Free Rivals in the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan Page B

Loyal Heart, challenges his costumed knights in a spectacle that thrills the ladies and gives the gentlemen spectators something to drink to.
    That night, after Henry has taken Brandon twice on the field, there is a pageant entitled The Garden of Pleasure in which the king, as Sir Loyal Heart, is dressed in such a stunning costume of purple satin with gold C’ s and H’ s dangling from it that even I am rendered breathless. Few believe the array of jewels hanging from his person are real, including the Spanish ambassador, and as we dance, His Majesty, in his endless display of jocularity, orders him to have a yank at one of them to see for himself.
    This innocent gesture causes the crowd of onlookers to break into pandemonium. Apparently, they are under the impression that the court jewels are theirs for the taking. No one is safe. The king, who does not seem to be the least bit uncomfortable being manhandled, is stripped to his hose and doublet.
    Contact with this rabble does not please me in the slightest and I do not hesitate to swat the offenders away with a closed fist. The most amusing aspect of the evening thus far is that my brother-in-law Thomas Knyvet is stripped to his skin and has to climb a pillar to avoid having anything else yanked at. Even the princess laughs when she sees Knyvet’s skinny white arse on display in the torchlight for the whole of the court.
    When the assault closes in on the ladies, guards and gentlemen sweep in to push them off.
    â€œLord Howard! Help!” a shrill voice cries, and my attention is called to little Elizabeth Stafford. I turn to see a couple tearing off the sleeves of her Tudor green and white gown. The child’s blue eyes are wide with terror.
    I force myself through the throng, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her away from a crude old woman and her toothless husband, whose hands were so busy in their task, they did not see me coming. It is all I can do to refrain from breaking the king’s peace and running them both through. Had she been my own daughter, I know I would not have hesitated and would sit out a spell in detainment somewhere as a result.
    â€œWhat madness is this?” I seethe. “Get you out of here, hag!”
    Startled, the couple begins to back away. “No offense, milord,” says the man. “We was just joining in the fun.”
    â€œ ’Tis not your fun to be had!” I shout, moving toward them as if to strike. “Now be gone!”
    â€œAnd take the bloody sleeves!” Elizabeth adds, finishing the job herself, throwing the sleeves at her assailants. “May they feed you for a month!”
    She stands, a tiny pillar of indignation, shivering in the February air, hugging her little arms across her stomacher. I kneel before her and take to vigorously rubbing her upper arms. “Are you hurt?” I ask her.
    She shakes her head. Her eyes are bright, fueled with the same fire I imagine to be in mine when engaging in battle.
    â€œEveryone is removing within doors,” I tell her. “We shall have a splendid banquet where you will be left quite intact for the rest of the evening.”
    â€œOh, how very disappointing,” she says, her mouth curving into that odd little smile, which is both sarcastic and disarming at once. Noting my expression of mock disapproval, she adds, “Thank you for rescuing me, Thomas Howard.”
    â€œYou are most welcome, Lady Elizabeth,” I say in turn as I lead her to the rest of the ladies.
    When I encounter my princess again, I take her hand. “You were not hurt?”
    She shakes her head. Her cheeks are rosy with a mixture of mirth and fever. “The little girl is all right?”
    â€œQuite,” I say. I remove my hat, running my hand through my sweaty hair. “Perhaps it is best we do not have a daughter at court. I could not bear to watch her assaulted so.”
    My princess’s face is stricken and I know I have said the