"I don't see how."

Cecylee put her small hand on top of his and lifted her face.

"You know the queen is expecting a baby. I shall take it upon myself to bring her such things as a lady in her condition might like. Then I can advise her-"

"I still don't see what this has to do with politics. How does your knowing about breeding make you persuasive?"

"I will catch her when her guard is down. She will be feeling vulnerable, anxious about the ordeal she is to undergo."

York stroked his beard, regarding her. Sir William Oldhall had brought a full report of Cecylee's cool handling of the crisis that had nearly cost him his life. He'd described her brilliant idea of fighting in the court of public opinion. "At first I did not know what she was talking of. Truly, I thought her wits had gone. But she was merely many strides ahead of me. You know how quick the d.u.c.h.ess is."

Cecylee tilted her head as if she could read his thoughts. "I succeeded in getting you out of the queen's clutches alive."

He smiled as he bent to kiss his wife on the cheek. "So you did, my Cecylee. That was a deed well done. Well, if you believe you can shift her opinion-"

Cecylee smiled. "You agree that I should try?"

Chapter 25.

Placentia Palace, Greenwich Whitsuntide May 1453 Marguerite regarded d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee with narrowed eyes. "It is most gracious of you to receive me, madam," murmured the d.u.c.h.ess as she rose gracefully from her low curtsey.

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee looked younger than her years. Wasn't she at least ten years older than Marguerite? How did she manage to look so slender after bearing so many children? How did she keep those roses in her cheeks when she was always breeding? Even her teeth were good, whereas she, Marguerite, was growing old. Every time she glanced at herself in her gla.s.s, she saw hard lines around her mouth and crow's feet around her eyes.

The truth was she'd done her work too well. Wedded to the King of England as part of the peace settlement between England and France, she'd been tireless in her efforts to further the interests of her countrymen. And she had succeeded brilliantly. First Maine and Anjou, then Normandy, then Aquitaine. All of these domains had fallen into the French king's lap because Marguerite wielded power over the English king and over his supporters Suffolk and Somerset. These men listened to her as she told them that the war with France would come to an end only if the French got back the land that was rightfully theirs.

The only person who stood in her way was York, and he'd stirred things up to such a fever pitch that even she, the redoubtable Marguerite, was disquieted by the hatred shown her by the people of England. Their stony silence, glares, and mutterings caused p.r.i.c.kles of unease to run up her spine.

And now York's d.u.c.h.ess had suddenly appeared. What could she possibly want? Was there some advantage to be gained here? She motioned the d.u.c.h.ess to sit, signaling for wine to be poured.

The d.u.c.h.ess sipped her wine delicately. "I am concerned about some things you might have heard about my lord of York."

Marguerite stared. She had expected the d.u.c.h.ess to congratulate her about her pregnancy, dispense such advice she must surely have gained after bearing her lord twelve children. She raised an eyebrow. "I do not listen to gossip."

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee flushed.

"I was not talking of gossip, madam," replied the d.u.c.h.ess. She lifted her lashes to stare directly at Marguerite. "There have been some serious accusations made against my lord."

Marguerite rose and the d.u.c.h.ess scrambled to her feet. Marguerite stared, but d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee met the gaze squarely. What would happen if Marguerite stirred the pot?

"I have heard it said that York is planning to attack the king. Is that so?"

"No, madam, it is not," replied the d.u.c.h.ess immediately. She smiled. "Of course, my lord is not without his faults. He can be sometimes-difficult."

That is putting it mildly, thought Marguerite.

"You know how husbands can be," remarked the d.u.c.h.ess, tilting her head on her slender neck. "But there is one thing York would never do, and that is break his oath. He takes these things very seriously."

She sipped her wine. "What mean you?"

"He took an oath of allegiance to your lord when he was crowned king. It would go against everything he stands for were he to break it now."

She frowned as she tried to concentrate. Suddenly, the dark room with its handsome furniture and heavy draperies felt unbearably hot. The baby kicked repeatedly. She drew herself up. "Your lord is ambitious. He is close to the throne. He has powerful supporters. Why wouldn't he try to gain power for himself?"

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee sighed as she put her wine cup down. "Perhaps you do not know my husband as well as I thought. Perhaps you do not know he is deeply religious."

Religious? York? She'd seen him at Ma.s.s, but he seemed no more religious than the next man. "I always thought my husband was the religious one," remarked Marguerite as the room began to swirl.

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee laughed, a bright tinkling sound echoing the bright points of candlelight that were making Marguerite's head ache.

"Well of course, madam, no one can match your husband for piety. My lord is not like that, but it does not mean religion is not important to him. Why, he prays every day, both morning and evening. He hears Ma.s.s with me every day. He visits our priest regularly-"

"Why are you telling me this?" she said, more abruptly than she'd meant. But she was dying for the d.u.c.h.ess to leave so that she could go to her bedchamber and lie down.

"I want you to understand that my lord does not break his vows. Your lord was anointed king before G.o.d. My lord gave his oath of allegiance then. He is not some hot-headed young blade who would take power into his own hands because it suits him to do so."

"I see." Marguerite turned away to collect her scattered thoughts. But she was not feeling sharp today. She was aware that the d.u.c.h.ess wanted something; there were undercurrents to everything she said. But today she could not fathom the depths. The d.u.c.h.ess talked in riddles and her head ached. But before she let her go, she must exact a promise from her.

"So you are prepared, madam, to give me your a.s.surances that your lord, the Duke of York, will never break his oath of allegiance to my lord, the king?

"Yes, madam. Just so," replied the d.u.c.h.ess, never breaking gaze.

Marguerite nodded slowly, as waves of relief washed over her. "I thank you for coming to tell me this, d.u.c.h.esse. It has eased my mind greatly, for I worry much about my lord-"

Marguerite's knees crumpled beneath her. She sank into her chair.

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee smiled. "Let us think of more joyful tidings. You are going to bear your lord a child. I have brought some things to relieve the pain and discomfort of breeding."

She signaled and a maidservant appeared, bearing a basket full of herbs. d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee took out each carefully wrapped package.

"I have here chamomile to soothe the spirits, tansy to ease the joints, willow bark to cleanse the skin, and various other things that I think you might like to have."

She drew out a scroll of parchment. "I wrote down some things here, so that you don't have to remember. Breeding can be exhausting."

Marguerite motioned for the maid to come closer, so that she could see the contents of the basket for herself.

"Why, d.u.c.h.esse, that is most kind."

Cecylee patted her hand. "I have long experience in such matters, my dear. If I might be permitted to give you some advice-"

Marguerite nodded.

"Perhaps it would be better if you worried less about weighty matters of state and thought instead of giving your lord a fine and healthy son."

Marguerite bit her tongue on an angry retort. "Is there anything I can give you in return, my lady York?"

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee looked down. "I hardly like to mention it," she murmured.

"Come now, you have been most kind to me. You have eased my mind. Is there anything you would like for your children?"

"If it please you, my lady Queen, I would like to have a pension of a thousand marks for myself and my children."

Marguerite's smile was genuine. So that was it. A request to buy York's loyalty. She would see to it immediately.

Chapter 26.

Clarendon, Salisbury, Wiltshire August 1453 What was he to do? Her belly had ripened like an exotic fruit. She was heavily enceinte- Enceinte. Enceinte. Enceinte.

The word clanged in his head like a bell. King Henry closed his eyes.

It had been a warm day, but now he could feel cooler breezes touching his cheeks. Where was he? At his hunting lodge of Clarendon, outside Salisbury. It had been a beautiful day, and now it was evening. His servants bustled around, preparing a feast of roasted venison from that day's hunt.

Henry inhaled. The sharp tang of wood smoke mixed with roasted flesh a.s.sailed his nostrils. He shuddered. Henry left the hunting to others, preferring quiet rides through the forests where he could pray and meditate.

But now, what was he to do?

John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury and so greatly feared by the French generals, needed money. He'd swept through the region around Bordeaux, recapturing town after town. These successes were important for the English wine trade. It was important to support Talbot, Henry knew that. But something had happened- "My lord King?"

King Henry blinked. His chamberlain, Richard Tunstall, bowed. "I have some goodly ale for you, sir. 'Tis a hot evening. Supper will be ready soon."

Henry nodded his thanks, and Tunstall bowed himself out.

Tunstall. Tunstall. Tunstall-had told him something. Henry frowned, clutching at an evanescent web of thought- "The first comfortable notice that our most dearly beloved wife, the queen, was enceinte to our most singular consolation, and to all true liege people's joy and comfort."

Henry sank back into his carved chair and smiled. He'd remembered the message that Tunstall had delivered several months ago.

Now, what did it mean?

Henry frowned as the roots of his mind writhed. Men were like trees. And trees bore fruit. And Marguerite's belly was-like ripe fruit. Aye. She was bearing his child. She was bearing a child. She was going to have a baby.

But whose?

His?

Henry froze. Aye, that was the nub of the problem. He'd been trying to think of it for days, and here it was.

The baby.

Here it was.

Talbot. France. Aye, Talbot was dead. Aye, dead. Parliament had not voted Talbot the money. The King of France had invaded Aquitaine. With three armies. To Bordeaux. The French laid siege to Castillon. The English inhabitants asked Talbot to help. Talbot went to their aid. The French left. Talbot chased the French. They turned, pushing the English back to the banks of the Dordogne.

Talbot was cut to pieces.

With a battle-axe.

Henry put his ale down and rested his head in his hand. He pictured the Earl of Shrewsbury's murder. Not hungry. No. He could not eat roasted meat after that.

Henry closed his eyes. It was his fault. Henry's. He'd not given Talbot the money he needed. Now he was dead, hacked to pieces.

Bile rose in his throat. Sweat bloomed on his forehead.

They'd lost. Lost everything. In France. Everything his father had conquered. Everything they'd held for three hundred and eighty-seven years.

All gone.

Save for Calais.

Henry looked up. The sun was setting. A sunset. Sunset. Somerset. Somerset was a dear friend of the queen.

What should he do?

It was Somerset's. Yea: That was it. And he could not recognize a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. It was against G.o.d. But they would ask him, ask him. They would insist.

Henry half-shut his eyes. His magnates stood in front of him. They had huge, staring eyes.

"You must," they said.

"No," replied Henry.

They stared.

Stared.

"Disappear," said a voice.

"Disappear."

"Inside."

"Go."

On the fifteenth of August, the feast day of the a.s.sumption of Our Blessed Lady, and around one month after the loss of everything in France, Our Sovereign Lord the King was at dinner in his hunting lodge of Clarendon, near Salisbury, when he complained of feeling unnaturally sleepy.

The next day, he went mad.

This piece of news was kept from Richard of York, for the queen and her councilors feared that on receipt of it, he would seize power. They were most alarmed by this turn of events. The king seemed to have taken a sudden leave of his senses. His head lolling, he spent his days in a chair, looked after by attendants. He could neither walk nor speak, nor understand, nor recognize anyone. It was as if he were in a kind of waking sleep. He was then thirty-two years.