“It is already early March,” I reminded him, “and surely King Henry will want something original.” This presented a problem. There was very little that had not been done before. Neither the Fortress Dangerous nor the Rich Mount were novelties any longer.
“Build a bigger castle,” Master Gibson suggested, “one twenty feet square and fifty feet high. The ladies within will be the object of an entire tournament instead of a simple mock combat.”
“We should need to stage such a thing out of doors,” Harry mused.
“And why not?” Gibson’s eyes gleamed. “The ladies would be delighted by such a spectacle, would they not, Mistress Popyncourt?”
“Must it always be ladies hidden within a mountain or a castle?” I ran my hand over a sample of velvet Gibson had brought with him. “Do you remember the pageants when the queen married Prince Arthur? There was a pageant wagon in the shape of a castle with four towers, but instead of ladies, each one contained a singing child.”
“There must be beautiful women somewhere,” Harry objected. “The king expects it.”
“As does every other gentleman at court,” Gibson agreed, “and the more outrageously clad, the better.”
Harry laughed. “Eight damsels, I think, in a castle, drawn in on a wagon pulled by eight burly, costumed servants. Two will be garbed as a golden lion, two as a silver lion, the third pair as a hart with gilt horns, and the fourth team as an ibex.”
“What if we add a second pageant wagon?” Master Gibson suggested. “It will carry a ship in full sail manned by eight gentlemen dressed as knights. It will drop anchor near the castle and the knights will descend by means of a ladder and approach the ladies.”
“Still nothing new.” I grew tired of their debate. I had lost my enthusiasm for pageantry.
They ignored my comment. “The audience will think this is all that is in store for them. Some will even begin to chatter among themselves as the knights try to gain access to the ladies. Flattery will fail. So will the threat of force. But then, just as everyone expects the knights to storm the castle, a third pageant wagon will be pulled into the room.”
“The mountain?” I intended sarcasm but was not really surprised when Master Gibson nodded.
“I can paint it a bright Kendall green this time and adorn it with banners. It will open to reveal yet another band of knights. They will fight with the knights from the ship. After the battle, the winners will compel the ladies to surrender, descend from the castle, and dance.”
They were still sketching out ideas when I slipped quietly away. Neither noticed my departure.
Halfway back to my lodgings, I caught sight of a familiar face and my heart stuttered. “Ivo?”
It was plainly Ivo Jumelle, Longueville’s page, only he had finally grown into his feet. He was taller than I was now, and his chest and arms had filled out, giving the impression of considerable strength.
“Mistress Popyncourt,” he greeted me after an awkward moment when he seemed torn between acknowledging me and taking flight. “You look well.”
“And you, Ivo. I did not think to see you again, at least not in England.”
“I have a place in the retinue of the new envoy,” he said with no little pride in his voice. “We have come from King François with gifts for the baby princess.”
I walked with him toward the royal apartments. “Did any of the duke’s other servants come back with you?” I held my breath.
“No, mistress. I have not seen them since the duke left to fight at Marignano.”
“Did…did Guy Dunois cross the Alps with him?”
“I…I suppose you would not hear.”
“Hear what, Ivo?” I felt cold all over, as if the life was slowly draining out of me. I stopped him at the top of a staircase, catching his arm and tugging until he turned to face me. He tried to avoid my eyes, but I would not allow it. “What have I not heard?”
“I do not know that it was Guy, mistress.” He squirmed in my grasp and looked everywhere but at my face. “I only heard that it was one of the duke’s brothers. It could have been Jacques.”
“What happened!” I had both hands on his arms now. I’d have shaken the information out of him had he not been too big for me to move.
“He was killed!” Ivo’s voice broke. “The duke lost a brother in the Battle of Marignano! Not his full brother, who is a priest. It was one of his father’s bastards, but I do not know which one.”
“I must find out,” I said, half to myself. “If need be, I will go to France without the king’s permission.”
I was standing at the top of the stairs when I suddenly lost my footing. I felt myself falling and heard the horrendous crack of a bone breaking as my arm struck the stone steps. A moment later, everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, I was lying on my own bed. Worried faces hovered over me—Bessie, Harry, and Will Compton.
“According to the king’s surgeon, you are most fortunate,” Bessie said. “You broke your arm when you fell, but the bone has been bound tight and he says it will likely heal in time.”
I looked down at my arm. Lead plates had been tied around it to keep everything in place. It throbbed with pain. So did my head. Gingerly, I lifted my good arm to feel the lump beneath my hair.
“He used the large hollow root of comfrey as a bonesetter and packed it around the straightened bone,” Bessie continued. “He said you must not try to lift anything for at least two months.”
I did not want to think very far ahead. “Did he leave anything for the pain?” I asked.
Harry produced a vial of poppy juice, and when I had swallowed a dose, I sank back into pain-free oblivion. While I slept, Bessie, Harry, and Will sent word of my accident to Suffolk Place.
The Duchess of Suffolk did not respond at once. On the eleventh day of March she gave birth to a son. As soon as she was advised of my condition, however, she asked Queen Catherine if she could spare me and, with unflattering speed, I was transported from Greenwich to Southwark.
As I began to recover, I realized that I had been gifted with an opportunity I should not waste. I was no longer at court. No one would notice if I also left Suffolk Place. At first I thought I might manage to travel all the way to France, but I soon realized I would not be able to leave the country without a passport, not unless I could afford a hefty bribe. That it was still March was a further deterrent. For a safe crossing, I should delay at least until May.
I would find a way to go there. I was determined upon it, and not only to discover more about my mother. I had to find out what had happened to Guy. I did not want to believe he was dead. I prayed it had been his brother Jacques who had been killed in battle.
Frustrated in my desire to cross the Narrow Seas, I soon conceived an alternate plan. Whether I succeeded in finding my way to France or not, I doubted I would ever have a better opportunity to take another journey. This was my best chance to visit my uncle, the one person my mother was most likely to have confided in when she first came to England.
“What better medicine than to be reunited with my only remaining family member?” I argued when Mary reminded me that I was not yet fully healed.
“But Sir Rowland is in Wales,” she objected. “The journey there is long and arduous even for someone in the best of health.”
“I am not ill, Mary, only afflicted with a bulky set of bandages, and since it is my left arm that is broken, I can still control a horse.”
“You’d do better in a litter.”
“A litter requires too much fuss and too many men and horses and is both slower and more uncomfortable than traveling on horseback. I am a good rider.” I had learned to manage a horse at Eltham and had since ridden in processions, on progresses, and to hunt.
“The roads are frozen,” Mary protested, “where they can still be found at all beneath the snow.”