Anne O'Brien - The King's Sister

And, served by our steward, he tucked in to a dish of spiced peacock, spoon akimbo in his fist, as if he had not been fed for a se’enight. I was left to choose my own repast and converse with my uncle of Gloucester on my left, who subjected me to a rambling description of a run after an impressive stag and my uncle’s ultimate success in bringing it down.

I made suitable noises of appreciation. The minstrels sang of love requited, which was patently ridiculous, but I enjoyed the words and the music. My lord ate through another platter that had caught his eye, of frytourys lumbard stuffed with plums, and then drew patterns in the fair cloth with his knife until his mother caught his eye and frowned at him.

The toasts were made, and our health was drunk once more.

Then came the dancing.

The disparity in our heights made even the simplest steps more complicated as we, the newly wedded couple, led the formal procession that wound around the dancing chamber.

Think of him as your brother. Imagine it is Henry. You’ve suffered his prancing attempts often enough.

So I did, relieved that my lord did not caper and skip as Henry was often tempted to do out of wanton mischief. We made, I decided, as seemly a performance as could be expected when the groom had to count the number of steps he took before he bowed and retraced the movement, counting again.

Holy Virgin!

No one laughed aloud. They would not dare, but I could not fail to see the smiles. It might be a political marriage made in the chambers of power, but I could detect pity and condescension as amused eyes slid from mine. I kept my own smile firmly in place as if it were the most enjoyable experience in the world. I had too much pride to bear loss of dignity well, but I had strength of will to hold it at bay.

Returning to our seats, the processing done, the musicians drawing breath and wiping their foreheads, I became aware of the boy’s fierce regard.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Will you enjoy being wed to me, Elizabeth?’ he asked, surprising me, his eyes as bright as a hunting spaniel on the scent, and not at all shy.

‘I have no idea,’ I replied honestly, immediately regretful as his face fell. ‘I suppose I will. Will you enjoy being wed to me?’

‘Yes.’ He beamed with open-hearted pleasure. ‘I have decided. I will like it above all things.’ My brows must have risen. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

I shook my head, unable to see why a young boy was so vehement in his admiration for our married status when it would mean nothing to him for years to come.

‘I will enjoy living here,’ he announced.

Which surprised me even more.

‘Do you not go home with your mother? Or grandmother?’

‘No. I am to live here. At Kenilworth.’ His eyes glowed with fervour, his cheeks flushed from the cup of wine with which he had been allowed to toast me in good form. ‘I am to learn to be a knight. I am to join Henry in my studies. I will keep my horse here and I can have as many hounds as I wish. I will learn to kill with my sword. And I will go hunting. I would like a raptor of my own, as well as the parrot …’

As I smiled at his enthusiasms—for who could resist? —I had to acknowledge this new fact, that I would see him every day. Rather than live apart until he grew into adulthood to become my husband in more than name, we would have to play husband and wife in all matters of day-to-day living. I had understood that I could dispense with his company until at least he had the presence of a man. Living in the same household, we would rub shoulders daily. I wondered if his enthusiasms for all things with fur or feathers would pall on me.

‘… and then I will have a whole stable full of horses,’ he continued to inform me. ‘As Earl of Pembroke it is my right. Do you know that I have been Earl since before I was three years old? I wish to take part in a tournament. Do you suppose they will let me?’

‘I think you will have to wait a few years.’

‘Well, I quite see that I must. I will be very busy, I expect. You won’t mind if I don’t come and see you every day, will you?’

‘I think I can withstand the disappointment.’

‘I will find time if you wish, of course. And will you call me Jonty, as my nurse does?’

He chattered on. How self-absorbed he was. It could be worse. He could have been loud and boorish, which he was not. But I was not sure that I liked the idea of having him under my feet like a pet dog.

‘If I cannot yet fight in a tournament, will they let me have one of the brache puppies?’

I looked across the table to Dame Katherine for succour, but knew I could do that no longer. I was a married woman and must make my own decisions, even though my husband could not.

The feast and music reaching its apogee, with a flourish and a fanfare the Earl of Pembroke and I were led from the room with minstrels going before in procession, the guests following behind.

‘Now where are we going?’ the boy asked, his hand clutching mine. ‘Can I go and see the brache bitch and puppies now?’

‘No. We must go first to one of the bedchambers.’

His brow furrowed. ‘It’s too early to go to bed.’

‘But today is special. We are to be blessed.’

And I prayed it would be soon over.

The bed was huge, its hangings intimidating in blue and silver, once again festive with Lancaster and Pembroke emblazoning. With no pretence that we would be man and wife in anything but name, the boy and I were helped to sit against the pillows, side by side with a vast expanse of embroidered coverlet between us and no disrobing. Not an inch of extra flesh was revealed as our chaplain approached, bearing his bowl of holy water, and proceeded to sprinkle it over us and the bed.

‘We ask God’s blessing on these two young people who represent the great families of England, Lancaster and Pembroke. We pray that they may grow in grace until they are of an age to be truly united in God’s name.’

There was much more to the same effect until our garments and the bed were all sufficiently doused.

‘Monseigneur …’ The chaplain looked to my father for guidance. ‘It is often considered necessary for the bridegroom to touch the bride’s leg with his foot. Flesh against flesh, my lord. As a mark of what will be fulfilled by my lord the Earl when he reaches maturity.’

I imagined the scene. The boy being divested of his hose, my skirts being lifted to my knees to accommodate the ceremony. My fingers interwove and locked as I prayed that it need not be. And perhaps the Duke read the rigidity in my limbs.

‘I think it will not be necessary. John and Elizabeth are here together. There is no evidence that they seek to escape each other’s company.’

The guests who had crowded in to witness our enjoyment of our married state smiled and murmured. Everyone seemed to do nothing but smile.

‘What do we do now?’ the Earl asked.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ my father replied. ‘That will all be for the future.’

I did not know whether to laugh or weep.

We stepped down from the bed, on opposite sides. My husband was taken off to his accommodations by his mother, the dowager countess now, who saluted my cheeks and welcomed me as her daughter by law. I returned to my chamber, where Philippa awaited me with my women to help me disrobe.

Instead, Philippa waved the servants away and we stood and looked at each other.

‘Do you know what my husband will be doing as soon as he has removed his wedding finery?’ I asked.

She shook her head.

‘He will be down in the mews because he wants a hawk of his own, or in the stables because he wants one of the brache’s litter. He tells me that he will enjoy living at Kenilworth—did you know he was to stay here? —because he can wield a sword against Henry and take part in a tournament.’