‘You look well, Katherine.’
I stopped myself from saying it, but the impulse was strong. He looked immensely tired, the lines at the corners of his eyes a mesh of crow’s feet, his skin pulled taut over cheekbone and jaw, and a line between his brows did not smooth away, even when he smiled at me at last. I thought he had lost weight. Always tall and slender rather than heavily muscled, his frame could ill-afford to lose flesh. His hands around mine looked as finely boned as a woman’s.
‘We got tired of waiting,’ explained John, and when Henry turned his head to respond I was horrified by the translucence of his skin at his temple. He looked stretched and weary to the bone, with an uncomfortable pallor beneath his campaigning bronze.
He kept hold of my hands. ‘How is my son?’
I dragged my mind from Henry’s appearance to reply with a smile, ‘He thrives. He is safe at home. Look—I have brought this for you.’ I released myself from his hold to draw from my sleeve a screw of parchment that I gave to him, explaining as he opened it, ‘It’s Young Henry’s. His hair will be like yours.’
Henry smoothed his thumb over the curl of hair and, to my relief, laughed softly. ‘Thank you.’ He tucked it into his tunic.
‘When will you come back to England to see him?’ I asked, before I could stop myself.
And there was the bleak lack of emotion that I so feared. ‘I don’t know. You should know better than to ask.’
‘What are your plans?’ John added with the slide of an apologetic eye in my direction.
Henry turned his head as if to reply. Took a breath. Then frowned.
‘Later, I think,’ he responded curtly. ‘We’ll talk later.’
‘Of course. Shall we share a flagon of good Bordeaux?’
Henry shook his head. ‘In an hour. I’ll find you.’ And strode swiftly from the room. We heard him shouting for his squire to order the disposal of his baggage—and then silence. With a little shrug, James followed him.
John and I looked at each other.
‘He worries me,’ I said simply.
‘He is weary. Long campaigns—particularly sieges—take it out of the best of soldiers. A rest will restore his good humour.’
I thought that Henry had little humour at the best of times. ‘I thought he looked ill.’
‘Lack of food, lack of sleep, that’s all.’
That was what Alice had said. I supposed she was right.
‘He was pleased to see you.’
‘Was he?’
‘It will all work out well. You’ll see. Give him time to settle in here. His victory at Meaux was a great one but draining. Sieges always are. Give him time.’
I was not convinced, and thought that John’s repetitions were an attempt to allay his own fears. I walked in front of him from the room so that he would not see the threat of tears.
When we met for supper Henry seemed much restored, although he only picked at the dishes and drank little. He left us before the end without explanation or excuse. In nervous anticipation I sat in my sheets, trembling, my hair loose and gleaming, as seductive as any bride, but Henry did not come. I had been so sure that he would. I thought the need to converse with me about Young Henry, even to take the necessary steps to produce another son, would be important, but he did not come. All my tentative hopes for our reconciliation after so long a time were dashed, ground like shells into sand under the unstoppable onslaught of the sea.
There was no leisure to be had at Vincennes. We moved on to Paris almost immediately for a ceremonial entry in the heat of May, our arrival timed to match that of my parents. We stayed at the Louvre in cushioned luxury, Isabeau and my father consigned to the worn and shabby rooms of the
Henry and I received visitors, both English and French, we attended banquets too many to count and we watched the Mystery of St George. Henry shuffled throughout and made his excuse before the final bow of the brave knight after his dispatch of the terrible dragon.
‘I’ll sit through this no longer,’ he growled, and stalked from the chamber, leaving me to smile brightly to smooth over any ill feelings. The next day we packed up and, detouring to visit the tombs of my ancestors at St Denis, travelled on to Senlis, where Henry made it clear that we would remain for a short time.
‘Thank God!’ I remarked to John. ‘At least we can draw breath.’ Even though Isabeau and my father had followed hard on our heels. ‘Perhaps he can rest at last.’
