Windsor Castle, Summer 1425
Windsor Castle, Summer
IN MAY, THE court moves to Windsor Castle for the summer, and the duke asks me to go with the queen and keep her company, as a compliment from him and Jacqueline.
Much as I dislike waiting on a child king, I will have to go into nursery service.
But I am greeted by Owen ap Maredudd with as much pleasure as if I were making a visit of my own choice, just to spend time with him.
‘I’m so glad you have come to us for the summer,’ he tells me dropping onto my bench as the royal barge is rowed upriver from Westminster; the queen is seated on her throne under the awning in the middle of the barge, her son wedged by cushions on the big throne.
‘There’s no one at court but governesses and old ladies. ’
‘I warned you it would be boring serving the queen,’ I tell him.
‘Not boring now,’ he retorts.
Wherrymen cheer and people wave from the piers and river stairs as the royal barge goes by, and the dowager queen takes the baby king to the front of the barge and lets him stand on a box so that everyone can see him.
He has learned to wave for the people, poor little puppet.
He is a serious little boy of three years, with the pale skin of a child who is kept too much indoors and fed too many sugared plums.You can tell at once that he is being raised by adoring women and educated by celibate monks: there is no bright boyishness in him at all, he looks sickly, and his breath is sour.
I think they are right to take him into his guardian’s household and only allow him to see his mother on visits; she would keep him as a baby all his life.
‘I’m not staying for long,’ I warn Owen. ‘I have to go back to Baynard’s Castle to prepare for my lady’s release.’
‘You think they’ll rule in her favour and give her Hainault back?’ he asks with a rueful smile, like someone playing along with a silly child.
‘No. I understand now that right does not always win in the real world. But at least they will release her, to come home to England, and I will serve her at Baynard’s Castle and at Duke Humphrey’s other great houses.’
‘Then I’ll revel in you while I have you.’ He makes my company sound like a seasonal luxury like cherries.
I laugh. ‘How shall you revel, while I am sitting with the queen and sewing shirts for the little king?’
‘Don’t forget the loom! You can wind wool for her.’ He smiles.
‘Lord, is she still working at it?’
‘Yes, indeed – we’re on blue sky now.’
‘I’m going to die of boredom!’ I exclaim.
‘No, you won’t, for I will dance with you every evening.’
‘We dance?’ I ask. When I left the court, it was so dominated by silence when the baby was sleeping that we all might as well have gone to bed after Vespers, when he did.
‘His Grace loves to dance,’ he says. He smiles at the little boy who is talking earnestly to the barge captain. ‘We always dance with him before his bedtime, me and the queen, me and the old ladies.’
‘Wild revelry,’ I say sourly and make him laugh.
‘And after his bedtime, you could come to my rooms? I could give you supper?’
‘I should like that.’ I let the promise hang for a long moment; the barge swishes through the water as the rowers pull and reset. ‘But of course, I can’t be with you alone, not until I am married . . .’
‘Worse after marriage, I’d have thought,’ he says cheerfully. He gets up and crosses the deck in two strides and catches up the young king, who is wobbling on the rocking barge, and takes him astern to hold the tiller. He looks back at me. ‘ Ffarwel.’