Flowers were everywhere. The Tudor Rose was emblazoned on the herald’s shields, on the white and golden banners of victory snapping above people’s heads, and the daffodils of Wales were in people’s hands as they thrust the earliest blooms found in the hedgerows into their King’s hands as they showered him with them.
There was no hint of the gloom that had palled London for over two years. Not today. Today was a day of delight, of triumph...and of love.
Of a people’s love for their King, of a King’s love for his country and, as Henry finally rode into sight of the steps of Richmond Palace and saw Marie standing there, holding little Mary by the hand, of a husband and father's love for his wife and daughter.
His heart swelled at the sight of his Marie, his lips parted into the widest smile it was humanely possible to give and seconds later, he was drawing rein and leaping down to kneel in supplication at her feet, Francis’s sword held high above his head.
“My Lady Queen, as Ramses laid his sword of victory before Nefertari, as Julius Caesar laid his before Cleopatra, as Arthur laid his before Guinevere, so I lay mine before you today. Please accept it, if not from your husband, then from a conquering hero who wishes to dedicate his success in battle to the peerless lady of his heart.”
His voice carried, holding every single person in the courtyard captive, spellbound by the spectacle unfolding before them. Marie paused, looking down at his golden head, bowed before her. Then, releasing Princess Mary, who stood obediently beside her, transfixed at the unfamiliar sight of her Papa kneeling to her Mama, Marie bent to take the sword from his grasp, holding it high in both hands. The movement was awkward, for at almost seven months pregnant, her belly had swollen to great proportions, but she knew she couldn’t let this stop her. Henry had spent Christmas in Rouen, holding state alone as the new Duke of Normandy. His return for Mary’s birthday was the first time they had been together since August. She had to prove herself his partner in public today as she never had before.
Her voice rang as she responded, “My Lord, I thank you for this display of your gracious affection for me. I count myself deeply honoured to have such courageous exploits undertaken in my name and thank God both for their success and for the fact that He has seen fit to let you return to me unharmed.”
She turned, handed the sword to her Uncle, the Earl Marshal, who stood only a pace away from the kneeling King and then extended her hand to Henry, helping him up. As she did so, she whispered a short sentence to him in Latin.
“My Lord’s Happiness is my happiness?” Henry queried softly.
“My new motto. And my device is a swan. A crowned swan with a Tudor Rose in its beak. Do you like it?”
“Like it?” Henry whispered, after a few moments, “I love it, sweetheart.”
To prove just how much, he caught her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth, eliciting wild bursts of joy from the masses around them.
Then he swept little Mary into his arms, “Mary, my pearl. Have you been good while Papa was away?”
“Oh yes, Papa,” she said complacently, “But I’m not Mary anymore.”
“Oh no? And who are you then? Robin Hood’s Maid Marian?” he asked teasingly, knowing the people loved to see him with his pretty little girl in his arms.
“Don’t be silly, Papa!” she giggled, “I’m not Maid Marian. I’m Maria.”
“M...Maria?”
“Yes, Maria. Since Mama’s Marie and I’m named after Mama, I must be Maria, mustn’t I?”
Henry nearly lost his grip on her. His heart lurched painfully at her innocent words. At her unconscious claiming of the Spanish name her mother used to call her in a particularly tender moment.
His breathing sped up and it was only with a concerted effort that he managed to answer her worried “Papa?” with a reassuring smile and the words, “Of course you must. Forgive me, darling. Papa’s just a bit tired at the moment. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Of course you’re Maria.”
Wanting to regain control of the situation as quickly as possible, he shifted her on his hip so he had a free arm to wrap around Marie’s waist. Thus securing her in his embrace, he turned back to face the crowd, turning them with him as he raised his voice from the tender whisper he had just used with Mary – nay, Maria, he reminded himself sternly – to one that would carry across the courtyard.
“Good people, I thank you for the love and respect you pay me. I could not think of truer subjects I would wish to share my triumph with. As such, it gives me great pleasure to make a public pronouncement of what you must all already know. Her Grace Queen Mary is with child. God willing, England will be blessed with a Prince within a month or two!”
If anything could send the Londoners into even wilder spasms of delight, that was it. Every eye in the crowd flicked to Marie, and, when she smiled and rested her hand on her enormous belly in a silent confirmation of her husband’s words, joy tore itself from every throat in the vicinity in an exultant shout of, “God Bless Queen Mary!”