not a more exciting place in the world, Cecily decided as they prepared to ride in the procession that would traverse Queen Anne from Cheapside to Westminster Hall. Merchants peddling souvenirs to commemorate the special event, ladies and gentleman of the nobility, urchins waiting to pick pockets, clerics and prelates, soldiers and shining knights, horses trimmed in the colours of their noble owners, cats and rats scampering about, eager to feast on any delicacy dropped in their midst.
The streets, indeed the whole place, teemed with activity, with life.
“Overflowing to stinking,” Lord Hal muttered as he surveyed the throng for the grand procession, but he was smiling.
They had brought an entourage of their own for the ride, bedecked in the Pierce colours of yellow and white. Cecily’s horse and attendants wore her colours as Baroness Burkhart of brown and orange. In her russet gown with its brown kirtle threaded with cloth of gold and matching hood, Cecily felt every inch the grand lady. Mirabella, though disapproving of the whole enterprise, was dressed in her yellow and white gown and earned many an appreciative glance. She turned her nose up at each and every one while Cecily waved, thrilled to be favoured with such open admiration.
At Cheapside Cecily took the opportunity to scrutinise her new queen. She had never seen the old one, who was rumoured to be quite beautiful in her time but after years of strife and suffering became overweight and dowdy. This queen was the antithesis of such descriptions. Bedecked in cloth of gold and wrapped in yards of soft ermine, the queen allowed her raven black hair to trail down her back in sleek waves brushed to a glossy sheen. On her dainty head was a bejeweled circlet and on her alabaster face a triumphant grin. Something about her features reminded Cecily of a mischievous and very satisfied cat. From the comfort of her litter, also swathed in cloth of gold, Queen Anne waved and blessed her new subjects, who seemed none too receptive.
Cecily’s heart sank. It seemed a shame to think that after years of waiting to become queen she should not be received with more enthusiasm. She was what the king wanted, after all, and it was the duty of his people to accept her. Though a few doffed their caps, most stood silent, their faces a mingling of bewilderment and disgust.
At one point Cecily heard the queen’s fool shout, “You all must have scurvy heads, since you so fear removing your caps!”
Cecily cried, “God save the queen!” with extra enthusiasm, encouraging Brey to do likewise.
Mirabella rode her horse, silent, head bowed.
Cecily ignored her show of disrespect, turning to take in all around her. Tapestries were hung everywhere and the queen’s badge bearing her falcon symbol was in every corner the eye could fall upon. Hans Holbein, the renowned court painter, had designed a beautiful arch where a tableau was being performed. Apollo and the four Muses played instruments and sang, each a remarkable display of talent. Cecily clapped her hands, enthralled by the sight.
All throughout the procession they were treated to similar displays of choirs and pageants. Cecily’s heart raced and her head tingled as she marvelled that they were included in such an event.
“Look!” cried Brey as he pointed to one of the conduits. “Wine!”
Cecily’s eyes widened in awe. “Is there nothing King Henry cannot do?” she cried in delight.
“Nothing,” Father Alec murmured, taking in the sights about him with the same interest. But his eyes were not wide with awe. There was something else in them, something Cecily could not quite decipher.
It was very akin to fear.
The next day they witnessed Queen Anne’s coronation at Westminster Abbey. Cecily was able to get a closer look at the woman King Henry so desired. She was small, save for the curving belly she displayed with pride, with tapering limbs and delicate hands.
“Where’s the sixth finger?” Brey whispered.
Cecily searched for the rumoured deformity, but to her dismay, the queen’s hands were hidden beneath her resplendent sleeves. She shrugged and placed a finger to her lips, urging Brey to hold his peace.
Under a cloth of gold canopy the queen walked with measured steps. Her train was carried by her cousin the delicate Mary Howard. It was said the queen’s aunt, the Duchess of Norfolk, so disapproved of the new queen that she refused to attend. Cecily’s heart churned in sympathy. It must be difficult being Anne Boleyn.
Queen Anne took her place in St. Edward’s Chair and allowed the Archbishop of Canterbury to crown her. The choir burst out in a Te Deum and Cecily’s heart thrilled with delight at the sound.
She turned toward Father Alec, whose wide hazel eyes were lit with tears as he regarded the scene.
But he was not regarding the queen.
His eyes had fallen upon another, one whose face bespoke eternal gentleness.
Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.
After the coronation they attended a celebratory feast at Westminster Hall. It was a strange affair, uncomfortable for Lord Hal and Lady Grace, the latter of whom was avoided by all and who with trembling hands tried to sip sparingly from the cup of wine before her, though her eyes lit with undisguised desire for it.
Mirabella, claiming fatigue, had been allowed to be escorted to the manor by her guard. It was just as well.
“Now she can’t spoil it for us,” Brey told Cecily, who could not help but giggle, though she chastised herself for being uncharitable.
Course after course was served and Cecily ate her fill, taking in the splendour of the court that ushered in the new reign of Anna Regina. The Duke of Suffolk, the king’s brother-in-law and steward for the evening, still was handsome at forty-eight as he made sure everything was to the queen’s pleasure. The queen’s cousin Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, also attended. Three years Cecily’s senior, Surrey, though married, stole several admiring glances her way throughout the evening. He was a handsome lad with his aquiline nose and penetrating dark eyes. Cecily offered him a bright smile. She did not know how to flirt but, as she watched the lords and ladies about her, thought this just the place to learn.
The next day jousts were held at York Place. Cecily and Brey clapped and hooted in the stands as they watched the champions tilt each other. The gleam of the armour, the sweet smell of upturned grass, the clank of the lances against shields thrilled them, and their voices rose in a chorus of gleeful anticipation as they speculated on who would prove victorious.
Brey reached out to still her clapping hand at one point, leaning over to whisper, “And someday when I am here, besting all the champions with my lance, will I be carrying your token?”
Cecily scrunched up her shoulders and giggled. She squeezed his hand. “No one else, Brey,” she told him, and on impulse leaned in to kiss his cheek. Brey had turned his head, however, and their lips brushed against each other’s for the briefest of moments.
Cecily pulled back, flushing deep rose with embarrassment. She bowed her head.
Brey had averted his head and was making a show of cheering on the jousters.
Cecily pressed a hand to her tummy, which, for some reason, would not stop quivering deep within.
“Well, I cannot wait to get back,” Mirabella said, allowing the maid to undress her as she readied for bed that evening. “Such extravagance and waste. Can you imagine if the king invested what he spent on the coronation into charity for the poor? The coronation banquet alone could have fed hundreds for months!” She shook her head. “Sheer waste.”
Cecily was shamed. It was a waste. Guilt surged through her as she tried to stop reliving what, to her, had been the happiest, most exciting event of her life. Was she a creature of vanity? Did she not care for the world and her fellow man as much as Mirabella? Tears stung her eyes.
“Would that we all could be treated to such a testament of someone’s undying love,” was all she could think of to say.
Mirabella grunted in response. “The king’s love is famously