Read Online Rivals in the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan - Free Book Online

son Thomas gave me when he was five.
    A miniature of the third Duke of Norfolk.
    He had given it to me years ago; indeed, I think he passed them out to half the kingdom in case anyone should be overcome with the urge to admire him.
    I stare at it now. How grave and proud he looks, holding his staffs of office in those elegant hands! His face is an impervious mask; it is a perfect rendering.
    I must stop crying. Where have tears ever gotten me?
    I clutch the miniature to my heart a long moment before casting it across the room. Good God, would Thomas be seen crying over a portrait of me?
    He may never have cried for me, but there was a time . . . oh, yes, there was a time. . . .

A Little Maid
    I am installed as one of Catherine of Aragon’s ladies-in-waiting in the spring of 1509 at the great age of twelve, when the golden and glorious King Henry VIII ascends the throne of England. She is so beautiful, this unique Spanish woman with her charming accent and her silky auburn hair. She is pious and kind; her gracious sweetness warms me like the sun and I adore her.
    She was first married to Prince Arthur. How we pitied her when he died, leaving her to live in a wretched castle with a meager household and dwindling funds for six years while surly King Henry VII tried to figure out what to do with her. Once he even pondered marrying her himself after the death of his wife, the gentle Queen Elizabeth, but then decided against it in favor of a union with his son. He could never bring himself to carry it out, however. I think he enjoyed holding the King of Spain’s daughter hostage just as much as King Ferdinand liked dickering over the dowry agreement. It was a frustrating situation.
    But Henry VIII set it right. He swept in, like a great glorious knight of old, and married the radiant princess. England could not be blessed with a nobler nor gentler queen.
    They have a joint coronation ceremony and I am able to attend everything: the jousts, the parties, the fine banquets, everything. I stay up late and gossip with the other girls in the maidens’ chambers and we are beside ourselves with excitement. It is far better than home, where there was nothing to do and no one visited save old boring people who discussed the tedious things that old people relish, like their failing health and war and death. Oh, what a dreadful place!
    But here! Oh, it is grand! At the joust celebrating the coronation, we pick our favorite champions; some of the girls give tokens, but the queen says I am too young so must settle on waving instead.
    Many girls give their tokens to Charles Brandon, the king’s dearest friend, and the handsome Howard brothers, Edward and Edmund. As fetching as they are, my eyes are drawn to the oldest Howard, Thomas, uncle of the king through his wife, Anne of York. He is a compact man but rippling with lean muscle, and something about him makes me shudder with a mingling of fear and peculiar delight. His dark face is set with determination and he does not offer the easy smiles his brothers do. Curling hair black as pitch reaches his jawline and his long-lashed obsidian eyes seem distracted, as though not really as caught up in the spirit of the events as the rest of us are.
    I watch fair Lady Anne tuck her token in Lord Howard’s armor. He kisses her cheek and she flushes furiously.
    â€œThose poor souls,” whispers the queen’s maid of honor, Maria de Salinas, a woman so devoted to the queen that she opted to stay and suffer with her through her years of deprivation rather than return to the land of sunshine and oranges.
    I arch a brow. “What happened?” I ask, eager for any court gossip.
    â€œYou don’t know? They had a houseful of children, three boys and a precious little niña . Lost them all.”
    â€œOh, how dreadful,” I breathe. This is not the variety of court gossip I enjoy. “Do you expect they’ll have more children?”
    â€œWould you?”
    I