from you as the Yuletide is upon us. Truly, you occupy my thoughts every waking hour, and my dreams as I sleep. This page boy is trusted, I have known him since childhood and he is loyal to my family. Send a reply through him, telling me where you would have me meet you. I would give you a gift, one I made myself. I await your word, with a heavy heart until you agree to accept it. Do not forsake me, good sir, as I am a woman and prone to spells of melancholy and hysteria.
Your Faithful Liege lady,
Margaret Sidney
He laughed at the last line, a reminder of a jest they had shared at their last meeting. He held it to his lips and closed his eyes, imagining her here with him now. She had her own mind, not one ruled by ambition or greed or vanity. Margaret was just a woman to him, and one he could not bear to be without. He could not obey his father.
Walking out, past the stables and towards a local London tavern, he wished he had been born a Lord or even the son of a Knight or a rich merchant. He could have won her then, but how could he ever think to make her his? There was no way.
His Father was right. Margaret Sidney would be his downfall, and he would fall happily if only she would be his.