The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [66]
There was no sleep for Philippa that night, and little rest next morning, attending to the needs of the anxious circle about the Queen, and the unceasing inquiries from the jostling anteroom. She was there herself when Sir Henry Sidney arrived, still wearing his cloak splashed with mud, and ignoring her smile and the voices upraised in greeting about him, picked out Arundel, the Master of the Household, and thrust forward to speak to him. ‘The Queen?’
The Earl of Arundel looked at him sharply. ‘Is well, thank God. What have you heard?’
‘Is there a child?’ Sidney said. ‘I am told there is not.’
Arundel said, ‘There is no child, as yet. Her Majesty was taken ill through the night, but it has been shown to be a mere defect in the environment of the body, caused by a colic. Why, is there a rumour in London?’
‘No rumour,’ said Henry Sidney. He looked tired, Philippa thought. A page, summoned by her nod, reached up and drew the wet cloak from Sidney’s shoulders: as he took it away, Sir Henry turned to her and bowed, and gave his reply still staring into her face. ‘Not a rumour. Word reached London at daybreak that, half an hour after midnight, the Queen had given birth to a male child with little pain and no danger. London is in festival, Lord Arundel: bells are ringing; shops are shut, and there are bonfires in the streets, with public tables spread with wine and meat for everyone. Word has travelled already abroad. I came here to do my office as courier.’
He finished speaking into silence, and in silence a harsh voice spoke behind him. ‘They are premature,’ said the Queen.
Turning, a pain in her chest, Philippa saw her standing with Jane in her doorway, the doctors behind her. ‘They are premature, but perhaps it is fitting that an infant twice blessed should twice be celebrated. I am well, as you see, and England prospers within me. Give me your prayers, and you shall see a prince before the ash from these rejoicings is cold.’
A few days later, they heard that the Great Bell had been rung in Antwerp and English ships in the harbour had celebrated the news of a birth with volleys of shot, while the Queen Regent had sent a hundred crowns’ drink money to the seamen. About the same time, a small crowd arrived at the court with three screaming children, successfully borne a few days before to a woman, as they explained, of low stature and great age like the Queen, who was now strong, and out of all danger. Philippa, her nerves beaten raw, was all for sending them packing, but Jane prevailed, and had them all brought to the Queen, who spoke to them, Philippa saw, with real tears in her eyes. She had been wrong. Jane still understood her mistress far better than Philippa did.
About that time, King Philip made his first official call on his wife’s sister Elizabeth, but what transpired no one was able to discover. There followed two weeks of seclusion, after which her great-uncle William Howard was permitted to see Madam Elizabeth, and after him, several senior members of the Queen’s Privy Council. It was believed that she was appealing to the Queen through her statesmen to release her from custody. It was certain that she was writing the Queen a great many letters. Philippa sometimes saw them lying open on Queen Mary’s desk, unmistakable in Ascham’s beautiful Italian writing, but she refrained with an effort from reading them. It was a surprise therefore to be called to the Countess of Lennox one day, and told that the lady Elizabeth had asked and been granted leave to resume her studies with Master Ascham, and that there were some books from the Cardinal’s library which Philippa was to take to her.
‘They are, as you might expect, exceedingly precious,’ Lady Lennox said, smiling. ‘I do not care to entrust them to ignorant hands. Also, you have sufficient knowledge of Master Ascham’s methods to be able to discuss the books with Madam Elizabeth, and to note any others she may require. I am sure, as well, that you will be pleased one day to recall that you met the lady. If she marries abroad, she