The King’s Sister

Chapter Sixteen

June 1400, York

‘I suppose that I am summoned here for the sole purpose of your keeping an eye on me.’ I might have donned my public face of gracious enjoyment, but my voice had the edge of an executioner’s axe.

‘Yes. Why else?’

Henry, hair ruffled by a flirting breeze, was exhibiting a whole tapestry of irritation, although not necessarily with me, except that I was the nearest target for his ill temper. And I could see his justification. Who better to be recipient of Henry’s mounting fury? Here I sat, a widowed sister with questionable loyalties, recently released from an ill-matched union with a traitor.

‘Do you expect me to behave in some outrageous manner? Perhaps to wed the first comely man I see, regardless of his allegiances?’ I asked with a winsome and entirely false smile.

‘You might just. If only to spite me. You’ve done it before, after all.’

The deep friendship that had once flourished was harder to re-establish than we had imagined. A member of Henry’s household, chiefly at Eltham, since January, I suffered from growing boredom and permanent grief. Henry, sound of judgement, solid of stature at thirty-three years, was beset with problems and short of patience. Perhaps it was time for me to show a little magnanimity.

‘I am here to support you,’ I said.

‘And so magnificently clad.’

‘Are we not here to make an impression?’

Smoothing the sun-warmed miniver that lined my oversleeves, I yawned, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun at what was only the beginning of a very long afternoon, and fidgeted with the little ivory hand-fan that Henry had given me in the days when I was in his favour, brought back from his journey to the East. My women, equally restless, chatted and pointed, encouraging me to participate in their air of festivity. At least it would start soon. The herald had donned his pleated tabard, sweat mantling his brow at the weight of it in this heat, and was hefting his trumpet, merely waiting for the royal command to blast the combatants into action. I remembered the days when I could barely sit still, so great was my excitement. I remembered the days when …

I closed my eyes, except that I could see the scene painted on my inner lids. I had seen it so often before. I had seen it when it mattered that the knight of my choice rode to victory. When John, my beloved John, ruled supreme in the lists and I, clothed in bright silks and garlanded with flowers and jewels, could award the wreath of glory to the man who owned my heart.

It did not matter now. Nothing mattered.

The trailing skirts of my houppelande might be opulent, the embroidered blue and gold vibrant in the clear light, my hair plaited into a caul under a light veil as fashion dictated, but my spirit remained in the blackest of mourning, as if my thoughts were enclosed in a deep well. The six months since John’s murder—for that is how I would always see it—had done nothing to lift the cloud that shrouded every thought. I was here at York, only under sufferance because my brother demanded it. Henry was doing a lot of demanding of late, but I thought that he was not without compassion for me.

‘It would help if you at least looked interested, Elizabeth.’

‘I will look interested when you will agree to restore my son’s lands and titles.’

Henry grunted in exasperation. ‘When will you tire of asking for the impossible?’

‘Never!’ Nor would I. It would be my life’s work. My fingers tightened on the fragile handle, so that I handed it to one of my women. It would be regretful if I broke it. There was of course a limit to Henry’s compassion. Clad in regal splendour for the occasion with velvet and ermine, Henry, determined to put on a good show in spirit and ceremonial, angled an unmistakable warning in my direction, his eyes fierce. ‘It would be a blessing for us all if you appeared to be enjoying the celebration of what will be a notable coup against the Scots.’

Enjoy this display of arms, arranged purely to keep the knightly contingent of Henry’s army content through swordplay and brutal force? It was in my mind that I would never find enjoyment in my life ever again, until the day of my miserable death.

‘Well, I am not.’

‘I recall the days when you loved the drama of it all.’

Uncomfortably, his thought mirrored mine. I recalled the days when John rode with such style, when his smile, as he received the prize could creep in and steal my heart. I remembered when the golden lions on his banners drew admiration from all. Now the banners no longer flew and I did not want to be here. I shivered as a chill breeze from the north whispered over my skin.

Much as the chill overtures from the Scots had cast a blight on Henry’s ambitions.

We were in York, complete with a vast army and all the necessary accoutrements for an invasion, to persuade the Scots to make a lasting peace. Faced with a hostile France on one side, on the other a palpable unease in England after the Revolt of the Earls, Henry determined to secure his northern border. The Scots were tardy in approaching the negotiating table, but Henry hoped his military presence in York would speed the feet of the negotiators.

‘I do not see that my interest or otherwise will make any difference to the outcome of these negotiations,’ I said.

‘That’s because you’re thinking with your emotions, rather than your head. Before God, Elizabeth, you have lived long enough at court to know the value of a smile and an open hand to win favour.’

I shrugged with less than elegance. ‘The decision of the Scots will not be influenced by my sitting at your side, but I will do it,’ I snapped. ‘I will smile on your knights, Henry. I will pray for the success of your venture. But don’t expect any depth of enthusiasm. I don’t want to be here.’

‘So where do you want to be?’

It was a question I could not answer. I did not know.

Henry gestured and the herald blew the summons. The knights began to muster.

‘Smile, Elizabeth.’

Still I did not, fixing my gaze on the armour, glinting hotly, but as I sensed Henry frowning at me, I turned to meet a distinctly speculative stare.

‘What?’ I said. The speculation seemed to be very particular

‘Nothing.’

‘I think you’ve some plan in mind that I will not like.’

‘I have no plans but to keep my army commanders from either attacking each other or going home out of sheer boredom.’ Henry took my hand in his and drew me close, to plant a brotherly kiss on my cheek, murmuring in my ear in a deliberate distraction from the political to the personal:

‘When did you not enjoy the prowess of a young knight in battle?’

‘I am too old to admire young knights in battle—or old ones, for that matter.’

‘You are never too old. Unless you would wish yourself into an early grave.’ His fingers tightened around mine. ‘Think of the future, Elizabeth, not of the past. The time for mourning is over. Holland has been dead for six months. There has been too much death.’

Did I not know it?

‘I know your hurt. Take what pleasure you can from the day. It is important to me that the day goes well. Will you help me?’

And my heart went out to him, recognising the request he would have made from Mary if she had lived. Except that he would not have needed to ask. Mary, soft-hearted Mary, would have known his needs and responded with a loving heart. He was missing her as much as I was suffering from my own loss. It was six years since her death, and for a moment I saw that he too wished it could have been his loving Mary who was seated at his side, dispensing her goodwill on all.

‘You should wed again,’ I said, before I thought. Henry might not like me treading in his personal affairs. I knew him much less well than I once had. Being King had given him a gloss of power, of battle-hardened authority, that built a barrier between him and his subjects, but he did not seem to mind and his smile became the same grin I now saw on his son Thomas’s face.

‘I know I should. And who’s to say I won’t? So should you.’

‘Never. I will not wed again.’

And his face softened. ‘Now that would be a great loss for some worthy knight. But since we are both bereft, we will work together to make this country strong and secure. Won’t we?’

I could not reject his overtures. He was my brother and he needed me. The bloody deeds of the past were not all of his doing.

‘Yes, Henry. We will.’

And at last, as a good sister should, I set myself to look as if I were enjoying the clash of weapons, the straining bodies, the magnificent horseflesh. But I did not like the idea of a worthy knight in my bed. I did not like the idea of any knight at all.

The tournament began. In a concerted will to defeat the boredom of a long wait while diplomacy took its endless time of discussion and counter-discussion, the knights and their entourages set to with an enthusiasm. Hanging about was not good for discipline, nor was an uncertain outcome. This feat of arms would drain excess energies, allow the English knights the satisfaction of victory or the humiliation of defeat, and give the combatants something to talk about in their ale cups rather than the stalemate of the Scottish negotiations. I had to admit to Henry’s good policy.

Retrieving my little fan, plying it briskly, I relaxed into laughter and comment as England’s finest soldiery demonstrated its prowess. This was not the ostentation of my grandfather’s tournaments when he, the old King, had fought with his knights, masquerading in velvet and feathers. This was a makeshift event, Henry on the brink of war and short of money. But it had an air of colour and festivity and as such was to be enjoyed.

The storm cloud lifted infinitesimally from around my heart.

With casual interest I began to note who had come to show their skills, picking out a helm that I recognised, a heraldic emblem fluttering bravely, a particular jousting horse. The lions and fleur de lys of the Beauforts, the azure lion of the Percy family that Henry was carefully cultivating. The royal red and gold and blue of Henry’s two eldest sons, Henry and Lionel. One day my sons would shine at such a contest. Provocatively, since I no longer had claim on it, I had left my children surrounded by their own household of chaplain, governors and nurses at Dartington …

And my breath caught. There. Another lion, rampant and gilded, gleaming in the bright sunshine.

I should have expected it, but strangely I had not. Now I found my breathing shallow, my heart thudding hard beneath the soft folds of hot velvet as I worked to preserve an expression of disinterest. I had managed, without difficulty, to avoid this creature, but there he was before me, all glamour in his father’s gilded armour, proudly astride a bay stallion, larger than life. Thomas FitzAlan, now Earl of Arundel and restored to the FitzAlan inheritance with all its potential for power as an accepted associate of the King.

‘You cannot avoid him for ever, Elizabeth.’

Henry had seen the direction of my hostility.

‘Not when you show such favour to him.’

No, I could not avoid him, but neither could I prevent a leap of pure joy when, the contest underway, the new Earl was efficiently dislodged from his saddle and, in one to one combat, beaten to his knees by a well-aimed sword in the hand of some nameless knight. I had no compassion for his lack of years at nineteen. I would have had his head hacked from his body. When he was helped limping from the field, I watched him go, hatred masked by a bland face.

‘How can you not despise him?’ I asked.

‘I cannot afford to despise him. I cannot afford to despise anyone. The FitzAlans have lineage and breeding. They are too potentially powerful to have them estranged from my court.’

I looked across to where the knight who had bested FitzAlan was catching his breath before launching again into the fray. I did not know him, nor did I recognise his banner. A lion rampant, ducally crowned, with a border bezantee, dramatic in black and red with a golden star on its shoulder. Silently wishing him well, my eye moved on, then returned as he took his sword from his squire and strode back to pit himself against one of the Percy faction. Unlike FitzAlan, his armour was plain and well-worn, no gilding here, the dents catching the sun to refract into glints of light as he remounted.

And again my breathing was compromised but in quite a different manner.

There it was, the same skill, the same grace that had characterised John Holland; a fluid deportment, a perfect coordination between hand and eye that brought him victory against any knight who opposed him. Agile, fleet-footed, there was no one to compare with this unknown knight. It could be John, restored to all his old inimitable prowess.

I took a deep breath. This was beyond foolishness, to be so moved by an ability to thrust and parry, to disarm, before clasping hands with the beaten foe in recognition of the fallen man’s courage. It was not John. It would never be John again.

My fan had fallen still in my lap.

I berated myself again, my cheeks flushing in the heat as I realised that I had been regarding the knight with the rampant lion for the last handful of minutes, and at last my breathing began to settle and common sense dealt a healthy blow to my demeanour. This faceless man did not attract me. There was no obvious similarity between him and John, neither in stature nor in manner of fighting. This man was taller, slighter, fighting with an elegant composure, far different from John’s magnificent aggression. Even though he wielded the great sword with impressive talent, this knight could not wound my heart as John had done.

And then there he was, this unknown knight, urging his mount into a controlled canter towards our pavilion.

‘Who is he?’ For want of something to say. And because, in truth, I was interested in a man who could exhibit such skill.

‘John Cornewall. A knight from the west country,’ Henry replied.

‘I don’t know him.’

‘He’s the son and heir of younger son, so out to make a name for himself. He’s a man I would have at my side.’

‘You would have every man at your side,’ I remarked, recalling FitzAlan.

‘What King would not? Besides, I like Cornewall’s style in combat.’

The knight, his armour even more worn than I had anticipated, hauled his mount to an impatient standstill before us and, still helmed, bowed before me.

‘I would carry your guerdon, my lady.’

A clear voice, light of timbre, even from the depths of the unadorned jousting-helm.

I smiled politely, as I must. ‘I do not know you, sir.’

‘Here is my emblem, my lady.’ He gestured to his squire who rode up with the emblazoned shield.

‘But I would not give my guerdon to a faceless knight, sir.’

Upon which he removed his helm and handed it to the squire.

‘I am Sir John Cornewall, my lady. I would be honoured to fight in your name and carry your honour to victory in the lists. If my face is pleasing to you.’

Any lingering thought that this knight bore even the smallest similarity to John Holland was instantly obliterated. Sir John Cornewall was a young man untouched by hard experience, his eyes the palest of blue, like a winter sky touched by frost; his hair, already plastered to his skull with damp heat, had the fairness of flax as it curled around his ears, while his skin was pale with an unlined smoothness. His mouth was well-sculpted but unsmiling, his nose blade-narrow. A handsome face, all in all, if austerity and rigid self-control was pleasing. And there was the soft accent, from the west, that brushed my senses. Deep within me, I acknowledged an attraction to this man with such perfect manners, an interest that any woman might feel towards a handsome knight, even if her heart was dead.

‘My lady?’ I realised I had been staring. ‘I would fight for you,’ he repeated, ‘if you would honour me.’

And I felt Henry’s elbow nudge me where my arm rested against the carved chair he had provided for my use.

‘Of course, Sir John. The honour is mine.’ How very difficult it was to use that name, but I did, and on a whim, struggling to slide it over my knuckle, I held out a ring that Henry had given me at some past New Year’s Gift Giving. ‘God give you victory, sir.’

He bowed again, removed his gauntlet and slid the ring onto his smallest finger. Then, replacing gauntlet and helm, he took his place with the rest of the knights.

I tried hard not to allow my eyes to follow him.

‘That was generous,’ Henry murmured under cover of my women’s chatter. ‘A veil or one of your endless knots of ribbon would have done just as well.’

‘Is he not worth more than a veil?’ I asked languidly augmenting the breeze with my little fan. ‘Besides, I wager that he will win, and I’ll get it back.’

‘Are you so sure? I think he’ll keep it.’ Henry did not look at me but seemed to be inspecting the disposition of officials on the field.

So I watched this man whose allegiance Henry would win as the contest continued in a more restrained show of arms, in which Henry’s two eldest sons could compete. Henry at thirteen and Thomas at twelve would be doughty fighters: my brother’s pride shone like the noon sun as they played their part. They carried themselves well; John Cornewall even better, who allowed the princes to display their skills before the inevitable disarming. He was a man of compassion. Or, if I were of a cynical turn of mind, a man of few financial resources using a clever ruse to catch the King’s eye. He won, of course, defeating all comers. Throughout the heat of that afternoon, Sir John Cornewall rode with all the glittering mastery of a knight from the magical books of my childhood, snatching victory from the prestigious French and Italian knights who challenged him.

I stayed for Henry’s presentation of prizes.

Did my chosen knight surprise me? Not with the innate dignity with which he accepted the Order of the Garter, bestowed on him by Henry in recognition of his upholding England’s reputation against foreign competition. Not by his splendid courtesy to all who applauded his achievements. But yes, he did baffle me in the end when, the Order of the Garter blazing in the sun, Sir John returned the ring to me with a gallant gesture, kneeling, the ring resting in his palm as he offered it, the sapphire gleaming with blue fire from its depths. Even paler, fair face strained and hair dripping with sweat from his exertions, he bowed his head so that his emotions were hidden from me.

‘I place my victory at your feet, my lady.’

‘My thanks, Sir John. Your fought superlatively well.’

What it cost me to say that. I had to set my jaw to use the same name and title as John Holland. I expected that my expression was stony when he deserved my praise, but it was beyond my tolerance to comply.

‘It was my desire to uphold your honour, my lady.’

‘Then it is right that you should be rewarded.’

He looked up, eyes glassy with exhaustion, face smeared with dust.

I could not smile at him, nor did he smile at me.

‘Good fortune, Sir John,’ was all I said. ‘The prize is yours to keep.’

I let him keep the ring. It was indeed very valuable and perhaps I should not have done it, but he had fought well and it would have been churlish of me not to reward him. What did this golden-haired knight mean to me? Nothing. He never could mean anything to me.

I left before Henry awarded the rest of the prizes. I could not sit and wallow in self-pity, stirred with fury into a lethal mix as each brave knight knelt to receive his king’s commendations and a purse of gold coin that Henry could ill-afford to give. John should have been there if he had made a pragmatic rather than an emotional choice. John should have been there if Henry had allowed himself to be generous. John should have been there if I had not …

Too close to home. Far too close.

I allowed myself to feel the old hurt that never left me, and that night, in my dreams, my hands were drenched in blood.

The jousting ended on a high note of male pride and knightly boasting but Henry sank into sour despondency with no news, good or bad, from Scotland. Supplies, I was led to understand by the tone and colour of his language, were running low, a disaster if the Scots refused an alliance and Henry was forced to call their bluff with an invasion.

‘The goodwill from the jousting will die a death overnight if we’re left sitting here on our arses for the next month!’ Henry snarled when the couriers arrived yet again from the north with no news.

All we could do was sit tight at York and wait, until Henry could discover sufficient resources, or wring them from the reluctant purses of the richest noble families in his army. Meanwhile he chose to host a banquet to celebrate the victors of the tournament.

‘Pray that if I’m open-handed with roast venison and enough wine to swamp their grousings, they’ll forget their grudges and stay for the next feast I can muster.’

Perhaps it all had the air of desperation. I did not fully comprehend all the difficulties in the stalled negotiations, and Henry remained as silently dour as the Scots except to say: ‘They’re playing us for bloody fools, keeping us kicking our heels here. I’ve a good mind to invade tomorrow and prod King Robert with my sword until he does homage.’

‘Well, that will encourage him,’ I observed. Then took my lute and my needle to one of the spacious rooms in Greyfriars in the city where we were staying and prepared to wait with him. With a banquet in mind, in the absence of a wife, I would be Henry’s hostess, which pleased me well enough, for the accommodations at the Franciscan Friary were suitably sumptuous, and it gave me something to occupy my mind other than my interminably festering woes, as Henry found need to remark.

‘I, too, have lost friends to death or divided loyalties. You are not alone in your grief. Your face would curdle the milk in the churn.’

I balked. ‘You allowed my husband to be done to death. Do I rejoice?’

‘No. And I’m sorry for it. What more can I say?’

And again seeing the lasting sorrow for Mary mould his face into harsher lines, I hugged him as if he were still the brother of my childhood. We were both alone and must support each other. It would never be the same, I would never trust him as I once had, but he was all I had.

‘I will organise your feasts,’ I promised, ‘your wine and your venison, and we will tie your friends to you with shackles of music and food and celebration.’

‘It will get better.’ Henry returned my embrace. ‘Loss will lose its sharp edge.’

‘Of course it will.’

Neither one of us was convinced.

We feasted. Where did Henry find such a wealth of platters? Commandeered from those who sat to eat from them, or from the rich merchants of York who had been invited to join the knightly throng. We sang songs of victory and love and knightly endeavour. Henry’s minstrels were in good heart and well paid for their efforts.

We danced. Or that is to say, Henry’s guests danced. I did not. Had I not vowed never to dance again? My feet felt as heavy as my heart. Meanwhile John Cornewall, lithe and sprightly without the confines of his armour, could dance as well as he could joust, nor was he short of partners.

‘Will you dance?’ Henry offered.

I shook my head. ‘I am too old to keep my breath in this measure,’ I said as the dancers beamed and sweated in the torchlight, instantly regretting that I sounded like Constanza who had disapproved of anything that lacked the stately elegance of Castile. I was not so old.

Reading my mind, Henry grinned. ‘You can still dance better than anyone I know. You always could. Why don’t you?’

‘I am thirty-seven years old, Hal.’

How the years flew past, how the web of lines gathered beside eyes and lips. I turned away from him. I did not like to think of the days when I had won the prize at Richard’s court. I would not talk about Richard, or John, not today when Henry and I were in amiable alliance. Henry, it had to be said, was not short of women who were more than willing to dance with him. A King of England without a wife, a young man with royal blood and attractive countenance, was a desirable entity.

‘Come with me, if your advanced years will allow it,’ Henry said, and seizing my hand he led me from the noisy environs of the dancing into an unoccupied spot where he procured a cup of wine for me from a page who responded to his raised hand.

‘Elizabeth …?’

‘Hmn?’

‘There’s something I need to tell you …’ He paused, then hesitated longer.

‘Tell me what?’

For a moment I thought my brother looked ill at ease, eyes sliding to mine, before sliding just as swiftly away. Henry was never sly, so it took me aback. Then he tossed off his wine and made a wide gesture with his empty cup as he looked beyond my shoulder.

‘Never mind solemn matters. Here’s a notable fighter wishing to claim your hand since the musicians have retuned and the blowers caught their breath.’

I turned, knowing instinctively whom I would see, and of course it was John Cornewall, making his way through the throng with the same skill and ease as he showed on the tournament field, and the same determination.

‘Why do I get the feeling that you want something from me?’

‘I have no idea. You are too cynical.’

Indeed I was. In these days my brother did nothing without a purpose. ‘It may be he wishes to exchange some news with you, Henry,’ I observed. ‘Something relevant to your Scottish troubles.’ The knight’s face was certainly grave enough.

‘I think his mind is on dancing rather than war.’

‘So am I of a mind to dance with him?’

‘It would please me if you did.’

So I was right. Henry was building alliances. I turned to the knight who, hand on heart in true chivalric mode, newly-won Order of the Garter on his breast, bowed to me.

‘Have you come to talk with my brother, Sir John?’ I goaded gently. ‘If so I will leave you together.’

‘By no means. It is you I seek. Will you dance, my lady?’

I cast an arch look at Henry as I replied. ‘My brother the King should have warned you. I do not dance, Sir John.’

‘I am informed, madam, that you dance superlatively well.’ Now I glanced at Henry with frank irritation. I knew who had supplied that piece of information. ‘I had hoped to tempt you to add your expertise to this August occasion and dance with me.’

Such a self-assured request, those light eyes holding mine with no shyness. He might be young but he had all the confidence in the world. I felt an urge to ruffle that perfect poise, and so stepped onto dangerous ground with a little thrill of expectation. How would he react? I would be interested to see if this put an end to his need for my company.

‘Once I danced, Sir John, but no longer. Since my husband’s death I do not have the heart for it. The manner of his death has robbed me of all joy.’

In brotherly disgust, Henry grunted and strode off. I waited to see if Sir John would follow.

‘If you will not dance, will you sit with me?’ he invited, his manner lightly courteous. Why would he wish to sit with me? Would nothing deter him? And I felt a desire to repulse him, to see what was behind that cool façade. And to foil Henry’s planning.

‘No, Sir John.’

‘We could converse.’ No, he was not deterred. ‘We have many acquaintances in common.’

‘I expect that we have. But it is my wish to return to my women.’

Sir John laced the fingers of his hands together and studied them, giving me ample opportunity to admire the fine texture of the hair that curled onto his brow.

‘Can you not be persuaded, my lady?’ Quickly, smoothly, he raised his eyes, to catch me watching him, but took no advantage of it. ‘It might be that you enjoy the experience. Why would you wish to be the only lady here present without a knight to partner her or devote himself to her comfort?’

His persistence ruffled me. ‘No, Sir. I will not. Forgive me if you think me discourteous …’

Upon which he offered me a suave, if perfunctory, bow. ‘Lady Elizabeth of Lancaster could never be ill-mannered. I will not inflict my presence on you further.’

No courtier talk here. John Cornewall left me to stand alone.

I felt myself flushing under the sardonic response as he retraced his steps, leaving me to walk slowly back towards the dais where my women sat and gossiped, admitting my discourtesy. What had driven me to be so rudely uncivil? And I felt the heat in my cheeks deepen for did I not know the answer. I had admired him at the tournament. I had found his solemn pronouncements, his careful gravity, even his cool self-assurance appealing, and immediately felt tainted by disloyalty. What right had I to be intrigued by any casual acquaintance when my heart was still consumed by old loves, old emotions, old bitterness? Was I not betraying my beloved John all over again? I could not. I must not. This anger at my own shallow appreciation of this talented knight had been rapidly transmuted into sharp-tongued boorishness, and I was now angry all over again, for did I not know better than to inflict my own guilt on an innocent man?

Yet it pleased me beyond sense that he was wearing the sapphire ring that I had given him. It pleased me less that he danced with every attractive woman in the room, and every one of them younger than I. But I was hardly in a position to complain, was I?

He did not ask me to dance with him again. He was not a man to hound me until I complied. He was nothing like John.

The banquet and dancing over, I dispatched my women to the rooms the Friary had allotted to us before taking one final survey of the Great Hall. All was in order and could be left to Henry’s Chamberlain. Indeed Henry was still there, speaking with him, still fired with some enthusiasm, while I was weary and covered a yawn with my fingers. Perhaps tomorrow I would go to Dartington. There was nothing more to keep me here. If Henry had no word from the Scots I imagined that he would bring an invasion in short order, and I would be superfluous. I did not know whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Just weary, I decided, as a shadow fell across my path.

‘My lady.’

I recognised the voice, and wished he would go away. I hadn’t the energy for further exchanges.

‘I am about to retire, Sir John.’

‘Then I will not keep you. Except for this.’

Taking the sapphire stone from his own finger, he held it out. I regarded it, and him quizzically. Why would he do that? Did he not want to keep so valuable a gem? Surely it could not be my refusal to dance with him, he could not be so petty. But so be it. When I made to take it from him, he took my hand, gently but firmly enough, and pushed the golden circle onto my own finger.

My hand felt nerveless in his, the ring suddenly weighing heavily. The air around us was breathless, heavy with portent. I was always quick at reading portents.

‘Are you returning it?’ I asked to fill the sharp little silence. There was a ripple of warning here for me. Please let it not be what I suspected. ‘It was given willingly, Sir John.’ My voice sounded breathless even to me.

‘I am returning it,’ he replied, keeping my hand in his. ‘With intent. I am honoured, my lady,’ he said, ‘that you have agreed to give your hand in marriage to me.’

The air stilled around me into a suffocating pillow, and I stared at him. Words failed me, or suitable ones at least. How had he come to this conclusion? And then I knew. I knew it as if it was written in blood on the white linen of the tables that had still to be cleared of the debris. It was Henry. It was all Henry’s doing. Building alliances, that was it, and here I was, to become an essential stone in the fortress he was constructing. Henry, my loving brother, had given my hand in marriage without even speaking to me of his cunning little stratagem. He had committed me to be wed again to this ambitious knight from the west, whether I wished it or not.

‘My lady?’

Sir John bent his handsome head to press a kiss on the ring that presaged so much.

‘But I have not agreed.’ With an inelegant tug, I pulled my hand from his, and he did not resist.

‘I was of the understanding that you had. My lord the King has granted me your hand, Lady Elizabeth,’ his composure perfectly unaffected by my refusal.

‘My lord the King had no right,’ I retorted as the enormity of what Henry had done struck home. But of course he had. He had every right, and as King of England his rights had taken on even greater significance. If I allowed it. ‘I did not know,’ I said, a ridiculously obvious statement that stirred my irritation to raw anger.

How could he not have told me? Warned me? Surely he would not take my compliance for granted. Yes he would! But even if he did expect my obedience, I could not believe that courtesy would not have prompted him to tell me. To tell me why. So that was why he had been ill at ease. It was this—this deal—he had struck with John Cornewall, probably over the ale cups between one joust and the next. I was nothing more than my brother’s gift to the victor of the day. Not allow me to present you with the laurel wreath, or even this purse of gold, or even the most prestigious Order of the Garter, but let me give you my sister. She will make you an excellent wife, if you disregard the little matter of her lack of lands and her dower because her husband was attainted for treason and executed, his head adorning London Bridge. Take her. It will get her off my hands. I won’t have to watch her every step. And it will give you, Sir John Cornewall, a reason for being loyal to the crown. Is that not an excellent bargain for both of us?

And I was shaken with a blast of fury. I had been married once at my father’s behest. I would not meekly comply again at the dictates of my brother. I had no intention of wedding any man when my heart was cold and wounded.

‘The King has not informed me of this,’ I repeated, icily obdurate. ‘Was not the Order of the Garter enough for you?’

‘I am honoured by the Order of the Garter, but your hand in marriage is an even greater honour. Is this marriage not to your liking?’ he asked.

‘No, it is not. It seems that my opinion is irrelevant.’

‘I would not choose to wed a reluctant bride.’

‘Whereas I, Sir John, will not marry any man. I have been a widow for less than six months.’

He considered this. ‘Some widows,’ he remarked contemplatively, ‘are new brides within a week of their husband’s death.’

Some widows, quick to jump into another bed, did not love their husband.

I was too proud to say this. Instead, sliding the glimmering ring from my finger, I offered it back to him, balancing it on my palm. ‘I will not, Sir John.’

He did not take it. ‘Am I repellent to you?’

I observed him, taking my time to assess what I knew about him, as if that would make a difference to my decision. Which it would not. An ambitious knight, seeking promotion and preferment since his family’s straitened circumstances would bring him no satisfaction. A well-mannered, well-tutored knight who was rapidly making a name for himself in court circles. A handsome, courtly man with a subtle use of words. No, he was not physically repellent to me, but the circumstances were. And anger leapt and leapt again as I saw the truth in the situation, that Henry considered that he had every right to decide on my future.

I turned my shoulder to him, to look across the chamber busy with servants, quartering it until I discovered Henry now surrounded by a handful of his counsellors and captains. As if sensing my hostility, he turned his head to hold my gaze with his own. He knew all about this conversation. He had done it without my knowledge or my consent, because he had been uncertain of my reaction, as well he might. Oh, he had the right to do it, but I thought there was a closeness between us that had been partially mended, that he would never take such a step without considering my wishes.

I had been mistaken. To win a man’s loyalty to the crown, once again I had been chosen to play the major role.

For a moment I almost crossed the chamber to challenge Henry, to deny his right, to refuse what he had done to me, but the look on his face was one of implacability. Nor would I draw attention to my position, or shame him in the regard of his counsellors. Instead, pride strong in me, I addressed the man at my side. The man who expected to wed me.

‘I will not wed you, Sir John.’

‘Am I so bad a choice, my lady?’ he pursued.

Any choice was bad, however good his features, however smooth his tongue. I could not do it. Well-mannered and chivalrous he might be, I would not wed him. There were many women who would castigate me for a fool, and indeed in other circumstances, in another life, I might just …

A thought struck me with the force of a mace.

‘How old are you, Sir John?’

His brows lifted at so personal a question, but he told me.

And I laughed. I laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of every man and every scavenging dog in the room. And then I stopped, my hand to my mouth. It was ill mannered to laugh when the victim of my laughter had no idea why.

‘No,’ I repeated. ‘I will not marry you. I will not marry you at my brother’s behest. There is nothing in this marriage for me and I am no tournament prize for the taking.’

Not waiting to see if he would argue against this, ignoring Henry, I left the ring, which Sir John had not redeemed, on the table and left the hall.

But before I climbed the stair, I looked back. What woman would not? Hands fisted on hips, Sir John Cornewall studied the floor at his feet. Then he retrieved the ring and pushed it onto his own finger, apparently neither embarrassed nor discomfited at my pronouncement. Did he think I would change my mind, or that Henry would bring his will to bear on me? For a young man without powerful sponsors he had an astonishing confidence, but he would find no compliance in me.

I walked with great dignity up the stairs and locked myself in my room.

The next morning I was up betimes, dressed, orders issued almost before daybreak. I considered departing without a word to anyone, but the emotional turmoil that had rumbled throughout the night, keeping my mind alert even though my body craved sleep, refused to let me act the coward. My brother deserved to know what I was doing and why I was doing it. It need not be a protracted meeting, or a particularly private one. We would not air our linen in public. What it would not be was pleasant.

‘Good morning, Elizabeth.’

I caught him, superbly groomed, every inch the King despite the early hour, in the brief hiatus between Mass and his reception of his Scottish couriers. He had been smiling at some comment made by his steward, but his welcome was tempered by the time I was within speaking distance. Oh, he was wary, and it was in my mind to shout and rail at him for his deception. The night had given me much food for thought.

Was I actually invited to York, to take precedence at Henry’s tournament and feasting with this marriage in mind? Had this been his plan all along, to make John Cornewall known to me, so that his undoubted expertise in the tournament field would melt my cold heart and encourage me to leap into his bed after a fast blessing of the church?

I was chillingly aloof. I enjoyed every inch of Henry’s discomfiture.

‘Good morrow, my lord,’ I said, drawing on my gloves. ‘I am here to inform you of my departure.’

A frown coloured his eyes. ‘Where are you going?’

Which I ignored. ‘I am also here betimes to inform you that I have refused the offer made to me by Sir John Cornewall at your prompting. I expect you know by now.’ I could see that he did from the wash of colour over his cheekbones. ‘I might have received his offer of marriage more sympathetically if you had discussed your plan with me. Or even asked my preference.’

‘I knew your preference. I knew you would refuse. What point in discussing it?’

‘And I have refused.’

‘Elizabeth!’ Annoyance was high, but there were too many interested ears in the crowded accommodation of Greyfriars and Henry lowered his voice. ‘Reconsider,’ he urged. ‘It is in my mind that …’

I refused to allow him to take my hands but stepped smartly back, away.

‘I will not. I know that I am part of your overall scheme, but I will not. Nor will I return to your court since I cannot trust you to put my wishes before your own.’

‘You will if I command you! I have promised your hand to Cornewall.’

‘Then let’s hope you do not command me. For you will be disappointed. I trust you will discover some means of breaking your promise. I expect you can promote another willing bride to enhance his status and win his gratitude.’

And I turned on my heel.

‘Elizabeth! We are not done with this conversation …’

‘But we are. We no longer have anything to say to each other.’

‘Have you forgotten? You are penniless without an annuity from me. You are dependent on me for—’

‘How could I forget?’ I returned so that the whole chamber could hear how I was treated, and spelled it out for him with furiously bitter words. ‘I am penniless and homeless. My thanks, Hal. I will not stay here to be assessed and prodded like a carcass set for the spit when you choose my next husband. I have more pride than that, and I deny you the right to determine the future direction of my life. You robbed me of my last husband. I will not take another at your hand.’

‘I do not give my permission! You will remain here.’

‘I am not asking for your permission.’

‘Elizabeth!’

I simply stood and faced him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I deny that it is any of your concern. You have destroyed my goodwill.’ I curtsied deeply. ‘Good day to you, my lord.’ And, with brisk footsteps, I left him to fume and restructure his plans. I would not be part of them. I had been manipulated by the men of my family before. If I wed again it would be my own choice.

I swore I would not.