Free The Tudor Bride by Joanna Hickson Page B

allowing me to dress her in a simple kirtle and warm fur-lined over-dress of the sort the English called a côte-hardie; a very French name for a garment which I had never seen worn in Paris, at least not by a woman. I had acquired it for Catherine in London, thinking it a practical style for informal wear.
    It was not until she was fully clothed that she even noticed her apparel but then she commented on it. ‘Is this new, Mette? I have not seen it before.’
    ‘Yes, Mademoiselle. It is an English style. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but I thought it suitable.’
    She fingered the fine cornflower-blue wool. ‘It is a pretty colour but why now, particularly?’
    I gave a casual shrug. ‘You may notice that it has no lacing at the back.’
    A sly glance showed me that she was digesting the significance of this remark. Then an irrepressible giggle burst forth, which soon developed into a lusty laugh. ‘Oh, Mette, you are a rogue!’ she cried when she could speak. ‘Sometimes I think you forget that I am a queen.’
    ‘Only when you do yourself, Mademoiselle,’ I assured her. ‘Which is when you are happy – as you were last night, unless I am very much mistaken?’
    ‘No, Mette, you are not mistaken,’ she admitted twisting to and fro, trying to find a fastening in the loose garment which skimmed the hips and had characteristically wide arm-holes. ‘But I will be even happier when I discover how I get out of this.’
    I moved forward to unfasten the plaited silk girdle around her hips. ‘Undo this and just lift it over your head,’ I explained. ‘Or get your lover to do it for you,’ I added with a twinkle.
    She gave me a reproachful look. ‘My husband, Mette,’ she corrected primly. ‘King Henry is my husband.’
    I assumed a suitably contrite expression. ‘Forgive me, Mademoiselle. Last night I mistook him for your lover and I hope to do so again tonight.’
    I could see her wrestling with herself, undecided whether to chastise me or to concur. I hoped she would soon discover an ability to be both queen and coquette.
    She and her lover-king settled into a relaxed companionship which lasted until Easter. It was interrupted by an official two-day visit to Coventry, when they were fêted and entertained and Catherine’s beauty and charm loosened the purse-strings of the rich merchant guilds so that the king’s campaign coffers were much replenished as a result. They returned to the Pleasance and a few more days of private indulgence before taking up residence in the formality of the castle to celebrate the feast of Easter with the rest of the court.
    When we finally left Kenilworth, the royal household took up a nomad existence, heading north and riding a minimum of twenty miles a day. King Henry was an impatient traveller and tended to push the timetable to the limit. An overnight stay would always include an official dinner with opportunities either for fund-raising and recruitment or a visit to a chapel or shrine. By the time we reached York, a hundred and twenty miles north of Kenilworth, we had visited ten cold, grey shire towns and monasteries and March was well behind us.
    Catherine was tired and, sensing this, King Henry suggested that she stay in York and rest while he fulfilled his vow to visit the famous shrines of two northern saints, St John of Bridlington and St John of Beverley. Since the many pilgrims to such locally popular shrines greatly enriched their attendant abbeys and priories, he also took the opportunity to obtain further financial support. Religious houses were a fruitful source of campaign funds because farmland that did not have enough men to work it quickly became unproductive and shrewd abbots preferred to offer the king substantial loans rather than provide rustic recruits for the campaign army.
    In York we lodged at the house of the Dean of the Minster, and Catherine spent time praying in the beautiful cathedral-church. Meanwhile King Henry completed his pilgrimage a