A Match For Cathedras

A Match for Cathedras
By: Violet Snow
"It is the unanimous opinion of the Parliament that the child, bearing the name Elizabeth, of His Grace Henry, eighth of his line, of England, is carnally illegitimate and bears no claim to the throne."
Liz had groaned as the pompous old man crooked out the most longwinded and tedious sentence nearly two months ago now. If she had been inclined to listen to reason, she'd have been more concerned with the content presented instead of the grammar. Of course, as usual, this did not phase her. Liz was all too accustomed to being told she couldn't, then proving she could. If life held a single point of interest, it would be the accomplishment of smarting a challenge.
By rights, technically Elizabeth had been born third in line, following her sister Mary, and her younger half-brother, Edward. From what she could remember, her childhood was not that of a warm and fuzzy variety. At the tender age of two her own mother was formally executed by King Henry VIII. Her indignant lord-father resented her birth and rued the days his multiple wives bore him daughters instead of sons. As a child Elizabeth was no stranger to bloodshed, plots and executions, for they had become commonplace in her world of the sixteenth century. The only maternal affections she received were bestowed to her on behalf of her step mother, Catherine Parr.
Today, however, Liz had decided would be the day all of England would finally respect her. It had seemed that all her life had been one disappointment after another. But now, the day had come when she would finally be queen. Her country needed a leader, and she knew her family acted as carnival acts much less rulers. Her brother, Edward had succeeded to the throne, but when he died his sister Mary took the throne with the intent of unifying England under Catholicism. Now at twenty-five Liz was finally prepared to take her place on the familial cathedra.
"Are you sure you're ready, miss?" Liz's lady in waiting asked she brushed Liz's hair.
"I am without a single doubt. I'm certain God told me Himself that He wants me to rule." Liz replied with a slight grin creasing her pale face.
"Everyone says you ought to marry. Oh miss, do tell me, are there any men you wish to rule with? Her lady in waiting feigned innocence in her questioning, but Liz knew every word she uttered would be spread around court faster than any disease from a London brothel.
"I am fully prepared to assume this role on my own, and that was too bold." Liz preened in the mirror for a second. Unlike other women of her station, she did not take pleasure from staring at her reflection. She knew she was lovely, and she'd rather spend the time allowing others the privilege to gaze upon it.
"Begging your pardon Miss, but what about Lady Parr's new husband Lord Seymour? Surely you know there's talk of his interest in helping you rule by reigning beside you." Against her better judgment, the insolent woman prattled on.
Meeting the maid's eyes in the mirror, Liz spoke in a neutral and even tone, "Later when you repeat this conversation to everyone in Court, won't you do me a favor and tell them all that I am honored to rule England as their Virgin Queen. Oh, and do tell the coachmen their services will not be required this afternoon on the way back from the cathedral, instead I'd prefer them to saddle my white mare for my return."
The maid froze and fire burned in her eyes. Her nostrils flared and she quickly puffed a breath through her nose. Riding horseback through London would be deplorable, but it was not illegal, and therefore Elizabeth capitalized on this whim. Like any other royal she was bogged down with the riches of jewels and a full gown, but she still insisted on making her grand debut as the new queen on horseback. This wouldn't be too much of a shock, for she had done this countless of times. But, never as queen.
The minutes dragged like hours as Elizabeth finished dressing and prepared to descend the stairs. Six of her ladies crowed around her. Tightly. Too tightly. It felt as if one of them made a single misstep and pushed her, they'd all roll down the stairs in a mess of silks and lace. Suddenly she stopped mid step.
"Ladies, won't you go ahead of me. I know at least two of you would love to have the satisfaction of tripping me so I'll injure myself and be rendered ill-suited for the throne. " Liz had never been shy when it came to stating what was on her mind. More than anything else, she wanted the throne. And, she was determined to make it hers. Without a doubt she knew there were those who wanted her dead, like her mother, her brother and her sister. She could not possible extend anyone the luxury of the satisfaction of watching her fall. Either literally or metaphorically. Too many courtesans would love that, and unfortunately for them, she was only in the habit of pleasing her own self.
Her emerald dress shimmered as the fine threads reflected the sunlight from the cathedral's skylights. The priest was chanting in Latin, and Liz's knees were beginning to feel cramped from kneeling for far too long. She kept her head bowed and rationalized that she could bear through a ceremony if that meant she'd retain her position for her lifetime.
At last the priest motioned for her to rise, and she repeated the lines of her oath in a confident voice. Though her mouth did not boast a smile, her eyes flared and twinkled like stars aflame. This moment was the start of her new life. Finally, finally. Finally. She had succeeded and won her match for the English cathedra.
*Note: I am not a historian, and merely recounted brief facts about the early life of Queen Elizabeth I, who, for the record, was known to prefer traveling horseback compared to carriages. *