climb, stopping now and again to giggle as the wine began to take its effect upon the two young women. The roof of the tower gave a fine view of the river and the countryside to the southwest of London. The roof was filled with azure and gold weather vanes adorned with the king’s arms. The men knelt, and began to dice. Soon both Bessie and Philippa joined them. The wine jug was passed around.
“I have no more money,” Philippa complained after a time. The dice had not been favorable to her this evening.
“Then let us bet with items of our clothing,” Henry Standish suggested, mischievously grinning.
“I’ll bet a slipper,” Philippa said, taking off her left shoe and tossing it into the center of their playing field. But soon she had lost her shoes, her stockings, and two sleeves. “Unlace my bodice for me, Bessie! My luck must turn soon,” she said. Bessie did not hesitate, and the bodice was shortly lost as well. Philippa began to struggle with the tapes holding her skirt up, but she was drunk now; and her fingers were clumsy.
Just as tipsy but a little more experienced, Bessie decided it might be wise to stop the younger girl from her rash action. The three young men were laughing uproariously. They, too, were half-undressed at this point. Only Elizabeth Blount seemed to be blessed with good fortune this evening. She had lost but two slippers.
Philippa began to sing a bawdy song she had heard in the stables one day, and her gentlemen companions joined in.
The cowherd cuddled the milkmaid. He cuddled her in the hay.
He kissed her in the hedgerows, for that is where they lay.
And then he swived her merrily, for it was the month of May!
With a hey nonny nonny, and a hey, hey, hey!
They collapsed laughing in a heap, delighted with their own drunken humor. Even Bessie was laughing, her hair undone and about her face.
“Hush, hush,” she said to them. “We shall be found out!”
“By whom?” Philippa demanded to know. “Everyone who might be fun except us has gone home to their own estates.”
“And why have you not gone home, my pretty maid?” Lord Robert Parker leered at her, his eyes going to her chemise, which was now open and revealing her breasts.
“To Cumbria? With naught but the company of sheep?” Philippa responded. “Even being closeted with the queen at Woodstock is better than that.”
“Cum-cum-Cumbria,” Lord Robert singsonged. “Poor Mistress Philippa! Who wants a lass with a Cumbrian estate and flocks of sheep?”
“Let’s have another drink!” Roger Mildmay said, taking a swig from the jug, and passing it around to his companions.
“I ... hic ... hate Cumbria!” Philippa declared. “Let’s dice, and see who will win my skirts. Or perhaps I can win back my bodice from you, Hal Standish.” She threw the bones, and then sighed, disappointed. “Well, have my skirt then. What is a bodice without its skirt?” She stood, and struggled with the garment’s tapes again. The skirt fell about her ankles.
“What the hell is going on up here?” a familiar voice roared, and the king stepped out onto the roof with Charles Brandon. His outraged glance swept the quintet of young courtiers. “Mildmay! Standish! Parker! Explain yourselves immediately.”
“We’re dicing, your majesty,” Philippa said tipsily. “And I can’t seem to win back my clothing. Luck is against me tonight, I fear. Hic!” And then she giggled.
Charles Brandon swallowed back his laughter. The girl was obviously drunk as a lord. “Hardly the proper young lady her mama was, eh, Hal?” he murmured low.
The king scowled. “Mistress Blount. You will help your companion back on with her garments, and then see that she goes to bed. And you will bring her to my privy chamber tomorrow morning after the mass. Is that understood?”
Elizabeth Blount was pale, and suddenly very sober. “Yes, your majesty,” she whispered low. She began gathering up Philippa’s discarded clothing and aiding her to
“I have no more money,” Philippa complained after a time. The dice had not been favorable to her this evening.
“Then let us bet with items of our clothing,” Henry Standish suggested, mischievously grinning.
“I’ll bet a slipper,” Philippa said, taking off her left shoe and tossing it into the center of their playing field. But soon she had lost her shoes, her stockings, and two sleeves. “Unlace my bodice for me, Bessie! My luck must turn soon,” she said. Bessie did not hesitate, and the bodice was shortly lost as well. Philippa began to struggle with the tapes holding her skirt up, but she was drunk now; and her fingers were clumsy.
Just as tipsy but a little more experienced, Bessie decided it might be wise to stop the younger girl from her rash action. The three young men were laughing uproariously. They, too, were half-undressed at this point. Only Elizabeth Blount seemed to be blessed with good fortune this evening. She had lost but two slippers.
Philippa began to sing a bawdy song she had heard in the stables one day, and her gentlemen companions joined in.
The cowherd cuddled the milkmaid. He cuddled her in the hay.
He kissed her in the hedgerows, for that is where they lay.
And then he swived her merrily, for it was the month of May!
With a hey nonny nonny, and a hey, hey, hey!
They collapsed laughing in a heap, delighted with their own drunken humor. Even Bessie was laughing, her hair undone and about her face.
“Hush, hush,” she said to them. “We shall be found out!”
“By whom?” Philippa demanded to know. “Everyone who might be fun except us has gone home to their own estates.”
“And why have you not gone home, my pretty maid?” Lord Robert Parker leered at her, his eyes going to her chemise, which was now open and revealing her breasts.
“To Cumbria? With naught but the company of sheep?” Philippa responded. “Even being closeted with the queen at Woodstock is better than that.”
“Cum-cum-Cumbria,” Lord Robert singsonged. “Poor Mistress Philippa! Who wants a lass with a Cumbrian estate and flocks of sheep?”
“Let’s have another drink!” Roger Mildmay said, taking a swig from the jug, and passing it around to his companions.
“I ... hic ... hate Cumbria!” Philippa declared. “Let’s dice, and see who will win my skirts. Or perhaps I can win back my bodice from you, Hal Standish.” She threw the bones, and then sighed, disappointed. “Well, have my skirt then. What is a bodice without its skirt?” She stood, and struggled with the garment’s tapes again. The skirt fell about her ankles.
“What the hell is going on up here?” a familiar voice roared, and the king stepped out onto the roof with Charles Brandon. His outraged glance swept the quintet of young courtiers. “Mildmay! Standish! Parker! Explain yourselves immediately.”
“We’re dicing, your majesty,” Philippa said tipsily. “And I can’t seem to win back my clothing. Luck is against me tonight, I fear. Hic!” And then she giggled.
Charles Brandon swallowed back his laughter. The girl was obviously drunk as a lord. “Hardly the proper young lady her mama was, eh, Hal?” he murmured low.
The king scowled. “Mistress Blount. You will help your companion back on with her garments, and then see that she goes to bed. And you will bring her to my privy chamber tomorrow morning after the mass. Is that understood?”
Elizabeth Blount was pale, and suddenly very sober. “Yes, your majesty,” she whispered low. She began gathering up Philippa’s discarded clothing and aiding her to
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