With a gentle wind rippling its surface, the large, man-made pond glistened in the late morning sun; on it, a model of a galleon floated closer and closer to a flock of unruffled swans.
"Harry! Harry!"
Taking his gaze from the water, the boy looked over his shoulder and saw his youngest sister running towards him, her coif askew, skirts bunched up in her hands. He lifted himself from his squatting position, just in time to greet her breathless arrival.
"Mary! What's ado?"
He knew it must be important. Now almost five, his sister took very seriously her royal dignity.
"Tis Mother, Harry..." the little girl before him panted, then gulped down a deep breath. "Mother wants you! Anon, my brother!"
"Mother...mother's here?"
Looking toward Eltham palace, the home of the youngest children of the King of England, Harry beamed and, without waiting for her answer, he began to walk toward the palace. With every step his pace quickened, until his walk became a run. Joy filled his heart, and winged his feet; he utterly forgot about the guard discreetly shadowing his every step, who now sought to catch up to his prince.
When he reached the top step before the entrance, where palace guards stood to attention on either side of the two oversized, palace doors, Harry paused to catch his breath, letting the drumming of his heart settle into a slower beat. Arriving at his side, his sister took his hand in hers, her blue eyes- the same sapphire colour as his- shining. "She is waiting, Harry!"
Harry pushed open a heavy door and, hand in hand with his sister, went into the vast hall that led to the audience chamber of Eltham palace. Without Mary needing to say one word, he knew his mother would be found there.
Light. Golden light. His mother stood as if enveloped in a haze of golden light. It showered down over her from the high, narrow and long windows that broke up the north and east walls of the huge chamber. But for Harry, the light radiated most from the gentle, loving smile on his mother's face, the smile welcoming him. A statue of the Virgin Mary seemingly come to life and, like so many of the statues Harry had seen in his short life, with an infant in her arms; her youngest child, Harry's two-old brother Edmund. But seeing Harry now approach, his mother turned to children's nurse, passing the child to her. Then her smile widened and she beckoned to Harry even closer. Harry walked the last steps separating him from his mother, then knelt, bowing his head. He felt the light touch of her hands.
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