Cardinal Pole; Or, The Days of Philip and Mary: An Historical Romance

by William Harrison Ainsworth

At ten o’clock the royal bridegroom left the deanery, attended by the whole of his grandees, whose gorgeous habiliments glittered with priceless jewels. Cloth of ray had been laid down from the deanery to the great western entrance of the cathedral, and on this Philip and his nobles walked. Their path was further protected by rails, outside of which archers and halberdiers were stationed.

Philip’s bridal attire was magnificent, and attracted universal admiration. His doublet and hose were of white satin, richly embroidered with gold, and over all he wore a gorgeous mantle of cloth of gold, presented to him by the Queen, and thickly covered with pearls and precious stones. His white velvet cap was studded with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Over his shoulders he wore the collar of the Garter, while the lesser badge of the order encircled his knee. Splendid, however, as was his attire, it hardly outshone the habiliments of his grandees, all of whom wore the collar of the Golden Fleece, or the insignia of some other order.

As Philip entered the cathedral with his train, trumpets were loudly sounded, and the martial bruit continued as he advanced along the nave. Midway he was met by the Earl of Arundel and other nobles, and ceremoniously conducted to a traverse, prepared for him in the south transept, where he awaited the Queen’s arrival.

This was not long delayed. A peal of artillery, accompanied by reiterated shouts, announced that her Majesty had reached the precincts of the cathedral. Already, indeed, the foremost of her immediate attendants were passing through the grand portal. First came Garter King at Arms in his gorgeous tabard, followed by the other heralds, and attended by a band of trumpeters, with their silver clarions at their lips. Then came the Grand Chamberlain, Sir John Gage, his lofty figure seen to great advantage in a scarlet robe open before, and edged with ermine. Sir John Gage had the collar of the Garter round his neck, and carried his wand of office in his hand. He was accompanied by the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir Henry Jerningham, likewise in his robes of office, and bearing a white wand. Then followed a long train of pages attired in liveries of white and blue satin, which had a charming effect. Then followed the three gigantic yeomen of the guard, in scarlet, with the royal badge embroidered at the front and back of their doublets.

Fresh acclamations from without, continued by the crowd within the cathedral, proclaimed the entrance of the Queen. Mary walked beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, the gilt staves of which were borne by four knights, chosen for the purpose from their goodly presence, attired in crimson satin, with points of blue and red on their sleeves.

The Queen was arrayed in a gown of white cloth of tissue, the stomacher of which was encrusted with diamonds and precious stones, and her mantle of crimson velvet, bordered with ermine, and embroidered with gold, was borne by six noble dames, all magnificently attired. Her hair was unbound, as was then the custom of brides—and a beautiful custom it was—and on her head she wore a coif, encircled with gold, and studded with orient pearls and gems. Mary marched with a firm step along the nave, and really presented a very majestic appearance. She was followed by a long train of ladies, whose sweeping velvet mantles, furred and embroidered, were borne by pages in rich liveries.

As the Queen advanced along the body of the cathedral, Philip, who had been apprised of her coming, and, indeed, could not be unaware of it from the braying of trumpets and shouting, came from the traverse with his retinue, and met her just as she reached the steps of the choir. Saluting her with a warm demonstration of affection that savoured little of ceremony, he took her hand, and they ascended the steps together, Sir John Gage and the Vice-Chamberlain preceding them.

At this moment Gardiner and the other prelates came forth from the choir, and while the royal pair were standing there with the Bishop of Winchester, in full view of the immense assemblage, Don Juan de Figueroa, attended by Simon Renard, came towards them, and, bending the knee to Philip, presented a scroll to him.

“What means this, your excellency?” demanded the Prince, with a well-feigned look of astonishment.

“It means, your Highness,” replied Figueroa, as he arose, “that your august sire, the Emperor, deeming it beneath the dignity of so high and mighty a sovereign as the Queen of England to wed with one of rank inferior to her own, has by this act resigned to your Highness the crown of Naples and Sicily, with the Duchy of Milan, and divers other seats and signories. From this moment, Sire, you are King of Naples, and as such her Majesty’s equal.”