Benches and a scaffolding of wooden railings held a sizable crowd from outside the palace. The gentlemen of Henry’s chapel, whose singing observers called angelic, sang an interlude, and several new songs written for the occasion. After the singing Henry called for O’Donnell, an Irish lord, whom he knighted in the presence of the ambassadors. And then, at his signaling the minstrels to play, the dancing began.
At first the king joined in the dancing (the queen was not yet able to), partnering in turn several of Katherine’s waiting maids while she looked on, smiling at his nimbleness and enthusiasm. In dancing as in jousting, Henry customarily did better than anyone else, especially in the quick hops, turns and double steps of the
saltarello.
At the height of the dancing, the king contrived to slip away; only Katherine and a few others knew that he had gone. It was a favorite amusement of his to leave a group without being noticed, then to return incognito at the head of a troupe of players or musicians, or as the chief performer in a pageant. He loved to confront the courtiers in disguise, then to watch their perplexity—for they never knew which mask hid the king’s face. Catching people off balance was a childlike way of reminding them that behind his affable appearance Henry was always in control of the situation. He meant to be playful, but the habit had more than a hint of menace about it. It was manipulative, and Henry’s actual power to manipulate his subjects gave it the double character of a jest and a threat.
Katherine was a favorite target of this game. Late in her first pregnancy the king and a handful of courtiers strode into her bedchamber very early one morning, dressed as Robin Hood’s outlaws, their faces hidden under hoods of rough cloth. The queen was startled and embarrassed. No one was allowed to enter her private rooms unannounced. The ladies who were attending to her dress and arranging her hair took fright at first—the outlaws were armed with long swords and bows and arrows—but relaxed as the queen regained her composure and went along with the artifice. The outlaws demanded to dance with the ladies;the queen agreed. Finally after a half hour or so of this Henry pulled off his hood and the dancers laughed with relief.
A few minutes after Henry disappeared from the great hall, the dance music ended and trumpets sounded to announce the entry of yet another pageant on wheels. It was rolled part way into the hall, the rest remaining behind a large tapestry, and a richly dressed gentleman came out of its garden setting to explain the theme of the spectacle. He was standing in a bower of pleasure, he said, and in a golden arbor within the bower were lords and ladies who desired to entertain the queen and her ladies, with her permission. Katherine answered that she and all the assembled company were very anxious to see the performers in the arbor. Immediately the tapestry was removed and the pageant rolled into full view.
For a dazzling instant, in the light of the torches, it was as if the fairytale world of chivalric romance had come to life in the great hall. Growing in the garden of pleasure were hawthorn, wild roses and flowering vines, and beneath them a thick growth of flowers. All were made of green damask, silk and satin, enclosed by pillars covered in cloth of gold. In the gilded arbor stood six ladies in green and silver gowns, their skirts overlaid with a network of golden letters H and K laced together. The dresses and high headdresses of the women and the rich coats of their six companions were covered with glittering spangles, and the caps, hose and purple satin garments of the men bore both the golden monograms and letters spelling out their names: Loyal Heart (the king), Good Valour, Good Hope, Valiant Desire, Good Faith and Loyal Love.
When the crowd had had time to admire them the twelve performers came down out of the pageant, which was rolled into a corner to make room