Slowly, in a grand yet sedate procession, we boarded the big gilded barge that would convey us to the Tower of London, where Jane and Guildford were to await their coronation. Behind us, other nobles swarmed onto their own barges, to form a flotilla that would accompany us. Not a breeze was blowing, and all the colorful gold and silver embroidered and fringed banners hung slack, limp and lifeless, as the trumpets blared seemingly with the sole purpose of deafening us. Oh what a sight we were! Sumptuous and sweaty, beautiful but bedraggled! When I remember us now, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry—we were both comical and magnificent. Our lady-mother walked proudly behind Jane, like a golden galleon in full, majestic sail, hung with a fortune in diamonds and arrayed from head to toe in cloth-of-gold that the sun struck with blinding brilliance. Beside her, Father, in gold-embellished wine-colored velvet, reverently followed Guildford, holding up the hem of his long, ground-sweeping green-satin-lined white velvet cloak embroidered with golden crowns, yellow gillyflowers, and gold and silver lilies and roses.
