When their majesties were seated and their attendants took up their positions behind them, Maxwell, Lord Chamberlain, began to announce the names of those who were to bear the gaze of royalty.
Titled beauties of England and Scotland were alternately announced by the tactful Maxwell, ever keeping in mind the ancient jealousy of the two nations. The King, out of the kindness of his heart, took especial notice of each one.
“The Princess Rebecca, daughter of Powhatan, King of Virginia!” cried Maxwell in a loud voice.
Up the velvet aisle came Pocahontas with the gliding step of her savage ancestry. But gone was the wild careless grace of the wilderness. Every inch a queen she moved. Words expressive of admiration and wonder were whispered on every side.
Her bosom and arms were covered in a flowing robe of yellow satin. Upon its brocaded surface the Fleur de Lis of France cast lights and shadows, and its long pointed bodice was thickly sown with turquoise and pearls. Above it rose a fluted ruff of Mechlin lace. Three crimson plumes were fastened by a diamond brooch among the raven locks of her hair.
She sank gracefully down at the foot of the throne.
“You are verra welcome to our court, Princess,” said James. “Mony a tale of your kindness to our colony have we heard. We expect you at the banquet to be given presently, where we shall have much to ask you about your kinsman.”
The levee being over, King James and his Queen led the way to the banqueting hall, followed by those invited to dine in the royal presence.
Their majesties seated themselves upon chairs of state, chairs upholstered in orange silk. From a crown above them hung a purple canopy embroidered in roses, shamrocks, and thistles.
Pocahontas was marshaled by the Earl of Pembroke to a low stool to the left of Queen Anne, and somewhat below the royal table raised upon a dais.