The Queene’s Christmas Read Free

now recall a happy day here at St. James’s during her father’s reign; it must have been when Catherine Howard was briefly queen.
    Elizabeth had been allowed to watch the Yuletide hanging of greens in the great hall, the decking out of the grand staircase, the bay and ivies being suspended in hoops from this gatehouse. At the banquet table that night, her father had smiled at her and shared with her a mammoth piece of his favorite Cardamom Christmas Cake. And Kat had been there, smiling, ever watchful and protective.
    Elizabeth of England climbed the carved mounting block just outside the gatehouse, but she did not get into the carriage, which had followed her. She turned to her people and held up her hand. At first the crowd cheered and waved until someone realized she would speak. Slowly, the roar became chatter, murmur, then silence, while her guards held their halberds out to keep back the press of people.
    Just when she was ready to speak, Robin, frowning, whispered up at her, “Your Most Gracious Majesty, it’s going to rain again. Your coach is here, so—”
    “So it will wait for the will of its queen even as the earls of her realm must,” she told him. “My good people!” she called out. Men doffed their wet wool caps; children popped up, hoisted onto shoulders. “On this Michaelmas holiday honoring the archangel Michael, I wish to give to all an early gift for our next and grandest holiday, the Twelve Days of Christmas.”
    She glanced down at Kat. For once, she seemed avidly intent, excited, almost young again.
    “This year, by order of your queen,” she continued, “London shall have a Yuletide festival of old, even with mummings, setting aside the more recent strictures. And when these sodden skies turn to crisp, clear ones, we shall have a Frost Fair again, if, God willing, the Thames freezes over. Then all may frolic, wassail, give gifts, and cast off their common trials and woes for a few days, rejoicing in our Lord’s coming to the earth to save our souls.”
    In the silence, she heard a man’s mocking voice behind her, a courtier she could not name, hiss, “At least we’ll have that, because we’ll never frolic over Dudley’s coming to the peerage, damn his soul.” If anyone else heard or said aught, it was drowned in the shout of the crowd and patter of new rain.
    Elizabeth saw how happy Kat looked, as if her queen had already given her an olden Yule with all its golden memories. She would simply hang the naysayers, the queen told herself, right along with the mistletoe and holly. Surely no one, in court or out, could argue with a good old-fashioned Christmas.

Chapter the First
    To Make a Kissing Bunch
The size depends upon the span of the two hoops, one thrust through the other, which form the skeleton of the hanging. Wrap the hoops in ribbon, lace, or silk strips. Garland the hoops with holly, ivy, or sprigs of other greens, even apples or oranges. If at court, for a certain, string green and white paper Tudor roses from the hoops. Lastly, a sprig or two of mistletoe must needs be centered in the bunch for all to see. In the spirit of the season, hang the bunch where folks, high and low, may kiss beneath. Include enough mistletoe that men who kiss under its greenery and claim a berry for each kiss do not denude the bunch and ruin all the fine preparations .
    DECEMBER 24, 1564
    WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON
    “NOTHING BETTER THAN A YULETIDE HANGING,” MEG Milligrew, Elizabeth’s Strewing Herb Mistress and court herbalist, said as she came into the queen’s privy chamber with a basket of white-berried mistletoe.
    “The decking of halls is not to begin until the afternoon,” the queen remarked, looking up from her reading. “I want to be there to see it, mayhap to help.”
    “It is to be later, but your maids were trying to snatch these to make a kissing bunch when I need them for Kat’s new medicine.”
    In the slant of morning light, Elizabeth sat at the small table before a