The Taming of the Queen

I put my hand on her knee to silence her. ‘He said no word of that, nor do I, nor should you. He names you as princess, and Elizabeth as princess also. Elizabeth comes after you in the succession, Lady Margaret Douglas and her line after her. He said nothing about the old matter of your mother’s marriage and him putting her aside.’

She opens her mouth to argue for only a moment, and then she nods. Anyone of any intelligence can see that if the king names his daughters as legitimate then he must, logically, accept his marriage to their mothers as valid. But – as this highly intelligent daughter realises – this is not a logical man. This is a king who can command reality. The king has ruled that they are princesses again, just as once he ruled that they were both bastards, on a whim, with no good reason.

‘Then he will arrange a marriage for me,’ she says. ‘And for Elizabeth. If we are princesses then we can be married to kings.’

‘You can,’ I say smiling. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. It will be the next step. But I don’t know that I can bear to spare either of you.’

She puts her hand on top of mine. ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she says. ‘But it is time I was married. I need my own court and I want to have a child of my own to love.’

We sit hand-clasped for a moment. ‘Princess Mary,’ I say, trying out her new title, ‘I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are come to your own again, and that I can call you aloud what I have always called you in my heart. My mother never spoke of you as anything but a princess, and never thought of your mother as anything but a great queen.’

She blinks the tears from her dark eyes. ‘My mother would have been glad to see this day,’ she says wistfully.

‘She would,’ I say. ‘But her legacy to you is your descent and your education. Nobody can take either, and she gave you them both.’

A Spanish duke, Don Manriquez de Lara, is to come to court though the king is still unwell.

‘You’ll have to entertain him,’ Henry snaps. ‘I can’t.’

I am a little aghast. ‘What should I do?’

‘He’ll come in and see me, I’ll receive him in my privy chamber, but I can’t stand it for more than a moment. Understand?’

I nod. Henry is speaking in a tone of tight fury. I know that he is frustrated by his pain and bitter at his disability. In a mood like this he can lash out at anyone. I glance around the room: the pages are standing with their backs against the wall, the Fool sitting quietly at the king’s side. The two secretaries are bent over documents as if they dare not raise their eyes. ‘He can dine with your brother, and with Henry Howard. That’s the flower of the court, the handsome young men. Should be good enough for him. Agreed?’

‘Yes, sire,’ I say. Henry Howard is the eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk, born to a great position and never doing anything to earn it. He is proud, vain, a troublemaker, a self-proclaimed golden youth. But he will be invaluable here where we will need someone handsome and young and proud as a peewit.

‘Then the Spanish duke can go to your rooms and you can have music and dancing and supper and any entertainment you wish. You can do that?’

‘Yes, I can.’

Anthony Denny glances up from his place behind a table at the window where he is copying the king’s orders to be sent to the various councillors and heads of household. I look away so that I don’t see the sympathy in his face.

‘Princess Mary will be with you; she speaks Spanish and they love her for the sake of her mother. The Spanish ambassador, that old fox Chapuys, will bring the duke and make sure that everything goes smoothly. You needn’t worry about Spanish. You can speak in French and English to them.’

‘I can.’

‘He’s not to whisper with her. You’re to show him every courtesy but you’re not to put her forward.’

I nod.

‘And you’re to dress very fine and be very queenly. Wear your crown. Speak with authority. If you don’t know something, say nothing. There’s nothing wrong with a woman being silent. You have to impress them. Make sure you do.’

‘I am sure that we can show them that the English court is as elegant and learned as any in Europe,’ I say calmly.

At last the king looks at me and the pained furrow between his sandy eyebrows melts away and I see a glimmer of his old, charming smile. ‘With the most beautiful queen,’ he says, suddenly warm. ‘Whatever broken-down bad-tempered old warhorse you have for a husband.’

I go to his side and take his hand. ‘Nay, not so old,’ I say softly. ‘And not so broken-down either. Shall I come and show you my gown before I go in to the ambassador? Shall you want to see me in all the finery you have given me?’

‘Yes, come to me. And make sure that you are utterly drowned in diamonds.’

I laugh, and Denny, seeing that I have charmed the king back into good humour, looks up and smiles at us both.