Westminster Palace, Autumn 1423
Westminster Palace, Autumn
THE NEXT DAY, the baby king is all smiles, and we take the royal barge to Westminster, and the court in the evening is merry with the lords from parliament.
They treat Jacqueline with courtesy, but those who are on Bishop Beaufort’s long payroll are cool towards her.
Nobody wants England dragged into another war while we are still bogged down with the French one.
Some of them have never liked Duke Humphrey, the protector who wanted to be regent, the uncle not named as guardian – and now, an English duke married to a dangerous foreigner.
‘But the lords will pay for an army?’ I confirm to my lady. ‘Even though they don’t like Duke Humphrey? They will give him an English army to invade Hainault?’
‘Yes!’ she beams. ‘They have promised their support. We are on our way, Eleanor. We are on our way.’
I TAKE THE opportunity of being at Westminster to visit Margery Jourdemayne in her room under the stone dog archway, her door propped open by the stone snail.
‘I said you would rise,’ she greets me, not in the least surprised as I walk into her room in my new gown.
‘I’m maid-of-honour to a duchess of England, but I’m not paid any better,’ I remark.
‘And betrothed to marry?’
I can feel my heart thud. ‘What’ve you heard?’
‘That he cannot take his eyes off you and that you blush when he comes in the room. That it’s a certainty as soon as he has won a fortune?’
‘Does he have a fortune to win?’
She laughs. ‘Will you marry him without one?’
‘I can’t.’
She nods. ‘So, what d’you want from me? You don’t need a love potion, and I can’t make gold from black dust like Duke John’s alchemist.’
‘Has he made gold?’ I ask, diverted.
‘Not yet. Has Owen ap Maredudd made a fortune?’
‘Not yet. Can you tell me if he will?’ I ask.
She takes up the little pebble that sits on her desk.
Inside it, like a cave, there are sharp crystals sparkling as bright as a salt mine.
She gazes into it, her face blank, her eyes dazed.
‘Yes,’ she whispers on a long sigh. ‘Owen ap Maredudd will make a fortune, and he’ll marry for true love.
His love will be his fortune, and he will found a royal line. ’
‘What?’ I demand. ‘How is that possible? Owen and I will found a royal line? I’d deal with the devil himself for that!’
Her brown eyes are still hazy when she looks at me; she blinks as if she is waking from a dream. ‘I didn’t see how it was possible,’ she says. ‘But I did see it for him.’