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Authors: Alisa M. Libby
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the torches. “We have to wait for our cue.”
I listen closely to the music emanating from the great hall—yes, there it is!—a high wooden reed plays a dazzling trill. We enter the hall in formation, and the assembled crowd sighs at the sight of us. The hall is golden and sparkling, strung with garlands of red roses, smelling of a balmy summer night.
The ladies and I begin our stately pavane, but at the rapid beat of the tabors, the marauders come out from hiding: all of the king’s grooms descend, dressed in black masks and sweeping black capes, scattering us from the dance floor. The crowd roars with laughter, shouting at the spectacle.
This is my moment: I am pursued by five grooms, all waving comically stubby wooden swords, like drunken pirates. They urge me toward the castle—constructed from lengths of red velvet and white satin draped over a wooden frame—standing at the end of the hall. I hurry up the stairs at the back and stand in the topmost tower window. The crowd turns to see me there, glittering in gold, waving an enormous white silk handkerchief as a sign of my distress.
“Save the queen!” the crowd shouts, amidst applause. “God save the queen!”
Now the king arrives—dressed in black silk and cloth of silver, looking like an armored knight—and the crowd erupts with cheering. It has been many years since the king has participated in a masque. Anything for you, my fair bride, he told me. Henry does not break a smile, ever the proud knight. He moves forward into the crowd of kidnappers and dispatches them with a few graceful thrusts of his silver sword. Once the last groom falls limp at his feet, Henry overtakes the castle itself, emerging through the red curtain with me in his arms. The crowd, including my ladies, cheer loudly enough to drown out the music.
As planned, the scene concludes with a dance. The king spins across the floor with me in his arms. I feel the tips of my toes clearing the floor as he lifts me into the air. He laughs joyously at the smile on my face.
“You’ve saved me!” I whisper in the king’s ear, breathless. “Like a true hero.”
“No, my dear,” he whispers, smiling. “You have saved me.”
THESE DAYS IN SURREY have been an endless round of hunting expeditions, archery, outdoor games, and elaborate masques to celebrate our nuptials. The king was an athlete of unparalleled skill and vigor in his youth, so I’ve heard. Though he has aged, I can now see a glimpse of that nature revealed. Henry is a new man, invigorated, and each day ends in the revelry of the night: Henry and I lying atop the massive royal bed with its dark wood and mother-of-pearl inlay.
“Are you enjoying your marriage thus far, my wife?” he asks, his face nestled close to my ear.
“Yes, of course I am, my husband.” I giggle at this, in that way that charms and amuses him. “And I can’t wait to see Hampton, and all the rest of the court.”
My marriage to the king is still a secret, even from the king’s Privy Council, though I imagine rumors have long been rampant in London. Tomorrow, after ten days of honeymooning here in Surrey, we will journey to Hampton Court, where Henry will present me to the full court as his queen.
“Ah, yes, Hampton.” Henry lets out a long sigh. “I will rather miss our summer retreat. This season is best spent in the country. It is quiet, secluded. Court is full of eyes and ears,” he murmurs ominously. The fear must be evident on my face, for he laughs aloud and wraps his arms around me.
“Do not look so frightened! I will protect you, Catherine. Do not worry.”
“I need not worry,” I tell him, my arms encircling his neck, “as long as I have you to protect me.”
“My sweet wife.” He sighs, holding me tighter.
“Henry,” I whisper in his ear. “I like saying your name, when we are alone.”
I am becoming accustomed to this: the two of us together, alone in the royal bedchamber. I feel safe now in Henry’s arms,
I listen closely to the music emanating from the great hall—yes, there it is!—a high wooden reed plays a dazzling trill. We enter the hall in formation, and the assembled crowd sighs at the sight of us. The hall is golden and sparkling, strung with garlands of red roses, smelling of a balmy summer night.
The ladies and I begin our stately pavane, but at the rapid beat of the tabors, the marauders come out from hiding: all of the king’s grooms descend, dressed in black masks and sweeping black capes, scattering us from the dance floor. The crowd roars with laughter, shouting at the spectacle.
This is my moment: I am pursued by five grooms, all waving comically stubby wooden swords, like drunken pirates. They urge me toward the castle—constructed from lengths of red velvet and white satin draped over a wooden frame—standing at the end of the hall. I hurry up the stairs at the back and stand in the topmost tower window. The crowd turns to see me there, glittering in gold, waving an enormous white silk handkerchief as a sign of my distress.
“Save the queen!” the crowd shouts, amidst applause. “God save the queen!”
Now the king arrives—dressed in black silk and cloth of silver, looking like an armored knight—and the crowd erupts with cheering. It has been many years since the king has participated in a masque. Anything for you, my fair bride, he told me. Henry does not break a smile, ever the proud knight. He moves forward into the crowd of kidnappers and dispatches them with a few graceful thrusts of his silver sword. Once the last groom falls limp at his feet, Henry overtakes the castle itself, emerging through the red curtain with me in his arms. The crowd, including my ladies, cheer loudly enough to drown out the music.
As planned, the scene concludes with a dance. The king spins across the floor with me in his arms. I feel the tips of my toes clearing the floor as he lifts me into the air. He laughs joyously at the smile on my face.
“You’ve saved me!” I whisper in the king’s ear, breathless. “Like a true hero.”
“No, my dear,” he whispers, smiling. “You have saved me.”
THESE DAYS IN SURREY have been an endless round of hunting expeditions, archery, outdoor games, and elaborate masques to celebrate our nuptials. The king was an athlete of unparalleled skill and vigor in his youth, so I’ve heard. Though he has aged, I can now see a glimpse of that nature revealed. Henry is a new man, invigorated, and each day ends in the revelry of the night: Henry and I lying atop the massive royal bed with its dark wood and mother-of-pearl inlay.
“Are you enjoying your marriage thus far, my wife?” he asks, his face nestled close to my ear.
“Yes, of course I am, my husband.” I giggle at this, in that way that charms and amuses him. “And I can’t wait to see Hampton, and all the rest of the court.”
My marriage to the king is still a secret, even from the king’s Privy Council, though I imagine rumors have long been rampant in London. Tomorrow, after ten days of honeymooning here in Surrey, we will journey to Hampton Court, where Henry will present me to the full court as his queen.
“Ah, yes, Hampton.” Henry lets out a long sigh. “I will rather miss our summer retreat. This season is best spent in the country. It is quiet, secluded. Court is full of eyes and ears,” he murmurs ominously. The fear must be evident on my face, for he laughs aloud and wraps his arms around me.
“Do not look so frightened! I will protect you, Catherine. Do not worry.”
“I need not worry,” I tell him, my arms encircling his neck, “as long as I have you to protect me.”
“My sweet wife.” He sighs, holding me tighter.
“Henry,” I whisper in his ear. “I like saying your name, when we are alone.”
I am becoming accustomed to this: the two of us together, alone in the royal bedchamber. I feel safe now in Henry’s arms,
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