The King's Grey Mare by Rosemary Hawley Jarman Read Free Book Online Page B

naught else,’ said Master Francis. ‘Her Grace will sleep soundly.’
    ‘Two drops,’ said Beaufort. ‘Two drops only. The rest is danger.’
    The physician bowed and quit the chamber, and the dressmaker, her work finished, went also. Elizabeth fidgeted. Lady Margaret was waiting, eyeing her shrewdly from the spread chessboard.
    ‘Shall I play, your Grace?’
    The Queen looked absently up from Beaufort’s hand, which still held the little vial.
    ‘Yes, Isabella. I sent for you because you were sad. Now you must be happy. The King … the King is frail, and prone to shocks that others do not comprehend. We must protect the King.’ Her eyelids dropped again. Her gaze rested on Beaufort’s bronzed hand.
    Elizabeth sat on the cushion opposite Lady Margaret, and, looking into the sharp eyes, knew instinctively that she would be beaten. The child went to the game with ice-cold foresight, like a military campaigner, while above their heads, the Queen held a conversation with her two ministers. It became apparent that they had forgotten the existence of both Elizabeth and Beaufort’s young kinswoman.
    ‘By God’s Passion! He lost his gown again at Canterbury,’ Beaufort was saying. ‘He gave it away to a poor friar, a thin fellow who took such a liking to it that half my money went in its recovery.’
    The Queen drew in her breath, as if she were in pain.
    ‘ Pardieu, le pauvre Roi !’ she said softly.
    ‘La pauvre Angleterre ,’ muttered the Earl of Wiltshire, and bit his lip. Lady Margaret moved her King to the right, and almost smiled. Elizabeth sat, her eyes fixed on the chessboard, listening.
    ‘I mentioned to him once more Richard of York,’ continued Beaufort. ‘He’s dangerous; I’ll not forget his face when he saw me in the King’s tent at Blackheath; by the Rood!–’ he laughed arrogantly – ‘York was sure I had been banished. The King’s Grace knew not what he did when he summoned me once more. I thought that York would fall in an apoplexy, that day last February.’
    ‘Nay, he knew not what he did,’ said Margaret slowly. Elizabeth advanced her pawn two squares and looked covertly at the Queen’s troubled face.
    ‘Better than York have failed to quell me,’ said Beaufort of Somerset with a chuckle. ‘Yet he is far from conquered, and so I told the King, who replied: ‘By St. John! Richard Plantagenet gave me his word, in holy St. Paul’s, to keep the peace, to raise no troops, and be forever obedient. All the saints witnessed his sacred oath.’ Then it was that he bestowed his mantle on that puling friar.’
    ‘Is the Duke still at Fotheringhay?’ asked James of Wiltshire.
    ‘Yes. My scurriers report his standard flying there. His Duchess is again with child.’
    Lady Margaret Beaufort, taking advantage of Elizabeth’s inattention, put her King in safety and brought her Rook into play. The Queen sighed.
    ‘So Proud Cis is enceinte ,’ she murmured. ‘Doubtless with another son. Well, Isabella?’ She had caught Elizabeth’s eyes upon her unguarded face. Guiltily, the other answered: ‘I was but musing, Madame.’
    ‘Musing on what?’ the Queen said stiffly. Elizabeth babbled: ‘Why, your Grace, husbands … I thought, if it should please you, I will take Sir Jocelyne after all.’ It was the first refuge she could think of. The Queen’s face eased instantly. Beaufort of Somerset laid a light hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
    ‘Isabella,’ he said. ‘Marriage is but a licking of honey off thorns. You will have many eager to plight their troth. Wait a little while.’
    The Queen rose. ‘I am weary,’ she said. ‘This evening was not a glad occasion. We must devise some entertainment – a fair, a joust. Yes, a joust!’
    The two Earls agreed heartily, and Elizabeth, who had never seen a tournament, was overjoyed. The anticipation lingered, after she had bidden the Queen good night, and had congratulated the impassive little Lady Margaret on her victory.