A fanfare sounded and the room stilled. The doors at the far end of the great hall opened and six burly yeomen of the guard, presently out of uniform and dressed as wild men in saffron kilts and braided hair, towed in the pageant wagon on which our castle had been built.
This set piece was far smaller than the scenes and machines constructed for disguisings at Greenwich or Windsor or Westminster Palace, but it seemed surpassing large in the hall at Havering-atte-Bower. I studied the structure with a critical eye and was pleased with what I observed. No hint showed of what, or rather who, was concealed within.
On the outside, four veiled women clad all in white perched on little ledges around the sides of the towers. Once the pageant wagon was in position, the first woman spoke, revealing that each of them represented a virtue. She was kindness. I suppressed a smile. Kindness was portrayed by Meg Guildford, Harry’s wife, who had become almost as notorious for her sharp tongue as his mother was.
At least she was fond of him, I thought, and he of her. She still did not greatly care for me. Harry said she was jealous of my long friendship with him. I suspected she still believed we’d been lovers.
When Meg finished her speech, Patience, Temperance, and Gentleness took their turns. Then there was a stir in the crowd. Several people gasped and one woman giggled as four black-cloaked men emerged from hiding places scattered around the hall. They stormed the castle, flinging off their outer garments when they reached it to reveal apparel of crimson satin embroidered with gold and pearls. Even their caps and visors matched.
Murmurs rose from the audience as people tried to guess the identity of this veiled lady or that masked man. “That tall one on the far left does much resemble the king,” said a woman standing near me.
“The king is over there, with the queen and that French duke,” her companion replied, “so the gentleman laying siege to the castle must be Ned Neville.”
From a distance, Ned did bear a strong resemblance to King Henry, but I knew him too well ever to be deceived. When he’d been a young boy and one of the children of honor at Eltham, his likeness to his royal master had been so marked that some speculated he might be King Henry VII’s by-blow. Speculation was all it was. Unlike the eighth Henry, the seventh had been faithful to his queen.
After many calls for the ladies to surrender, each of the four lords made an impassioned speech in which he revealed his identity. One was Nobility, another Loyalty, one Honor, and the last, predictably, Pleasure.
They were rewarded with a rain of dates and oranges thrown down from the towers. When the ladies had done pelting their besiegers with fruit, they sent a shower of rose water over their heads. A hail of comfits came next. I joined in the laughter and applause echoing through the hall.
The show of resistance by the castle’s defenders over, the lords scaled the pageant wagon. Each lifted a lady down from her perch. Some lords were welcomed more exuberantly than others. Meg Guildford tumbled happily into Harry’s embrace, greeting him with kisses.
To exclamations of surprise and delight, the front of the castle now began to open. When it stood wide, yet another lady in white was revealed. Unlike the others, Bessie Blount’s features were not hidden by either visor or veil. Her golden curls tumbled free, long enough to reach her waist, and her own sweet innocence shone so bright that she was instantly recognizable as Purity.
I smiled wryly to myself. Bessie and I might have been able to fit into the same costume, but I would never have been able to appear so innocent.
I held my breath as she began to speak. Her part in the disguising, which I had written for myself, was short but crucial. Sweet, loud, and clear, the words rang out. Her flawless delivery commanded everyone’s attention as she explained that virtues united were stronger than those kept apart.
The masque ended with a ceremony that joined the participants together in the service of His Most Gracious Majesty, King Henry of England. The lords and ladies, now allegorically wed, assisted Bessie from her castle. As the wall closed behind her, she called for music. Everyone who had participated in the disguising went forth to select partners from among the spectators. Meg Guildford approached the duc de Longueville, while her younger sister Elizabeth boldly asked the king to partner her.
I saw Harry Guildford look around for me just as the pageant wagon passed by on its way out of the room. Its bulk obscured me from his view, but only for a moment. In Harry’s second sweep of the chamber, his lynx-eyed gaze picked me out against the background of the tapestry.
“Hiding, Jane?” he asked as he made a leg. “By the saints, that will not do.”
He was right. I would only make myself more conspicuous if I tried to avoid being seen. We danced.
“Another success, Harry. You are a superb master of revels.”
“Wait until you see what I have planned for Christmas at Pleasure Palace.”
We exchanged a private smile at his use of the name I had coined so long ago. Then his expression changed to one of consternation, but it was already too late to avoid the other couple bearing down on us. With as deft a maneuver as I have ever seen, Meg executed a trade, dancing off partnered by her husband and leaving me to finish the pavane with the duc de Longueville.
“Sweeting, I have missed you,” he murmured close to my ear.
We stepped apart, but that low, sensual tone had already had an effect. In spite of everything I had heard at the bower, in spite of the hurt and anger that had simmered inside me in all the hours since, I still felt a flutter of desire deep within.
I forced myself to smile when the dance brought us face-to-face once more. Even if I dared reveal that I had been listening when he offered me to the king, I could scarce berate him for what he’d done. Even in private it would be folly for a mere gentlewoman to take a duke to task.
Each casual brush of his hand against mine weakened my resolve to avoid him. In spite of his betrayal, my traitorous body longed to lie with him.
Unpalatable as it was, I could not deny the truth: I still craved his touch.
A daring thought came to me. He had used me for his pleasure. Could I use him for mine? I needed time to think. Forcing my lips into a smile, I parted from him at the end of the dance. “There are others who would claim you as a partner, my lord,” I told him, and all but shoved him into Elizabeth Bryan’s arms.
Meg’s sister was happy to have him. He was an excellent dancer and his skill would allow her to show off her own agility. While they capered, I retreated into a window alcove, one shielded by a curtain partway drawn across to keep out drafts. There I hid, catching my breath and gathering my composure while I contemplated stealing away to my lodgings.
When a shadow fell across my skirts, I looked up, bracing myself to meet Longueville’s black-eyed gaze. Instead King Henry stood there, so big and solid that he blocked all the light from the hall, and at the same time cut off any hope of escape.
“Your Grace!” I tried to make an obeisance, but there was no room for the maneuver.
He stayed my pitiful effort with a gesture and moved closer. The smell of musk, rose water, ambergris, and civet, the combination he preferred as a scent, was nearly overwhelming in the confined space.
“An excellent entertainment, Jane. Harry tells me you wrote some of the speeches.”
“I am glad my poor attempts pleased you, Your Grace.”
“You always please me, Jane.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. For one terrible moment I was afraid the king’s talk with Longueville had piqued his interest in me. He had said he’d “take another look” after the duke had been ransomed and returned to France. What if he had decided not to wait?
“Do you fancy yourself in love with the duc de Longueville?” The king posed his question casually, but I was certain it was not prompted by idle curiosity. King Henry did nothing without purpose.