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The gift of recollection is called a blessing by those who do not possess it. Like the crown and mantle of a king, it is more alluring to those who see than it is comfortable to those who must wear it. A strong, clear memory oft belongs to a person who has lives a life punctuated by tragedy. Alas, it has been gifted to me as well and for just such a reason. Before my fifth year I recall almost nothing. The anniversary of my birthday had come that spring and I fancied that I was nearly a woman grown. My lady mother gave me a new gown of blue broadcloth cut from one of her own. My nurse Ethel let out the hem so that it made a train of good size for a girl as small as myself. If allowed, I would spend my time walking up and down any room and trailing the rich fabric behind me. I was doing exactly this in my mother’s chamber on a balmy August afternoon. Rather unusually, Mother was keen to keep her children about her much of the time. She sat embroidering by the window while my elder brothers, Edward and Edmund, played with their wooden knights by her feet. By that time, my mother had borne eight living children, of which I was fifth. There were six fine sons and two bonny girls, as my father had taken to calling us. The latest child was baby Muriel, who was tucked up in her cradle in the nursery. Small as I was, I could still detect something amiss in my mother’s countenance. Her stitches seemed frantic. I wondered if she was bothered by the battle my eldest brother, Thomas, had told me of. In my childish mind, battles were the stuff of stories. They were things to be won and told of at a grandfather’s knee, not true happenings that could affect a family as noble as ours. Tom told us children who were old enough to listen that our grandfather and father were called on to fight for good King Richard. I had never seen our King Richard, but I imagined he was a handsome and very noble sort of man if my father so highly regarded him and would serve him thus. It was not for some time that I learned that my grandfather and father, heads of the Howard clan, were among the greatest supporters of King Richard III. We were told to say prayers for the king, our grandfather the Duke, our father the Earl, and our brother Thomas, who was now with them as a young squire.Perhaps Mother was afeared for her son being so far from her, I had wondered. Certainly she would have liked to keep him safe with the rest of her brood behind the walls of Framlingham Castle. It had been some days since Father and Thomas had left us. Mother blessed and kissed them at the gate. She had gripped mine and my brother Henry’s hands tightly at that moment while we watched them ride off. Now the Howard womenfolk and their younger offspring sat in wait. What we waited for, I did not know for certain, Such knowledge was not shared with so young a child, much less a little girl. I was, however, a curious thing and sought to learn all I could, though Mother accepted no questions. The air within the chamber had grown thick with the humidity of late summer but none seemed to mind. Mother usually saw to it that her apartments were well aired and opened up, so we children ran through them freely. Any household, no matter how small, is apt to take on the demeanor of its mistress. Framlingham took on Mother’s quiet tenseness. So intense was it that we started upon hearing the clacking of hooves below. The window Mother sat by overlooked the main court. She quickly rose to her feet and looked out. Gasping wildly and clasping a hand to her mouth, she turned and ran out of the room. Edmund and I started after her, but Mother said sharply to “keep back!” In a few moments we saw our mother emerge into the courtyard. Her long sleeves- for they were quite long according to the fashion in those days- and skirt billowed out behind her. I had been admonished several times on the impropriety of a lady making haste in the way Mother now did, so I gathered she had good reason to do so. I competed for a view out the window with Edward and Edmund, both of whom were much taller than I. “Who is it there? Is it a messenger from our father?” I pounded on Edward’s shoulder but was shaken off. “Why no.” Edmund said, “No, it is Tom!” Once I finally got a look the two boys were dashing out of the chamber. It was indeed our brother. He had apparently returned alone. All that concerned me now, snooping brat that I was, was that I was left out of the commotion. But old Ethel had caught that something was amiss and upon being told whatever it was, had come to fetch me directly. The servants were all muttering to each other and I could hear exclamations in the style of “God preserve us!” Something had happened and it was serious. “My brother Tom has returned to us.” I said to Ethel as she ushered me to my cot in the nursery. “Aye, that he has.” She said shortly, removing my pretty gown to replace it with a dull woolen dress. I did not protest, I was far too eager to learn more. “Has my lord father not come too? Has not my grandfather? Is Tom well? May I not go down to see?” But poor dear Ethel was not in the mood for my questioning, though she was not obliging any other time either. “You may do nothing at all if you do not hold your tongue, Lady Elizabeth. There is grave business afoot and we shall wait here until the Countess your mother calls for us.” We must have waited two hours, but the time was agonizing to me. The nursery was set far enough back in the house that little commotion could be heard, lest we babes be disturbed and trouble be made for the nurses. Even now I can see the ceiling timbers as they appeared to me as I lay contented in my cot. I can smell the pottage and other plain fare we were fed. Being kept behind nursery doors shielded my siblings and I from the tumult of adult life that we would all too soon be thrust into. In truth, I should have savored it more, but I was too anxious to be grown. Ethel and the other nursemaids brought all of my mother’s children down to the great hall. I stared up at a castle in chaos. Men were hauling furnishings while maids were taking down and rolling tapestries. Mother’s ladies were rushing about her with lists and caskets, presumably filled with her jewels and coin. There we all stood: my brothers Edward, Edmund, Henry, John, little Charles, and baby Muriel in the arms of her wet nurse. I should never forget my mother’s face as she turned to look at us. In a few short hours her eyes had turned red and tired from crying and she wore an expression of panic which deeply frightened me. Thus far, Mother had been the finest lady I had ever beheld. Now she stood before her own children in a state of bewildered fear with her flaxen hair hanging loose from her cap. My brother Tom appeared at her side and we ran to greet him, but he was quite solemn.“Now, my children.” Mother began, “We must all be good and endure the turn of fortune dealt to us by the Lord God. In his guidance may we find the strength to bear such a burden.” Of course, we younger children had little idea what she was talking about. Tom was near thirteen and well-knew the situation, yet even he looked lost in the entire scene. “There has been a battle, a very great one, at a field they call Bosworth. Our King Richard was cut down and is dead.” She paused and crossed herself, along with all those in earshot. “The Duke, your lord grandfather is dead as well. Your dear father may yet return to us, but he may not. Oh God! My poor children.” She bent down and embraced us, muttering about all being lost. “I bid you all remember” She stood up, finally finding some composure, “that you are Howards, and through me you are also of Tilney stock. No one may ever take your name from you. Your good blood is all that is left to you now.” We now at least understood that our grandfather was dead. The old Duke of Norfolk found his end in the heat of battle when his face met an arrow. I did not discover such details until later. Edward and Edmund were upset by the news. Henry and John began to whimper, but they knew our grandfather as little as I did. John Howard spared little time for girls or boys too young to wield a sword. My only memory of him is of watching as he instructed Tom at archery. Such was life in the Howard family, that most martial of clans. The whereabouts of our father, who was then by rights the new Duke of Norfolk, were unknown. This left his eldest son, Tom, as head of our family. But poor Tom was still a boy and was harrowed by the sight of his first battle. It fell to my mother to protect and provide for her children whilst she was effectively without a husband. Little did I know then that there was a purpose in the madness in our house. Mother has set her servants to the task of stripping the most costly items from the castle rooms. As we stood in the great hall, they were being loaded into farm carts and sent under guard to Framlingham village. Despite her state of disarray, Mother did not let herself be cowed by shock. Lady Elizabeth Tilney, Countess of Surrey, would hold fast against the changing tides. Some days later on the twenty-seventh of August, were visited by a company of armored men on horseback. At their head was a man who was introduced as Wyndeley. Mother, who had predicted their arrival, received them with cold grace. She had since found calmness and would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her weakness. Tom was at her side for the sake of appearance, but Mother did all the talking. Wyndeley, it turned out, was a man of the Earl of Oxford and of the king. Mother’s eyebrows had perked slightly upon mention of this king, though I did not then understand why. She took a paper from this Wyndeley man and read it carefully. I saw it had a great red seal at the bottom and knew it must be an important document. Still, she had no reaction to its contents. She had prepared herself well beforehand for what it would say. The paper was an act of attainder against the Howard family. With the Duke of Norfolk dead after fighting on the losing side at Bosworth, his title was now forfeit. My father, Thomas Howard, was stripped of his birthright and was now the plain Earl of Surrey, no longer heir to the Dukedom. Father, we learned, was very much alive and had been taken prisoner after the battle. The matter that most affected at that moment was the forfeiture of the lands once held by the Dukes of Norfolk. All reverted back to the new king, whoever he was. By this king’s order we were to leave Framlingham. Alas, the castle that was my birthplace was fated to be the possession of the Earl of Oxford, who had served the right man at the right time. I was never to sleep under its roof again. Generously, we were allowed five days to gather our worldly goods and vacate our own house. We were gone within two. On the morning we departed from Framlingham I had to be carried out on Ethel’s shoulder. The early hour was not to my liking and I fell asleep as soon as I was dressed. I was set in the carriage next to my brothers save Tom, who sat opposite us with our mother. Before I drifted off again I heard Mother say to Tom “We are all of us subjects to this Henry Tudor now. No looking back.” It was the first time I had ever heard the name of Tudor.