Nicholas Courtenay

and with that, margery instantly regretted making her presence known to the earl of devon. the expression on her face quickly shifted to displeasure. she could feel bypassers’ eyes glance their way as that dreaded nickname rolled off of col’s tongue. if she could hit him, she would have already by now. however, they were at a very important function and margery had a reputation to protect, being one of the princess’ ladies. her composure was hanging by a thread. margery raleigh was usually a patient woman but only nicholas courtenay could rouse such a reaction out of her.  in her head, she’s already cursed him in every language she spoke. 

“it is heartwarming to see that after all these years you still enjoy my misfortunes and that my efforts certainly do not go to waste whenever you are around,” margery said between her teeth, her smile sarcastic as she looked up to her dear friend. “the world is constantly changing however you, my lord courtenay remain—” an idiot. margery didn’t even finish her sentence but she was sure col understood her. despite being utterly exasperated by his taunting demeanor, deep down all those layers, she was happy to see her dear friend. 

it was funny, their friendship; banters and jokes the very core and foundation. however, it was more than that. beneath all those jests and repartees was a bond that encompassed friendship, something that she would not dare trade for anything in the world. the raleighs and courtenays shared the same ideals and beliefs, their families more intertwined than they could ever imagine hence these two’s closeness. without any hesitations, margery took his hand. it was only until she was seated that she exhaled deeply, feeling nothing but relief from her exhausted feet. “nicholas courtenay since when have you become a gossipmonger? i never pegged you as such.” margery feigned disappointment. “—but if you must know there were some that were far more graceful than i was. if you thought my performance moved you to tears, these would evoke unexplainable emotions. don’t look but that one behind me stepped on my gown too many times i have lost count. i should charge him for damages.”  

A bright laugh broke from Col’s lips as she stopped just short of calling him an idiot, as the moniker was not lost upon him, but rather tucked away delicately into the folds of his consciousness from the days of childhood.  “It is my wish always to please,” he replied in kind.  “I should be most distraught were I to fail you in so meaningful a pursuit as proving the steadiness of my character in this respect.  Indeed, I could not possibly forego the pleasure of your misfortunes.  I think I should be utterly lost without them.  What is the merit of a day without companionable stumbles and slides, or the passage of a week without some slip of the tongue to brighten it?  No,” he teased, grinningly.  “I could not do without it.  Besides, how else am I to prove to you that I remain, always --” an idiot.  He laughed, again.

Sinking into the seat, he observed with affectionate satisfaction as relief suffused her features with the pressure off her poor feet.  “There, now,” he soothed, softly.  “That’s much better.  Here, we are also treated to quite the opportunity.”  Claiming a cut strawberry from a passing tray, he held it up for her inspection.  “If I were to but lob this upon the dance floor, I might cause all manner of mischief, and you may well thank me.  Who will recall your efforts to clobber Sir Robert when the imperial pageant has collapsed into such chaos as the Archduchess collapsing upon her partner and the Prince of France sliding across the floor?  I daresay we may even be treated to the start of a war, in such an instance, which is something I would happily risk in the qust to enhance your reputation.  What say you, my lady?  Shall I toss it?”

…

She had taken her time yes as in love and war, battle and debate and the cauldron on intrigue that was court everything had to be approached with care. Rush and one could miss something and a lady though she may not wage war in the traditional manner often any social engagement was a cause to wear her battle armor. Lace and fine fabrics were delicate yes but her mail and breastplate, her wit coupled with charm her sword and shield. Helena Grey was a master of the field in this regard well versed in the subtler arts and what it took to navigate courtly life.

However, this evening felt distinctly different in preparation for it. It would be easy to go into the pageant and pretend nothing terrible had ever happened and that a period of time past was a nightmare she suffered once only to wake to something better. The world was watching now, begging for any hint of disloyalty or reason to doubt their allegiance. She dressed this evening yes  prepared to field the volley of suspicion. Helena allowed her ladies maids to dress her to dazzle and stun, to captivate and inspire and to armor her well for this grand social engagement. Let the world see her and that her allegiance stood with her cousin and her eyes alone were for her husband. After finishing touches, finally adjustments she exited her rooms, silhouette illuminated by candlelight. Eyes lifted and she gaze at her beloved greeting his smile with a loving one, a truly genuine smile reserved for him

“I hope my beloved you weren’t kept waiting too long for me. A woman would have her husband guess as to what I’ve decided to come as. Which virtue would my lord  think his wife would be?” Extending her hand she had once imagined his hand wouldn’t have been there to receive hers. It was not often anymore but when his hand took hers it served to pull her from heaven, ground her to solid earth and a feeling of security and stability still washed over her. Truthfully she didn’t need him as she could survive well with her wit and wiles. Helena though wanted him, above all others she did truly love him. “Perhaps, Love. Would that be too obvious for her heart beats for him alone? She would wish to surround him in such a feeling as if she is clothed by it alone and would wish to inspire all other young lovers to feels as she does and the love of family she does hold dear. I wouldn’t wish though to take take from a cousin who may have more right to being lady love.”

A small blush colored her cheek, flattered by his comment more than happy to accept his admiration. She was not above bits of flattery and if Col so stated it her attire had indeed achieved Helena’s desired impression “Let us make our appearances then so they may not be kept waiting much longer and left to wonder if I have stolen you away. You may have my first and last dance. Those in between you may have fierce competition for but no matter my partner I will wish it were you. What pray tell has my husband decide to attend as?”

Her gown was a confection of starlight swirling within vestments of brocade and cloth-of-gold, till she seemed to gleam by her own power moreso than the fluttering candles whose dim illumination seemed to bend meekly away.

“Not at all,” he replied.  “Indeed, I must confess to be all amazement that such an effect may be achieved in so small an amount of time.  I would say that your steamstress has outdone herself, save for the simple fact that she owes it all to your own particular charms -- you would look as radiant in sackcloth.”

He chuckled softly, arching his brows.  “A guessing game, then?”  Gently his eyes traced her face, slowly finding her gaze.  

His mind rushed, unbidden, to the Tower: its looming shadow shutting out the light from his cell as he gazed, unseeing, towards the limpid blue of the sky.  He’d amused himself, in the first days of his captivity, with seeing how far his gaze might penetrate the city of London -- those far-away people, heedless of his absorbing gaze, moving here and there -- people tiny as ants going about their lives far below -- but the novelty had soon worn off.  He’d sunk into the corner, gazing at the clouds without seeing, lost to time, lost to space, lost to this reality as he waited to learn what it might hold for him -- doom or salvation.  He remembered, too, the moment they’d let him out.  The light he’d so missed had blinded him, then, glancing off his blue orbs with glaring beams till he’d cast out a hand to shade them.  Yet, there had come another glow, an unearthly glint of color and light, his eyes adjusting as it approached, burning like the sun against the crisp air.  His wife had smiled; his heart clenched.  It was not till he saw her face that he’d felt it all.

His smile was thoughtful.  “If I am to name the virtue I assign most to you, than it can be only one thing, my dear: it is hope.”  His fingers swept across her chin, the gentle structure of her face, and fell away again, unspoken and uncertain.  “Let cousins have love -- your virtue is something far more powerful, in the end.”  He arched a brow.  “Well?  Have I guessed correctly, or have you selected a namesake from one of your other bountiful virtues?”

Col laughed, the corners of his lips sweeping upwards at her declaration.  “Then I shall do my utmost to endure between those moments when I may hold you.  But see you hold no one else so closely -- I shall be watching, and I mean to be jealous of all your smiles tonight.”  His tone was teasing, and he gently ran two fingers across the gentle jut of her jawline, smiling into her eyes before dropping his hand to take the one she extended to him.  He kissed it gently and began to lead her towards the Great Hall, as requested.

“What else?” he inquired softly, glancing at her in the glowing candlelight.  “Loyalty.”  He tilted his head.  “Tell me, my lady, does it suit?”

He did not have long to wait.  When Col was dressed for the pageant, he had walked out into the corridor outside the Courtenay rooms to await his countess.  He leaned against the wall, gazing blankly ahead.  His mind was a confused cocaphony being here.  He could imagine, almost, that nothing had happened, yet the chill of the wall behind him sunk into his back and a shudder ran through him as he thought of the cold of the Tower -- the cold of the axe hovering, hovering.

Relief seeped through him, warming him, at the rustle of fabric.  He turned to spot his countess approaching, her pageant gowns flowing in luxurious folds around her, silhouetting her elegance against the backdrop of a thousand burning candles.

"And what,” began the Earl with a small smile.  “Has my lady wife come as?”

Taking quick strides towards her, he took her hand.  The pageant was in commemoration of one which many of them did not recall -- but one which had, nonetheless, inextricably changed their lives, forever.  Silently, Col wondered what shifts this, its successor, might make.  He hoped they would be positive.  The King had been solicitous enough of his friendship, now that Col had returned to court, that he felt such hopes were not folly -- but who could say what favor would last?  His father’s had not.

       It was good to have Nicholas Courtenay, the king’s cousin by blood, amongst those gathered at Hampton - where the Boleyns trusted him only so far as they could throw him.  Wills, relishing to be gracious and enjoying even more to be seen as gracious, clasped his straw-haired cousin by the shoulder and brought him squarely to his side.  ‘Now, now, Col,’ the king guffawed, disregarding the numerous sets of eyes scrutinizing the pairs’ roughhousing as they tripped down the park.  ‘It was my father who the poets called the English Nero, not I.  Certainly I am more of a Charlemagne, only taller and more attractive?’

Despite the gray weather, Wills was glad of the fresh air - and affable company - as his courtiers lined up in pairs of two and followed the young king’s fattening entourage.  He’d grown accustomed to the constant stream of petitioners on his heel, though never less unnerved.  Mercifully, the great and sprawling Hampton, the palace his father’s once treasured Wolsey had gifted him in an extravagant deed of loyalty, gave them something else - something other than his person - to gawk and marvel at.

Wills cocked his head, and in a lower voice uttered: ‘the news of the north can wait, dear cousin, until this evening.  My reenactment of those barbaric villages is improved by the drink.’  As he glanced sidelong at the Earl, Wills swallowed.  He’d doubted whether or not the relationship between them could be as it were ere, for the knelling of Hugh Courtenay’s beheading had rippled across England a forbidding presage for the Tudor’s male relatives.  Yet their conflict, in the eyes of the king, had appeared to be long forgotten.  Uncle George would never believe him, having always regarded Col with an uneasy contempt, but he would have to bear it.  Wills was even of a mind to advance him to his council - it needed strumming up by way of young blood, and who better than a friend?  

‘You, the Earl Percy, and some others of my privy chamber will ride off to Richmond tonight so the evening will not be…’  He glanced, conspiratorially, to the effusion of courtiers attending them.  ‘Encroached.  Except, of course, by Frenchwomen.’  Though more of a command than an invitation, he waited, exultant, for Col to accept.  ‘Does that answer your question?’

“And, I daresay,” added Col with a bright grin.  “Better dressed.  Though, that may be unfair of me, as I suppose in those ancient days, superior fashion was doubtless difficult to come by, and Charlemagne did show his wisdom in other areas.  Is the Emperor the primary muse of leadership, or one in a number?”

Eyes glinting, Col thought with interest upon the comparison.  Perhaps it was an iconic figure drawn out of no particular parallel -- or perhaps Charlemagne was a person very much upon the young king’s mind.  It could not be such a stretch to suppose he was: the very first Holy Roman Emperor and the progenitor of the French, German, and Austrian crowns, it would be difficult not to think of him, Col supposed, with all his political descendants now dotting the English landscape.  But he wondered, too, if there might be another cause for comparison.  Did Wills, like his father before him, crave the imperial crown?

Glancing with curiosity towards him, Col tucked the idea away as useless: the Pope was unlikely to crown one who led his whole kingdom upon a merry dance with heresy.  Or so his late father would have said.  Col glanced quickly away, to conceal the taut line of his jaw, and took in, instead, the splendor around them.  Having grown up so close to Wills, Col had all but ceased to take in the magnificence around them, but watching others gawk, he glanced with renewed interest at the sphere in which they currently abided.

“But I should never presume to say aught about the late king,” he replied.  “I am sad to say that I have no memory of him, and therefore, I think, little right to judge, as all that I know -- for both good and ill -- are but hearsay.  History, I think, and our children,” he added, glancing towards Wills with a smile.  “Can be the only true testament of legacy, when the measure of our lives must be taken.”  

He paused, arching his brow.  “Which reminds me...” he added, flashing a wolfish grin.  “I must ask that question which, I think, every noble mama in England wishes, but fears, to ask.  Do you hope to take one of the visiting princesses for a bride?  There can be few more eligible.”

Chuckling at Wills’ whispered confidence, Col grinned.  “Then I shall stem my impatience,” he replied in the same tone.  “That I may hear of the matter properly.”

Hearing the King’s invitation, Col’s smile broadened.  Not only was the prospect of merrymaking entirely welcome, the summons, itself, implied not only a willingness on the king’s part to forego any further unpleasantness between them, but a desire to resume old affections -- a wish that Col, himself, shared.  It was not comfortable, this: living under the shadow of uncertainty and treachery.  Finding himself once again in the king’s good graces was precisely what Col had hoped.

NICHOLAS COURTENAY: LOYALTY

anna was surprised at how … wonderful the great hall looked. it was somehow cozy even with hundreds of bodies. she wondered how the kitchens looked in order to maintain such a service to his majesty. she was enjoying herself, talking with those around her. the wine was too sweet, at first, but with each sip it was becoming more and more delicious. 

anna gasped when the fruit ended up on other’s lap. but after a moment she couldn’t help but giggle. she brought her fingers up to press against her full lips to keep the noise as quiet as possible. she turned, knowing the other beside her was speaking to her. she smiled, reaching out and taking another sip of her wine, that seemed to help her giggles.  ❛ but your grace, ❜ she said, her eyes glassy from the wine as she set her brown eyes onto his face.  ❛ where is your sense of adventure? ❜

There was a warmth in her laughter and the earl felt himself, by some impulse, doing the same with a rueful shake of his head.  “All right,” he began, tilting his head.  “If you dare me so, I shall take the challenge.  Pray,” he sang out to the liveried attendant with the tray of fruit.  “Bring that here.  Her Imperial Highness and I wish to partake.”

The tray swept closer, heaped with a divine assortment of vegetation, fresh from the Hampton gardens and imported from across the world.

“Tell me, Your Highness,” he began, plucking an interesting assortment from the tray.  “What is your favorite fruit.  Or, rather, what fruits do you come by most in your sphere or the world?  I wonder if they are very different from those indigenous to England which -- by the by -- I must insist you sample.  They will never taste better or fresher than they do here and now.”  

"Well, that was ill done,” commented the Earl of Devon, half without thinking.  He added with a twinkle of ironic humor: “I confess, I was rather looking forward to a side of fruit, but I think I shall pass now: good Lord knows where it has been.”

The banquet portion of the evening was in full splendor, with a thousand patries and savories strewn about the table in regal delight.  Pigs and peacocks and grandiose tarts graced the table in a superlative flourish of wealth and prestige.  The enormous stained glass windows now showed only of pitch with the dark outside, but the spectacular forest of tracery wood beams above them -- though shadowed now -- was as showy as it had been the day Cardinal Wolsey had seen it erected.

All this splendor, however, was quite lost, now, on Col.  It might have impressed him, it was true, at one time, but having grown up running through these very corridors alongside the prince, he had achieved manhood without truly stopping to admire the place the way it deserved, as to him all these gorgeous glamors were seemingly commonplace.  What he did, however, note, was the element which changed with every viewing: the individuals peopling the scene.

So it was that a servant who appeared a touch...tipsy had caught his eye.  He’d observed his staggering path, winding amongst the tables like a whirlwind till, at last, he’d tripped and dumped the contents of his tray directly onto the table, raining a volley of fruits upon the king’s glamorous guests at the other end of the table.  A flurry of activity had ensued: the liveried servants flying to the rescue to give aid to those few who had been peppered with sweet things to eat, others dragging the tipsy servant away.

“What of you?” he inquired of the person next to him.  “Will you brave the uncertainties of this fruity terrain, when they bring out a fresh tray?  Or will you skip the course and dive straight into the baked sweets?  I daresay if the kitchens are running with wine enough to effect that poor man, the baked goods will be rather wonderful, tonight.”  

28 – open/taken – bradley james.