Catherine’s household; although I think it unlikely she will be allowed to stay with her son.
Dressed in the king’s royal livery I watch as the guests arrive, the cream of England’s nobility, chattering like magpies and greeting each other with over-loud exclamations. The lords wear brightly coloured sashes and swords glittering with gold and silver ornament. The ladies have furs and fashionable headdresses with exotic feathers and necklaces of rubies and diamonds. I think each guest wears jewels worth more than I will earn in a year.
The banquet is one of the grandest I have seen and has taken weeks of preparation. The old kitchens at Hertford are stretched to the limit, as the banquet demands vast quantities of food and drink, more than enough to feed a small army. The cost of candles, tapers and table linen has severely stretched the household budget.
I strain to hear over the noise as the names of newly arriving guests are announced by the doorman. I am beginning to make my way through the throng of nobles when I hear the latest arrivals are Duke Humphrey and Duchess Eleanor of Gloucester. The duke has been busy, divorcing his first wife, Countess Jacqueline. He has now married his former mistress, and the beautiful new duchess is already the centre of attention.
Slim, attractive and at least ten years younger than the duke, Duchess Eleanor wears a crimson silk dress with long sleeves. I smile as I see her basking in the attention and am surprised when she notices and smiles back at me, an unexpected connection, when to everyone else I seem to be invisible.
Edmund Beaufort arrives late, together with his purple-robed uncle, Bishop Henry Beaufort. Edmund is tall and his handsome, clean-shaven face makes him seem younger than his twenty-two years. Fashionably dressed in black velvet, he has an ostrich feather in his hat and wears an impressive dress-sword at his belt. In no time at all he is surrounded by ladies and begins flattering them in his cultured voice.
The Duke of Gloucester has also noted the new arrivals. His smile looks as if it takes real effort and his dark eyes are glowering. It seems the bishop is the more skilled of the two at concealing his true feelings. He loudly congratulates the duke on his recent marriage, without a trace of irony, at the same time managing to communicate his disapproval to everyone within earshot.
Their sparring is interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets to announce the arrival of the king and his mother, the queen dowager. Young Harry is dressed in yet another extravagant outfit, this time with a perfectly fitting gold coronet which flashes with rubies and diamonds. In his right hand the young king carries his sceptre while he clings to the arm of Queen Catherine with his left.
The queen glides through the guests like an elegant swan in shimmering white silk and lace, with a necklace of diamonds which catch the light as she moves. She seems happy for the first time in ages and younger than her twenty-eight years. In keeping with tradition, Queen Catherine leads the little king to the top table. Each of the guests file into their appointed place, while the queen’s minstrels play tunefully from the high gallery.
‘What do you think?’
I turn to see Juliette has found her way to my side, a fashionable lace headdress in place of the headscarf she always wears. She is attractive in a well-fitting blue dress I have never seen before. Apart from her lack of jewellery, I realise Juliette could pass for one of the noble ladies.
‘You look... beautiful, Juliette.’
‘Thank you, Master Tudor.’ Juliette scans the guests, who have fallen silent and are sitting with bowed heads as Bishop Beaufort, stands and begins a ponderous Latin grace. After the bishop finishes she lowers her voice so only I can hear.
‘Which one is Edmund Beaufort?’
‘He is to the right of the bishop.’ I have watched Edmund Beaufort since he arrived, and see that after Henry Beaufort introduces
Dressed in the king’s royal livery I watch as the guests arrive, the cream of England’s nobility, chattering like magpies and greeting each other with over-loud exclamations. The lords wear brightly coloured sashes and swords glittering with gold and silver ornament. The ladies have furs and fashionable headdresses with exotic feathers and necklaces of rubies and diamonds. I think each guest wears jewels worth more than I will earn in a year.
The banquet is one of the grandest I have seen and has taken weeks of preparation. The old kitchens at Hertford are stretched to the limit, as the banquet demands vast quantities of food and drink, more than enough to feed a small army. The cost of candles, tapers and table linen has severely stretched the household budget.
I strain to hear over the noise as the names of newly arriving guests are announced by the doorman. I am beginning to make my way through the throng of nobles when I hear the latest arrivals are Duke Humphrey and Duchess Eleanor of Gloucester. The duke has been busy, divorcing his first wife, Countess Jacqueline. He has now married his former mistress, and the beautiful new duchess is already the centre of attention.
Slim, attractive and at least ten years younger than the duke, Duchess Eleanor wears a crimson silk dress with long sleeves. I smile as I see her basking in the attention and am surprised when she notices and smiles back at me, an unexpected connection, when to everyone else I seem to be invisible.
Edmund Beaufort arrives late, together with his purple-robed uncle, Bishop Henry Beaufort. Edmund is tall and his handsome, clean-shaven face makes him seem younger than his twenty-two years. Fashionably dressed in black velvet, he has an ostrich feather in his hat and wears an impressive dress-sword at his belt. In no time at all he is surrounded by ladies and begins flattering them in his cultured voice.
The Duke of Gloucester has also noted the new arrivals. His smile looks as if it takes real effort and his dark eyes are glowering. It seems the bishop is the more skilled of the two at concealing his true feelings. He loudly congratulates the duke on his recent marriage, without a trace of irony, at the same time managing to communicate his disapproval to everyone within earshot.
Their sparring is interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets to announce the arrival of the king and his mother, the queen dowager. Young Harry is dressed in yet another extravagant outfit, this time with a perfectly fitting gold coronet which flashes with rubies and diamonds. In his right hand the young king carries his sceptre while he clings to the arm of Queen Catherine with his left.
The queen glides through the guests like an elegant swan in shimmering white silk and lace, with a necklace of diamonds which catch the light as she moves. She seems happy for the first time in ages and younger than her twenty-eight years. In keeping with tradition, Queen Catherine leads the little king to the top table. Each of the guests file into their appointed place, while the queen’s minstrels play tunefully from the high gallery.
‘What do you think?’
I turn to see Juliette has found her way to my side, a fashionable lace headdress in place of the headscarf she always wears. She is attractive in a well-fitting blue dress I have never seen before. Apart from her lack of jewellery, I realise Juliette could pass for one of the noble ladies.
‘You look... beautiful, Juliette.’
‘Thank you, Master Tudor.’ Juliette scans the guests, who have fallen silent and are sitting with bowed heads as Bishop Beaufort, stands and begins a ponderous Latin grace. After the bishop finishes she lowers her voice so only I can hear.
‘Which one is Edmund Beaufort?’
‘He is to the right of the bishop.’ I have watched Edmund Beaufort since he arrived, and see that after Henry Beaufort introduces
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