Perhaps this was wishful thinking on Nicholas Oliver’s part. He lived in dread of the possibility of Princess Mary’s ascension to the throne if anything happened to King Edward. She was a peculiar woman. Her religious beliefs were not simply fanatic but bordered on violence. He had witnessed too often the flogging of a servant whom she suspected of heresy. Dressed in fine gowns but with bare knees, she would crawl on stone to offer her prayers to the Virgin Mary. She was so proud of those knees if they were bloodied by the end of the ritual. It was rumored that she beat herself on Good Friday in penitence for Christ’s crucifixion.

Nicholas Oliver had had enough of Princess Mary, and his heart lightened as he saw Princess Elizabeth take her place with her own ladies-in-waiting at the maypole nearest to the king’s throne, her red hair flowing over her shoulders. She first curtsied deeply to the king and then gave him a jaunty wave. The air rippled with the multitude of colored ribbons fluttering in the light breeze. The May Day dancers arranged themselves, as many as twenty at one of the poles. At another pole were the wives and children of the king’s Privy Council. Another was for the royal servants, those who were part of the lord chamberlain’s office and those of the lower household. The dancing began, and the dwarfs and the fools commenced cartwheeling between the poles.

Oh, there’s the bonny girl

And there’s a bonny boy

And in the middle a bonny tree

The finest tree you ever did see

Oh hidee hee, hidee ho

And on this limb there was a branch,

The finest branch you ever did see,

The branch was on the limb,

Oh, there’s a bonny girl . . .

“There is a bonny girl!” Nicholas Oliver gasped. It was Rose. His Rose. She was dancing at the servants’ pole. Her French hood had slipped back, and the rich copper curls flowed free. She was here! Here in the courtyard. He must see her. He had to find a time to speak to her alone. There would be feasting and dancing throughout the day and far into the night. He watched her as she gaily danced around the pole, braiding her ribbon with the others. Princess Elizabeth was considered pretty, but Rose was lovelier. Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunshine. She moved with an ineffable grace.