My thoughts winged their way, imagining him in full armour, his battle helm in place, facing my brother’s army. Who would keep him safe? Some wisewoman’s mutterings would have no influence over him, of that I was certain. I offered up a silent prayer, my hand spread wide on my belly.
Then smiled, a little sadly. His own confidence and his talent in the battlefield would keep him safe. But there was Mistress Waring, her large bulk again looming at my side.
‘The prophecy,’ she hissed.
So I would humour her. ‘What exactly did the prophecy say?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. But the Lady Mary said that Windsor was not the place for the heir to be born.’
‘I cannot believe that my child will suffer for being born in one place or another. I’m sure the Lady Mary had more sense than to give credence to it. If you are so anxious we will say a rosary to the Virgin to ask for her protection.’ I was beyond being dissuaded. I would not be swayed by anything less than good sense.
Mistress Waring drew in a breath. ‘Queen Dowager Joanna knows the truth.’
‘I have never met her.’ Queen Dowager Joanna, Henry’s reclusive stepmother. I recalled her absence at my coronation, and our paths had not crossed since, for which I was probably remiss. I had meant to ask him, and had forgotten.
‘Nor would you,’ Mistress Waring advised bleakly. ‘She is a prisoner.’
‘A
‘She is kept in confinement.’
It made no sense to me. ‘Does Henry know?’
‘Of course. It is by his order. She is accused of witchcraft. Against the King himself.’
I could think of nothing to say. Henry had led me to believe that it had been her choice to live a secluded life, not that she had been incarcerated for so terrible a crime. And I could prise no more information from Mistress Waring other than a reiteration that Madam Joanna would know all about the prophecy. And that I must on no account go to Windsor.
‘You must ask the Duke of Bedford for permission, my lady.’ Lord John was still in England, thus a final throw of Mistress Waring’s dice. ‘I wager he will not give it.’
Alice approached to enquire if she should organise the transport of the cradle that still sat, rocking gently, under my hand. Lord John was out of London, visiting the north. Madam Joanna’s predicament was something I must consider at more leisure. As for Windsor as my destination—why should I not make my own decision?
‘Pack it,’ I said.
I was packed up and gone to Windsor long before Lord John returned.
What more could I write? Nothing I did here at Windsor could possibly interest Henry. Windsor was everything I had remembered and anticipated from my brief visit on my first arriving in England, a place of seductive comfort and royal extravagance, nicely balanced. Painted and tapestried, the rooms that looked out over the River Thames closed around me like a blessing.
Four were put aside for my own use, apart from my bedchamber. One was hung entirely with mirrors, a room that I avoided as my girth grew and I became more clumsy, so I commandeered the Rose Chamber, glorious with paint and gilding, instead. One chamber was for dancing, constructed by Edward III for his wife, Philippa. There was no dancing for my little household, but perhaps at Christmas there would be celebrations. Perhaps Henry would be there to see his firstborn child.
Fat and indolent, I withdrew and settled into Windsor like a bird into her nest, in a world from which all men were barred as my time drew closer. My chilblains responded to the pennyroyal ointment. Alice and Mistress Waring clucked around me. Even my damsels regarded me with smiles of approval and a willingness to entertain me with music and song as the arrival of the heir approached. It amused me that everyone presumed the child would be a son. I hoped so, I prayed so, for a son would assuredly win me Henry’s approval.
Occasionally my thoughts turned to Madam Joanna, shut away from the world much as I was, but for necromancy. Necromancy! The use of the Dark Arts. What had she done? And why had Henry remained so determinedly silent about it? When my child was born, I decided, I would make it in my way to visit this intriguing Queen Dowager.
I wrote to Henry. I felt a need to tell him, to remind him of my existence, yet found it strangely difficult to write. My skills were limited, and I struggled with the words as well as the sentiments.
