Windsor Castle, Spring 1422
Windsor Castle, Spring
IT IS A cold windy ride in April weather, the white blossom in all the hedges looks like snow and I am glad to get back to court.
I find the place in a flurry of excitement, as Duke Humphrey has come home to relieve his older brother John as Regent of England.
Duke John will go to France and take the queen with him, and though she is agonised at the thought of leaving her baby, she cannot disobey a summons from her husband.
‘Will we go too?’ I ask my lady. ‘To France?’
The last thing I want to do is join an army on campaign. Everyone knows how savage the English army are – the chevauchée is a moving mile-wide riot, where the soldiers are released to loot and burn and rape.
‘Surely, as soon as your cousin Philip of Burgundy knows you are near your country, he will insist that you are returned to your husband?’
Jacqueline looks thoughtful but not alarmed. Nothing seems to frighten her.
‘And if we stay with the queen in Paris, what a difficult position for her! How awkward for her to have you – a declared enemy of our ally Burgundy, his cousin, and a runaway wife – in her train.’
‘It’s true – she hasn’t invited me to go with her.’
‘You don’t want to look as if you were chasing after the king. How shameful if she thought you were trying to seduce him!’
She jumps as if I had pinched her. ‘She knows I’d never do such a thing. She knows my honour . . .’
‘But think how it looks . . .’ I trail off.
She is grave for a moment; then her merry smile breaks out. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ she exclaims. ‘You don’t want to go to France! You don’t want to join the army on campaign.’
I cannot help but laugh and confess. ‘Think how uncomfortable it will be!’ I plead. ‘We will either be in Paris where they are starving and angry, or we’ll be with the army, and you know they are dogs of war.’
‘Nell! How will you be a great lady if you don’t have courage to face a bit of discomfort!’
‘I’m a pretty girl, not a great lady,’ I insist. ‘I don’t want to go to war or have adventures. I’m frightened of horses; I don’t like loud noises.’
She does not laugh at me as she usually does. ‘There comes a moment when every woman has to take a risk,’ she says gravely. ‘Didn’t your visit home teach you it’s not enough to be a pretty girl?’
‘I can’t be like you,’ I say uncertainly.
‘Stop pretending there is nothing to you but a pretty face!’ she exclaims. ‘Stop pretending you’re a fool who thinks of nothing but a husband. Stop pretending that you’re frightened of horses. Pretend something else.’
I laugh, half-guilty that she sees through my affectations. ‘Like what?’
‘Pretend instead that you are brave and bold and determined to make your way in the world,’ she advises.
‘Not into danger!’
She shakes her head. ‘The most dangerous thing a girl can do is marry a fool.’