The Queen's Choice. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ with so many expectations. How fortunate that he did not remarry, in the circumstances.’ He sat back on his haunches, elbows resting on knees. ‘Treason leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Many here—your uncle of Burgundy for one—will take the line that there’s no smoke without a real conflagration. Officially he is accused of treason to the King of England, judged and banished. Many would question his right to be here at all. It’s a dangerous policy to support a traitor against a rightful king. Do we hold out the hand of friendship, or do we turn a cold shoulder?’

      ‘I suppose it all depends on if we consider him to be guilty,’ I said. ‘Do we?’

      John did not take any time to consider. ‘No. I cannot think that. His sense of duty was engrained since birth. But what I do think is that we have to protect him from himself. He’ll not accept this lightly, and might be driven to some intemperate action.’

      ‘He’ll make his own decision.’ And found myself announcing, when I had sworn that I would not, because it sounded petulant even to my ears:‘He did not want my opinion, did he?’

      ‘Not every man is as foresighted as I.’ John smiled at my displeasure and, as he rose, patted me, neatly, on my head, forcing me to laugh. ‘I see your worth. One day Henry might too.’ He turned a book in his hand. ‘Now, what do you wish to do before the next interminable royal audience?’

      ‘Walk in the gardens. This place has no air.’

      *

      We fell into a pattern. Duke Henry came to us, formality abandoned. And when he did, John and Henry discussed politics: the uneasy stalemate between England and France, the dire situation of English and Breton piracy. They played chess, rode out to hunt, sampled some of John’s best wines, talked about Henry’s extensive travels in the east.

      With me Henry also played chess but with less harmonious results.

      ‘You let me win.’ Indignantly I snatched up my knight that had cornered his king after a clumsy move by one of his pawns, a move a man gifted in the art of warfare, even if only on a chessboard, should never have contemplated.

      ‘I did no such thing.’ His regard was disconcertingly innocent.

      ‘You will never win a battle,’ I pronounced. ‘Your strategy is atrocious.’

      ‘Then I must learn, before I take to the battlefield,’ he pronounced gravely.

      ‘You walk a narrow path between truth and dissimulation, sir.’

      Henry smiled.

      ‘And frequently fall off the edge,’ I added.

      Indeed there had been no need for him to sacrifice his pawn. I was a match on the chessboard for any man. But he was chivalrous, impressive in his good manners, his mouth was generous when he smiled, and he was gifted in more than warfare. I discovered in him a love of the written word as he leafed through the pages of our books. Music moved him, and poetry. He tuned a discordant lute of mine to perfection.

      So Henry and John took pleasure in each other’s company. But did I?

      It was a bittersweet experience, driving me to my knees in repentance. Henry of Hereford took up residence in my thoughts once more and I could not dislodge him. He was there, like the annoyance of a bramble thorn beneath the skin. There were too many times when his entrance into a room where I sat or stood caused my heart to jump like one of our golden carp in our fishponds at Nantes. Or my blood to surge with the heat of mulled wine. Well, I would have to tolerate this discomfort until it passed me by, like the annoyance of a bad cold in winter. I could achieve that with equanimity. I would achieve it. I never held my breath when a man walked into the room.

      I held it when Duke Henry visited and bowed over my hand. I held it when, his sleeve brushing against mine as we set up the chessmen once again, his proximity destroyed all my assurance. I held it when he took my lute, making it sing with bright joy or heart-wrenching grief, drawing his battle-hardened fingers across the strings. Duke Henry could sing too, effortlessly, without reticence, quick to be charmed into a rendition of Dante Alighieri’s song that could enflame any woman’s heart.

       ‘Love reigns serenely in my lady’s eyes,

       Ennobling everything she looks upon;

       Towards her, when she passes, all men turn,

       And he whom she salutes feels his heart fail…’

      Uninvited I joined my voice to his in counterpoint, so that he smiled:

       ‘All sweetness, all humility of thought

       Stir in the heart of him who hears her speak;

       And he who sees her first is blest indeed.’

      It was sung with commitment, with delight in the words and music, but with no wilful treachery. We were not lovers exclaiming over our enchantment. Henry was not moved by the same yearning as I, that undermined with desire every lightly offered melody, and nor was I capable of such deceit. John, an indulgent audience, was tolerant but music moved him less than his gardens and the tales of travellers. He retreated into plans for planting aromatic shrubs at Nantes, leaving me awash with the seduction of music and shared passions. More breathless than ever, and not from the singing.

      I stowed away the chess pieces in their box, placed my lute in my travelling coffer. It seemed to me to be a wise move.

      And then my royal cousin King Charles, in his innocence, intervened.

      ‘So what is Charles doing to entertain you this week?’ John asked with more slyness than necessary as we finished off the crumbs and sweetmeats of a desultory supper. ‘Any more theological arguments to exercise your mind when you have nothing else to think about?’

      ‘This week it’s marriage,’ Henry announced, his expression carefully austere.

      ‘Whose?’

      ‘Mine.’

      ‘You are to be wed?’ John was obviously amused.

      ‘King Charles, in a fit of sanity, sees a means of chaining me to his side, whatever the future might hold. He seeks a bride for me. A French lady of some distinction.’

      John might be amused, but did I find amusement in this clever strategic manoeuvring? I could understand it well enough. Whatever the outcome of this temporary isolation for Duke Henry, since one day he would assuredly regain his inheritance it might be good policy to make him a friend of France through a desirable marriage. Good policy indeed. And yet my hands stilled on my lap, my knuckles as white as the sun-bleached linen that covered the table. A new bride. Was that not what we had all expected? I should wish him well.

      ‘And who is the fortunate lady?’ I sounded to have a genuine interest.

      ‘A cousin of yours. The Duke of Berry’s daughter.’

      I allowed my brows to rise gently. ‘A powerful match. An important bride. King Charles values you highly.’

      ‘Even though I am banished, my reputation tarnished beyond repair.’

      ‘You СКАЧАТЬ