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approached the king and drew him aside to read the letter, while the duke took the opportunity to stroll over to the spectator stand where Catherine’s ladies still sat. He rapidly had the three Joannas giggling at some light-hearted remark, but his dallying was interrupted when King Henry strolled up and thrust the letter into his brother’s hands.

      ‘You had better read this, Humphrey,’ he said. ‘The Duchess of Hainault and Brabant is a lady in distress. You may have met her in Flanders when you stood hostage for the Duke of Burgundy during our peace talks in Calais four years ago.’

      Humphrey pondered this suggestion but shook his head. ‘No, although I did hear talk of the new dauphin’s beautiful wife. Would that be the same lady?’

      ‘Yes, but she was not dauphiness for long, as Prince Jean died soon after that and she married the Duke of Brabant. Not a successful union it seems. Anyway, she is in Calais now and asks permission to come to England. Awkward though it may be in view of her close relationship with our ally Philippe of Burgundy, I do not see how we can refuse. Greeting her is a job for the Lord Warden of the Cinq Ports but, although we must regard her as an honoured guest, I would not advise carrying her ashore in one of your infamous chair-litters. This lady is reputed to need careful handling.’

      Catherine protested at this. ‘I think that is a little unkind, my lord. Her husband is a violent brute and the Burgundians have invaded her territory. She deserves our sympathy.’

      Ignoring this outburst, Humphrey returned his attention to the letter, but King Henry gave Catherine a quizzical look. ‘Another way of looking at it may be that she has run away from her husband and abandoned her people. Not something any prince worth his honour would do.’

      ‘But she is not a prince,’ Catherine insisted. ‘She is a princess who has been forced into marriage with a half-wit cousin by the Duke of Burgundy on the basis that there will be no offspring to inherit either of their territories, meaning that in due course he can add them to his own. That is manipulation of the ugliest kind and Burgundy should surely not be allowed to get away with it. Jacqueline is connected to every royal house in Europe and might have been Queen of France, if my brother Jean had not died before his time. She deserves our help.’

      King Henry forced a placatory smile, clearly unwilling to enter into a public debate on the subject. ‘I understand that you have sympathy for your former sister-in-law, Catherine, and with that in mind I will agree to let her come to England, even though it will undoubtedly annoy Philippe of Burgundy who, I am sure I do not need to remind you, is our greatest ally against the forces of the Pretender. Now, let us drop the subject.’

      Catherine allowed him to take her hand and lead her back to her seat on the dais, but from where I stood I could see a mutinous expression that the king did not see. King Henry immediately went to speak to his brother, who was again surrounded by a giggling gaggle of young ladies.

      ‘Well may you practise your charm, Humphrey,’ I heard the king remark in a tone too low for Catherine’s hearing. ‘You may soon need all you can muster. I will send a courier to Calais today and I suspect that Duchess Jacqueline will waste no time in taking ship for Dover. If you take the highway tomorrow, you should be there in time to greet her and bring her back to Windsor for the tournament. You do not want to miss that!’

      Following the talk about the Duchess of Hainault’s letter, Catherine became unusually quiet for the rest of our stay at the practice ground. She waited to reveal the reason for this until we were in her bedchamber with no men present, preparing her for dinner in the great hall.

      ‘Why should a woman have no say in her own future, even when she is the ruler of her own country?’ she asked indignantly as Agnes and I removed her fur-lined heuque and began to unlace the warm woollen kirtle beneath. Sensing that the question was rhetorical, we exchanged quizzical glances, but remained silent, expecting further enlightenment. Being the maid of honour on duty, Lady Joan busied herself in the queen’s jewellery chest, selecting the pieces to be worn and sensibly keeping her counsel.

      ‘If we show the slightest sign of exercising any power, even power that is legally ours, we are instantly considered to be difficult or, as my lord puts it, to “need careful handling”.’ Catherine glanced round at the three of us, still busy at our tasks. ‘Not one of you speaks, but you all know what I mean. Joan, has your mother never complained of such things?’

      Lady Joan looked up from the jewel casket, her cheeks hot. ‘Not in my hearing, your grace,’ she said diplomatically.

      Catherine shrugged and sat down on her dressing stool. Agnes moved in to arrange her hair more elaborately for the formal headdress she would wear with her elegant ground-sweeping gown. I had not yet noticed any of the court ladies copying Catherine’s French fashions, but it could be only a matter of time before there was a rash of steeple hats and houppelandes.

      Agnes began to twist handfuls of Catherine’s hair into ropes, pinning them to the crown of her head. ‘Have you ever met the Duchess of Hainault, Madame?’

      ‘No.’ Catherine shook her head, tugging against the tress her attendant was arranging. ‘Ouch, be careful, Agnes! Well, I was at her wedding when she married my brother Jean, but we were all children then and I do not remember her except as a bride in the cathedral at Compiègne. Charles met her later, when she was the dauphiness, and said she was very beautiful but heiresses are always beautiful to men, are they not?’

      ‘Will she live here at the English court now?’ Lady Joan laid a collar of Lancastrian SS gold links set with diamonds on the dressing chest, ready to drape around Catherine’s shoulders. ‘After she arrives, I mean.’

      ‘We shall have to see if we like her,’ Catherine responded. ‘She may not fit in with our merry little band. You are happy that you stayed with me, are you not, Joan? Or do you miss your mother?’

      This double question flustered Lady Joan. ‘Oh yes – I mean no. Well, I miss my lady mother, of course, but I am very happy that you managed to persuade her to let me remain in your service, Madame.’

      ‘That is good because it was not easy. And of course King James is here for the occasion of his being knighted by the king. Does that please you also?’

      This abrupt change of topic seemed to turn Lady Joan’s cheeks a deeper shade of pink. ‘King James, Madame?’

      I frowned, striving to fathom where this conversation was going.

      With a teasing smile Catherine pursued her theme. ‘He spoke to me of you yesterday, Joan. He said he had watched you from a window, playing bowls in the garden, and thought you the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. I received the impression, however, that he actually knows you rather better than merely as a vision of loveliness viewed from afar. Would I be right?’

      Both Agnes and I were by now wide-eyed with astonishment. This suggestion of a liaison between Lady Joan and the King of Scotland came as a complete surprise; then I remembered Joan’s plea for my intervention with Catherine on her behalf. Suddenly I understood the real reason why she had been so anxious to stay at court.

      I felt quite sorry for her in the circumstances. Clearly her lover, if he was that, had spoken to the queen of his interest without forewarning Joan. Tongue-tied and deeply embarrassed, she was unable to think of anything to say.

      Catherine took pity on her. ‘Well, since you do not deny it, I must suppose that the two of you are at least acquainted. And whilst King James is obviously very enamoured, he spoke most honourably and delicately about you. He writes poetry, did you know that? Well, of course you do. Really, Joan, there is no need to look so crestfallen. You have not committed any crime and not even your high-minded mother could object to such an acquaintance. King James has asked me to take his part in marriage discussions with your mother and the king, but first I would like to know whether you would be willing. Consent is still required by the Church, however; many marriages are somehow forced on unwilling and unfortunate noblewomen like Duchess Jacqueline.’

      By now Lady Joan had dissolved into tears, and it was impossible to tell if they were tears of relief or remorse. I was about to rush to her side and

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