“Your luck was not running well last night. You lost your slippers and stockings. Both of your sleeves and your bodice. We sang bawdy songs, and drank a great deal. And then you lost your skirts as well.”
“I was only in my chemise?” Philippa looked horrified. “Oh, Jesu!”
“That was not the worst of it,” Bessie continued cheerfully. “The king came up to the roof of the Canted Tower with the duke of Suffolk to explore the heavens. He caught us. You sang him the same bawdy song with which you had earlier entertained us. He had me clothe you properly, and then before we might take our leave you collapsed, and fell asleep on his boots, snoring.”
“Ohh, sweet Mother Mary,” Philippa moaned. “I am ruined!” Her complexion looked almost pale green. “What happened next?” she asked nervously.
“The king had you carried downstairs to the Maidens’ Chamber. He told Roger and the others they were to go home and not come back until Christmas. He wants to see you after the mass in his privy chamber. I am to escort you there.”
“I am going to be sick,” Philippa said suddenly.
Bessie grabbed an empty chamber pot and, giving it to the younger girl, turned away as the sound of Philippa’s retching was heard. When it seemed as if all was well again she turned about. “We’re going to be late for the mass,” she said. “Rinse your mouth with rose water, and let us go. But whatever you do don’t drink any water right now. It will only make you vomit again. I’ll get you some wine later.”
“I will never drink wine again!” Philippa declared.
Bessie laughed. “Trust me. A bit of the hair of the dog who bit you will solve all of your problems. Well, perhaps not your headache.”
“I am going to die,” Philippa repeated. Then she rinsed her mouth, but she could not rid herself of the sour taste.
They hurried to the Chapel Royal, reaching it just as the queen was entering. Katherine turned, and looked at Philippa. Then turning away, shaking her head, she walked to her place. She knows, Philippa thought. Three years without a misstep, and now I have disgraced myself well and good. And all over a man who decided that he would prefer to be a priest rather than my husband. What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I don’t want to live at Friarsgate for the rest of my days. I want to stay here at court. What am I to do if I am sent away? I’ll never see Ceci again. Oh, damn! And all over Giles! I am a fool! A great and featherheaded booby. Oh, Lord! I think I’m going to be sick again, but I can’t. I just can’t! She swallowed back the bile in her throat, praying she might keep it down, and not embarrass herself further.
The mass was finally over and, escorted by Bessie Blount, Philippa made her way to the king’s privy chamber. The two girls stood waiting in the antechamber among petitioners and secretaries and foreign merchants seeking an audience with the king. Finally a page in the king’s livery came to fetch them.
“The king says that you may go, Mistress Blount,” he told Bessie, bowing politely to her. “Mistress Meredith is to follow me.”
“Good luck!” Bessie said, giving Philippa’s cold hand a quick squeeze, and then she hurried off to find her breakfast.
“This way, mistress,” the page said, leading her to a small door. He knocked upon it, and then flung the door open to usher her inside. Then he closed the door behind her.
“Come, my child,” she heard the queen’s voice say.
“Yes, come forward, Mistress Meredith, and explain to me your behavior of last night,” the king said sternly.
The royal couple were seated side by side behind an oak table before her. Philippa curtseyed, but she thought her head would fall off when she did. She swallowed hard, attempting to find her voice, and finally said, “There is no excuse for my wretched behavior, your majesty. But in my defense I can say I have never before acted in such a terrible manner, and I can
“I was only in my chemise?” Philippa looked horrified. “Oh, Jesu!”
“That was not the worst of it,” Bessie continued cheerfully. “The king came up to the roof of the Canted Tower with the duke of Suffolk to explore the heavens. He caught us. You sang him the same bawdy song with which you had earlier entertained us. He had me clothe you properly, and then before we might take our leave you collapsed, and fell asleep on his boots, snoring.”
“Ohh, sweet Mother Mary,” Philippa moaned. “I am ruined!” Her complexion looked almost pale green. “What happened next?” she asked nervously.
“The king had you carried downstairs to the Maidens’ Chamber. He told Roger and the others they were to go home and not come back until Christmas. He wants to see you after the mass in his privy chamber. I am to escort you there.”
“I am going to be sick,” Philippa said suddenly.
Bessie grabbed an empty chamber pot and, giving it to the younger girl, turned away as the sound of Philippa’s retching was heard. When it seemed as if all was well again she turned about. “We’re going to be late for the mass,” she said. “Rinse your mouth with rose water, and let us go. But whatever you do don’t drink any water right now. It will only make you vomit again. I’ll get you some wine later.”
“I will never drink wine again!” Philippa declared.
Bessie laughed. “Trust me. A bit of the hair of the dog who bit you will solve all of your problems. Well, perhaps not your headache.”
“I am going to die,” Philippa repeated. Then she rinsed her mouth, but she could not rid herself of the sour taste.
They hurried to the Chapel Royal, reaching it just as the queen was entering. Katherine turned, and looked at Philippa. Then turning away, shaking her head, she walked to her place. She knows, Philippa thought. Three years without a misstep, and now I have disgraced myself well and good. And all over a man who decided that he would prefer to be a priest rather than my husband. What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I don’t want to live at Friarsgate for the rest of my days. I want to stay here at court. What am I to do if I am sent away? I’ll never see Ceci again. Oh, damn! And all over Giles! I am a fool! A great and featherheaded booby. Oh, Lord! I think I’m going to be sick again, but I can’t. I just can’t! She swallowed back the bile in her throat, praying she might keep it down, and not embarrass herself further.
The mass was finally over and, escorted by Bessie Blount, Philippa made her way to the king’s privy chamber. The two girls stood waiting in the antechamber among petitioners and secretaries and foreign merchants seeking an audience with the king. Finally a page in the king’s livery came to fetch them.
“The king says that you may go, Mistress Blount,” he told Bessie, bowing politely to her. “Mistress Meredith is to follow me.”
“Good luck!” Bessie said, giving Philippa’s cold hand a quick squeeze, and then she hurried off to find her breakfast.
“This way, mistress,” the page said, leading her to a small door. He knocked upon it, and then flung the door open to usher her inside. Then he closed the door behind her.
“Come, my child,” she heard the queen’s voice say.
“Yes, come forward, Mistress Meredith, and explain to me your behavior of last night,” the king said sternly.
The royal couple were seated side by side behind an oak table before her. Philippa curtseyed, but she thought her head would fall off when she did. She swallowed hard, attempting to find her voice, and finally said, “There is no excuse for my wretched behavior, your majesty. But in my defense I can say I have never before acted in such a terrible manner, and I can
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