The Tudor Bride. Joanna Hickson

hands and lead her to a window-seat where they subsided together. Wordlessly I handed Catherine a kerchief taken from my sleeve and she gently mopped Lady Joan’s eyes.

      ‘I am sorry, little Joan. I took you by surprise and clearly King James has raised the question of marriage without your knowledge. Men do that, I am afraid, especially kings, I find. They tend not to understand that women have feelings and wishes of their own and should be consulted. But do not cry. There really is no need. You are lucky if you have attracted the love of someone you might be permitted to love in return. If you wish, I will speak to your mother on your behalf when she returns to court. Meanwhile, I think you may continue your friendship with King James, always remembering that he is still a king without a kingdom and may never be in a position to marry if he is not restored to his throne. Besides, you know that he will be going with King Henry to France before too long, so perhaps it would be wise not to get too attached.’

      ‘H— he has promised to write to me f-from France, Madame,’ confessed the sniffling girl. ‘I did not wish to deter him. I am told that men going to war often need someone to write home to.’

      ‘Ah – the sweet innocence of the child!’ Catherine handed Lady Joan the kerchief, casting a playful smile at me as she did so.

      I raised an eyebrow in return, thinking that she was not so far from being a child herself.

      ‘I am sure he will write charming and lyrical letters and you will treasure them.’ Catherine stood up, her tone suddenly brisk. ‘Now, I must finish dressing or there will be scores of people waiting for their dinner and I shall be chastised by King Henry for keeping them all waiting. You see – even queens live under orders.’

      I shrugged my shoulders and gave her a smile of sympathy. At eighteen she had thought marriage and a crown would give her freedom to exercise her own will and was fast discovering otherwise.

       8

      Early next morning I had thought the queen was still abed, asleep, when Agnes came rushing into the robe room, her face a mask of fear. ‘Quickly, Mette, come quickly! The queen is hurt!’

      Catherine was very pale, propped up on cushions in a chair in the presence chamber, where she had been carried by the Master at Arms, a sturdy soldier who had heard Lady Joan’s cry for help as she clattered into the stable yard at a hectic canter. It seemed that the horse-mad lady-in-waiting had been persuaded to assist Catherine in taking a secret dawn ride in the Windsor deer-park, which had come to grief when the queen had been knocked from her horse by a low branch. King Henry had been sent for, but had not yet arrived because at sunrise he had crossed the river to inspect the latest Thames navigation works. He must have missed Catherine and Joan sneaking out of the royal stables by minutes.

      ‘I am perfectly all right. Do not cluck like a mother hen, Mette!’

      Catherine was right, I was fussing around her in trepidation, feeling her brow and propping her feet on a stool. ‘Well your grace, if you would care to tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to help,’ I fretted. ‘Should we send for a physician, I wonder?’

      I would have liked to give her a more thorough examination, but was very conscious that we were not alone. Several high-ranking courtiers had interrupted their breakfast to offer help and were hovering anxiously in the background.

      ‘My back hurts a little, that is all. I was knocked clean off my horse!’ Catherine’s indignation had increased in proportion to the number of people she could see in the room. ‘Blessed Marie, Mette, send all these spectators away! There is nothing for them to see.’

      She had dropped her voice to a hiss, but it still carried to every ear in the room and most of the courtiers began to drift away, muttering to each other.

      ‘Truly, Mette, I am not badly hurt, just shamefaced because I am entirely to blame for my bruises. I wanted to gallop, to be free!’ She winced as she shifted on the cushions. ‘I daresay the king will scold me thoroughly.’

      ‘Certainly he will and with some justification!’ King Henry heard her words as he strode through the door. The small gathering of remaining courtiers dipped their knees as he passed. Frowning fiercely, he bent over his wife and kissed her cheek, placing one hand on her forehead in concern. ‘I am happy to see that my worst fears appear groundless. I had dreaded to find broken bones at least. Please tell me there are none.’

      Catherine’s expression was that of a small girl found with her fingers in the sweetmeats. It was only with a visible effort that she met his gaze, shaking her head. ‘No, my liege, none. I am sorry you were brought back from your business unnecessarily.’

      King Henry continued to stand over her, like a tutor over an unruly student. ‘I heard that you fell from your horse in the park. What in Heaven’s name made you ride out without even a groom, Catherine?’ Turning to me, he demanded, ‘Did you not notice she had left her bed, Madame Lanière?’

      So flustered was I by this sudden verbal thrust that I neglected to make any deferential move, simply staring dumbstruck at the king before dragging a garbled response from my frozen brain. ‘Er, no, your grace. That is – I usually rouse the queen soon after first light but I had not yet entered the bedchamber.’

      ‘Oh do not blame Mette, my liege! Do not blame anyone but me, it was my idea!’ cried Catherine. ‘I am not a child to be watched every moment of the day and night. I simply wanted to go for a ride with my lady-in-waiting without everyone else knowing where I was. Now let us have an end to this and allow me to retire to my chamber and lick my wounds!’

      At this she kicked away the stool and rose gingerly from her chair, allowing me to support her in a painful progress towards the door. There were dirt-marks on her skirt, but I was relieved to see no sign of blood. She stopped halfway across the room to speak to Lady Joan, who stood shifting from one foot to the other, biting her lip and looking guilty. Dishevelled and also splattered with mud and dirt, it was clear that it must have been Lady Joan who had been persuaded to tack up the horses for this dawn escapade. Catherine put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and turned to face the two kings.

      ‘And no one is to lay any blame at Joan’s door. It was entirely my idea and she was kind enough to make it possible for me that is all. I confess that the result of our adventure is a disappointment for myself, but Joan is a skilled and daring horsewoman and I, for one, am proud of her.’ She aimed a look of encouragement at her maid of honour and made a wobbly curtsey to the king. ‘Have I your permission to retire, my liege?’ She gave him a tremulous smile, which I swear no red-blooded man could have resisted and his sternness visibly melted under its beam.

      ‘I will come soon to see how you are faring,’ he said, his eyes still anxious.

      On closer inspection, I found Catherine’s injuries to be just as she had claimed; bruises, both of body and pride, exacerbated by a few sharp twinges in her back. However, I noticed that she had become alarmingly pale and encouraged her to return to bed. She did not need much persuading. Uneasily I wondered if there might be more to her pallor than simply the after-effects of hitting the ground at speed. The bed was still rumpled from when she had abandoned it before dawn and, as I pulled the bedclothes straight ready for her to climb in, I posed the question foremost in my mind.

      ‘You have not asked me for a napkin lately, Mademoiselle,’ I remarked, crossing my fingers among the sheets. ‘Should I be drawing any conclusions from this?’

      There was a pause. ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted in a very small voice. ‘To be honest, Mette, I do not dare to look.’

      I felt my stomach lurch. Dressing herself for her clandestine excursion, she had only managed to pull a woollen kirtle and her fur-lined heuque over her chemise and so far I had only removed the heuque.

      ‘Do you mean you might be pregnant?’ I gulped, instinctively crossing myself.

      Catherine nodded, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Or I may