Brittany was still independent.”
I refrained from adding that when Brittany had been absorbed into the kingdom of France, I had gone there to live. In the earliest days I could remember, I’d thought of France as my homeland.
“Is it true that you are a… huérfana ?” At times, unable to remember the correct English word, the queen still expressed herself in Spanish.
“Orphan,” Maria de Salinas supplied. The queen’s favorite lady spoke better English than her mistress.
“Yes, Your Grace. My parents died when I was a child.”
Queen Catherine used both hands to adjust her headdress, wincing as if the weight of it made her head ache. Although noofficial announcement had been made, it was widely speculated that she was again with child. I prayed that was so. As of yet, King Henry had no heir for his throne.
“How old were you when you came here?” the queen asked.
“I arrived in England in the summer of my eighth year.” With each question, I breathed more easily.
“And then?”
“I was installed in the royal nursery at Eltham for the purpose of speaking French in daily conversation with the Lady Mary and the Lady Margaret, the king’s daughters.”
“Margaret,” the queen muttered, scowling.
I said nothing. Margaret’s husband, King James, had allied himself with Louis of France. There were rumors that he was about to cross the border from Scotland into England at the head of an army.
“You will have heard of the king’s great victory over the French,” the queen said.
“Yes, Your Grace. The French troops fled before our greater English force.”
Moving toward a nearby Glastonbury chair, the queen waited for Maria de Salinas to plump the cushions before she sat. Relief suffused her features, making me more certain than ever that she was with child.
“His Grace has sent me a gift,” the queen said. “A French prisoner of war. He bids me treat this man, a duke, as our honored guest. In all, seven prisoners arrived here this morning, the duke and his six servants. I must meet with him and inform him that he is to be held in the Tower of London until both Scotland and France are defeated. He will be treated well. He will have the use of the royal apartments there. But he cannot be allowed to live at court while we are still at war.” Her eyes, which had goneunfocused as she spoke, suddenly fixed on my face. “You must tell him this, Jane. My French is better than it was, but I must be certain of everything—what he learns from me and what he says in return. I rely upon you to translate every word, each…nuance. You will be my ears, Jane, and my voice.”
“It will be my pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Come, then.” She rose and walked toward the door to the privy chamber. Maria de Salinas made little shooing motions, urging me to hurry after her.
The privy chamber led into the presence chamber. The rise and fall of voices ceased at the queen’s entrance. Courtiers made a leg and ladies sank into their skirts as she made her way to the dais and the chair of state that sat under a canopy of cloth-of-gold, just as it had in old King Henry’s day. Seating herself with a rustle of stiff, jewel-encrusted fabric, the queen gestured for me to stand just behind her.
“Bring the prisoners in,” she commanded.
Expectant, everyone waited, eyes on the door to the great watching chamber.
A yeoman of the guard stepped through first. “Louis d’Orléans, Duke of Longueville, Marquis of Rothelin, Count of Dunois, and Lord of Beaugency.”
I stared. I could not help myself. The duke’s hair, blue-black as a raven’s wing, glistened in the sunlight pouring in through the chamber windows. His face was sculpted in bold, hard lines—a strong jaw and a noble nose. He was ten years older than I, thirty-three when I first saw him that day, and in prime physical condition. He entered the presence chamber with long, confident strides, all hard, lean muscle and flowing movement.
Following him came
I refrained from adding that when Brittany had been absorbed into the kingdom of France, I had gone there to live. In the earliest days I could remember, I’d thought of France as my homeland.
“Is it true that you are a… huérfana ?” At times, unable to remember the correct English word, the queen still expressed herself in Spanish.
“Orphan,” Maria de Salinas supplied. The queen’s favorite lady spoke better English than her mistress.
“Yes, Your Grace. My parents died when I was a child.”
Queen Catherine used both hands to adjust her headdress, wincing as if the weight of it made her head ache. Although noofficial announcement had been made, it was widely speculated that she was again with child. I prayed that was so. As of yet, King Henry had no heir for his throne.
“How old were you when you came here?” the queen asked.
“I arrived in England in the summer of my eighth year.” With each question, I breathed more easily.
“And then?”
“I was installed in the royal nursery at Eltham for the purpose of speaking French in daily conversation with the Lady Mary and the Lady Margaret, the king’s daughters.”
“Margaret,” the queen muttered, scowling.
I said nothing. Margaret’s husband, King James, had allied himself with Louis of France. There were rumors that he was about to cross the border from Scotland into England at the head of an army.
“You will have heard of the king’s great victory over the French,” the queen said.
“Yes, Your Grace. The French troops fled before our greater English force.”
Moving toward a nearby Glastonbury chair, the queen waited for Maria de Salinas to plump the cushions before she sat. Relief suffused her features, making me more certain than ever that she was with child.
“His Grace has sent me a gift,” the queen said. “A French prisoner of war. He bids me treat this man, a duke, as our honored guest. In all, seven prisoners arrived here this morning, the duke and his six servants. I must meet with him and inform him that he is to be held in the Tower of London until both Scotland and France are defeated. He will be treated well. He will have the use of the royal apartments there. But he cannot be allowed to live at court while we are still at war.” Her eyes, which had goneunfocused as she spoke, suddenly fixed on my face. “You must tell him this, Jane. My French is better than it was, but I must be certain of everything—what he learns from me and what he says in return. I rely upon you to translate every word, each…nuance. You will be my ears, Jane, and my voice.”
“It will be my pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Come, then.” She rose and walked toward the door to the privy chamber. Maria de Salinas made little shooing motions, urging me to hurry after her.
The privy chamber led into the presence chamber. The rise and fall of voices ceased at the queen’s entrance. Courtiers made a leg and ladies sank into their skirts as she made her way to the dais and the chair of state that sat under a canopy of cloth-of-gold, just as it had in old King Henry’s day. Seating herself with a rustle of stiff, jewel-encrusted fabric, the queen gestured for me to stand just behind her.
“Bring the prisoners in,” she commanded.
Expectant, everyone waited, eyes on the door to the great watching chamber.
A yeoman of the guard stepped through first. “Louis d’Orléans, Duke of Longueville, Marquis of Rothelin, Count of Dunois, and Lord of Beaugency.”
I stared. I could not help myself. The duke’s hair, blue-black as a raven’s wing, glistened in the sunlight pouring in through the chamber windows. His face was sculpted in bold, hard lines—a strong jaw and a noble nose. He was ten years older than I, thirty-three when I first saw him that day, and in prime physical condition. He entered the presence chamber with long, confident strides, all hard, lean muscle and flowing movement.
Following him came
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