First of the Tudors. Joanna Hickson

being for the dancers to show off their balance and posture rather than their stamina. Happily there was little opportunity for conversation as we weaved across, around and between each other, passing with smiles and nods, until the dance ended and we found ourselves once more with our partner for a final bow.

      ‘Thank you, brother,’ Queen Marguerite said, raising her hand in mine ready to be escorted from the floor. ‘That was a pleasant, easy dance. You and your brother are not in the least alike are you? Neither on or off the floor.’

      I wondered where this was leading and if I was about to receive an unfavourable comparison with Edmund. ‘Well, we are close in age, your grace, but not twins, as you know,’ I replied.

      ‘No, you are not.’ She gave me a sideways glance. ‘Edmund is a charming companion – witty and amusing – but I know which brother I would prefer as a father to my children.’

      Alarmed by this extraordinary remark, I swallowed hard, wondering if I had heard her right; then I managed to gather my faculties enough to smile and make my response. ‘You mean our brother the king obviously, your grace.’

      Her lips pursed and her voice dropped almost to a whisper, so that I had to bend my head to hear her. ‘The king will be the father of my children of course, when God permits it, but we have waited a long time as you cannot have failed to notice. Too long.’

      Conversation all around us effectively prevented her words reaching any ears but mine; even so the blood rushed to my cheeks and I suddenly felt hot all over. The subject seemed far too intimate for such a public situation; too intimate for discussion between us at all. Instinctively I glanced across at King Henry on his throne, removed from the dancing and conversing with the Duke of Somerset, who perched beside him on a stool. As we drew nearer Queen Marguerite tightened her grip on my hand and drew me to a halt. We stood isolated in the respectful space preserved between the energetic activity of the dance floor and the raised dais with its royal presence, alone in the midst of many.

      The queen took a deep breath and locked eyes with me. ‘We have been married nearly seven years and I have been a true wife to him only as many times. How can Henry imagine we will ever give England an heir? Yet it is not him the people blame, it is me. You can help me in this matter, Jasper, I know you can.’

      I felt the room spin around me. Could I trust what I was hearing? Was the queen actually suggesting that I might get her with child? I could not believe this was what she meant but I perceived deep desperation in her dark eyes. Outwardly she was the glamorous, twenty-one-year-old Queen of England but inwardly perhaps she was still the girl of just fifteen who had married a king, with no one to turn to for help in achieving the one thing she must to fulfil her life’s purpose. Except now she had chosen me. What could I say? What should I say?

      My throat constricted and I swallowed again. ‘I am flattered that you think so, your grace. It will always be my intention to serve you but in this matter I cannot immediately see how.’

      She squeezed my hand again and turned to glance at King Henry who, alarmingly, was gazing straight at us with a puzzled look on his face. ‘No, I can see that you do not,’ she said, suddenly flashing me a dazzling smile, ‘but perhaps you will give it some thought. It is a matter of some importance that the kingdom has an heir. I asked my lord of Somerset’s advice but he is still thinking about it.’ She aimed her social smile at the king and he turned hastily away. ‘For now, perhaps you might get Henry to enjoy himself a little? It is Christmas and people like to see him laugh at such a time. Now you may take me back to the king.’

      Queen Marguerite’s ladies materialized as if from nowhere and helped settle her voluminous skirts between the arms of her throne. The king half rose to greet her return and the Duke of Somerset took the opportunity to slip away in the direction of a servant who was circulating with a flagon of hippocras.

      ‘I enjoyed the dance you did with Jasper, my lady,’ King Henry said. ‘It was very graceful, but the first dance was a little – err – vigorous was it not? Rather undignified for a queen.’

      Queen Marguerite smiled blandly and ignored the implied criticism. ‘Your brother is going to procure some hippocras, my liege. I think a digestif might be good for all of us.’

      She looked at me and moved her eyes meaningfully in the direction the duke had taken and I needed no second bidding, quickly commandeering the servant’s flagon before sending him off to fetch sweetmeats as well. As I poured the wine into the cups set out on a table between the two thrones the musicians struck up again. It needed surprisingly little persuasion on the part of the queen for Henry to accept a measure of the sweet, spiced hippocras and I obeyed his invitation to take the duke’s vacated stool. In due course the servant provided a heaped platter of almond wafers and the three of us nibbled and drank as we watched the dancing.

      Fortified with the heady wine, Somerset had taken to the floor with his niece Margaret Beaufort, and Queen Marguerite was quick to remark that they made an odd couple.

      ‘I am reminded of the story of the ogre and the little maid my nurse told me when I was a child,’ she said. ‘Do you know it?’

      She held out her cup, which I hastily rose to fill, and it was the king who answered.

      ‘I cannot allow you to call Somerset an ogre, my lady!’ he protested, looking shocked but amused at the same time. ‘He is a man of culture and refinement.’

      ‘Perhaps, but his appearance has become quite craggy. His niece is a pearl, however. There must be forty years between them. I would wager that she considers him an ogre.’ Marguerite took another good gulp of wine. ‘Do you not agree, Jasper?’

      I nodded and smiled and offered sweetmeats. The hippocras was working quickly. ‘I am surprised to see a girl of such tender years at court,’ I remarked. ‘Young ladies do not usually attend until they are marriageable.’

      Out of the king’s line of sight Queen Marguerite was nodding in his direction and making urgent pouring movements. King Henry put down his empty cup and I leaned behind his throne to refill it. She nudged it towards him and smiled encouragingly. To my surprise he picked it up and drank again. The whole occasion had taken on a bizarre, carousing quality and I began to wonder if I had imagined what had passed between the queen and myself only minutes before.

      ‘The king invited her mother to bring Lady Margaret to court,’ Marguerite revealed.

      ‘I wanted to take a look at her,’ Henry said, his eyes following the girl as she glided through the intricate steps of another dance. ‘She was contracted in infancy to the Suffolk heir but Somerset suggested that I have the match annulled.’ I thought I detected a slight slur in his voice.

      ‘Did he?’ The queen sounded astonished. ‘He surely can’t want her for his own heir – they are too closely related.’

      ‘No but she is fatherless and his niece and he thinks she could do better. Young Suffolk shows little promise, neither in arms nor intellect.’ Henry gulped more wine and nursed his cup, his eyes on his new protégée. ‘She certainly dances well.’

      This observation surprised me further. It was always understood that Henry disapproved of dancing and yet it seemed that he might have been watching Margaret Beaufort just as intently as I had.

      ‘Will you now make her a royal ward, then?’ the queen asked.

      Henry cast a glance at me over the rim of his cup and swallowed another gulp. ‘No. I thought to give her as ward to Edmund and Jasper,’ he said and I nearly choked on my wine. ‘She can go on living with her mother of course but in the meantime the revenues from her estates will supplement their incomes nicely. Edmund’s Richmond holdings are not vast and some of your Pembroke estates are tied up in legal wrangling, Jasper, so the Somerset lands will provide you both with enough immediate funds to establish your new households.’

      ‘Your grace is more than generous,’ I spluttered. ‘You have already shown us immense favour.’

      A wry smile lifted one side