The Forbidden Queen. Anne O'Brien

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      CHAPTER FIVE

      He was back. Henry was in London. I knew of his approach to the city even before the cloud of dust from his retinue came in sight of the guards at the gates, since couriers had been arriving for the whole of the previous week, issuing a summons in the King’s name for a Parliament to meet to ratify the Treaty of Troyes. I knew of his arrival at Westminster, where I had already taken up residence, knew of the unpacking and dispersal of his entourage, Henry’s own progress to his private rooms. What I could not hear and deduce from my windows, I ordered Thomas, my page, to discover for me. The King was once more in residence in his capital.

      I had a need to speak with him.

      ‘How did he look?’ I asked, hoping my urgency would extract some specific detail.

      ‘He was clad in armour and a surcoat with leopards on it,’ Thomas reported with single-minded attention to the accoutrements of his hero, ‘and he wore a jewelled coronet on his helm and a sword at his side.’

      ‘Is he in good health?’ I asked patiently.

      He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, my lady. His horse is very fine too.’

      So why was I not waiting for Henry in the courtyard, a Queen to welcome her King? Because I now knew enough of Henry’s preferences to allow him to arrive and settle into his rooms in his own good time, without any distraction, as he brought himself abreast of messages and documents.

      I knew, with my newborn cynicism, that I might be awarded at best a cursory bow and a salute to my cheek, at worst a request that I return later in the day. Besides, I wanted my first meeting with him to be alone, not with the whole Court or his military escort as an interested audience.

      I waited in my chamber for an hour. He might come to me, to see how I fared, of course. Foolish hope still built like a ball of soft wool in my chest, only to unravel. Another hour passed. I could wait no longer. The excitement that had hummed through my blood for as many weeks as I could count on the fingers of one hand rippled into a warm simmer. It was, I acknowledged with some surprise, as close to happiness as I could expect.

      I picked up my skirts and I ran.

      I ran along the corridors, as I had once run out into the courtyard on the day after my marriage, my heart sore that Henry was leaving. Now I ran with keen anticipation through the antechambers and reception rooms to the King’s private apartments. The doors were opened for me by a servant who managed to keep his astonishment under control. Obviously queens did not run.

      ‘Where is the King?’ I demanded of him.

      ‘In the tapestried chamber, my lady.’

      On I went, walking now, catching my breath. Pray God that he was alone. But when I heard the sound of voices beyond the half-open door, irritation, disappointment slowed me. Should I wait? I hesitated, considering the wisdom of postponing this reunion, then knew I could not. I wanted to speak with Henry now. I pushed the door open fully and, not waiting to be invited, I entered.

      Henry was in conversation with his brother Humphrey of Gloucester and Bishop Henry. He looked up, frowning at the unwarranted disturbance of what was clearly a council of war, then, seeing me, his brow cleared.

      ‘Katherine…One minute.’

      ‘I have news,’ I stated, with only a modicum of grace.

      ‘From France?’ His head snapped round. ‘From the King? Is he still in health?’

      ‘As far as I know.’ The state of my father’s wits was of national importance, of course. ‘No, Henry. Not from France.’

      Since it was not from France, he looked at me as if he could not imagine what I might have to tell him of such importance to interrupt his own concerns. He addressed a scowling Humphrey. ‘There’s this matter of the Scots supplying arms to the Dauphinists. It must be stopped.’

      I walked forward until I could have touched him if I had chosen to. ‘I wish to speak with you now, Henry. I have not seen you for weeks.’ His brows climbed, but I stood my ground. I smiled. ‘I would like it if you were able to spare your wife five minutes of your time.’

      ‘Of course.’ His brief smile stretched his mouth. ‘If you will attend me here in the hour after noon.’

      I was neither surprised nor shocked. Nor was I reduced to easy tears. I had come a long way from the girl who had stood beside him in the church in Troyes. I had more confidence than the girl who had feared sitting alone at her own coronation feast. My weeks alone since my curtailed progress had at last added a gloss of equanimity, however fragile.

      ‘Now, my lord.’ I raised my chin a little. ‘If it please you.’

      I thought he might still refuse. I thought he might actually tell me to go away. Instead, Henry nodded to Humphrey and the bishop, who left us alone.

      ‘Well? News, you said.’

      ‘Yes.’ The bite of my nails digging into my palms was an acknowledgement that my courage was a finite thing. ‘I am carrying your child.’

      It was as if I had stripped to my undershift in public. The stillness in the room prickled over my skin. Henry allowed the list he still held to flutter from his fingers, and for the first time since he had entered the room he really looked at me.

      ‘I carry your child,’ I repeated. ‘Before Christmas I think your child—pray God a son—will be born. You will have your heir, Henry.’

      My words, as I heard them spoken aloud, stirred within me such exhilaration that at last I would achieve something of which he would approve. Surely this would make the difference. This would bring his attention back to me, even if not his love. If I carried a son for him he would be grateful and attentive so that I would not be swept away, like a lazy servant sweeping dust behind a tapestry. I knew that this was the best thing I could do for him, for СКАЧАТЬ