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place where the dragon would grip it.
    Isabel tossed her dark hair back over her shoulder and said with malice, “It was Bedford, and her friend, Joan of Kent.” Isabel was jealous of the girl’s beauty.
    Brianna’s mouth fell open.
    Joan had been absorbed in poking the birch rod’s handle into the dog turd but as Isabel’s words reached her ears, she stood up to confess all. Brianna quickly took hold of Joan’s hand and squeezed hard to stop her friend’s words. “I did it, Dame Marjorie. Joan had naught to do with it.” Brianna was used to Joan’s mischievous, childlike behavior. Joan never gave a thought to the consequences of her irresponsible actions and Brianna always felt a need to protect her.
    The Dame’s face went still. “Lady Bedford, you will follow me.” The words were like a sentence, dooming Brianna. She would be purged of her evil ways. The dragon bent dramatically to retrieve her stick. The thorn pierced her thumb, which immediately flew to her mouth so she could suck upon the injured digit. Joan of Kent was entranced at the look that came upon the dragon’s face when she realized she was sucking shit.
    Brianna followed Dame Marjorie from the formal gardens of the East Terrace with reluctant steps. As she walked through the Upper Ward past the State Apartments, she glanced longingly across the Quadrangle to her own rooms in the York Tower. She had hoped to finish painting a page to illustrate the Legend of St. George and the Dragon she had laboriously scripted. She sighed with resignation and followed the rigid back of Dame Marjorieto her lodgings, located beyond the cloisters that housed the clergy.
    Joan of Kent, racked with guilt, trailed after her friend. She watched Brianna enter the dragon’s lair and knew she must gather her courage to intervene. Joan drew herself up to her full five feet one inch and knocked resolutely. When the door was flung open she forced herself across the threshold. Not daring to look at Brianna, she blurted, “Dame Marjorie, I am to blame for the wicked prank—”
    The older woman swung to Brianna immediately. “This is beyond the beyond. To drag Lady Joan of Kent into this is unconscionable.” She turned back to Joan. “My dear, you are to be commended for such a noble gesture. Royal blood will out, I suppose, but this time Lady Bedford will suffer the consequences of her depraved actions.”
    Joan knew it was futile to argue. She was making things worse for Brianna. As she turned to depart she was rewarded by a smile of thanks from her friend that warmed her heart.
    Brianna decided in that moment not to let Dame Marjorie victimize her. Before she held out her hands for the birching, she would challenge her woman to woman. “Dame Marjorie, we both know I wasn’t responsible for the mischief today. Princess Isabel wrongly accused me out of spite. But since you cannot punish the princess royal and are loathe to chastise Joan of Kent because of her royal blood, that leaves me.” Brianna’s eyes lit with mocking laughter. “If you really feel the need to vent your spleen, be my guest.” She held out her hands and the Dame knew immediately that Brianna of Bedford didn’t give a tinker’s damn about a few strokes from a birch rod. The Dame decided on a more subtle punishment. She looked with distaste at the pigment stains on Brianna’s hands.
    “The devil makes work for idle hands. The stains upon your fingers lead me to believe you fritter your time away unwisely in useless endeavors. Your hands are intended to ply a needle. It is shameful to do otherwise when so many garments are needed in the royal household.”
    In fact, the queen and her ladies had insisted just the opposite. They excused Lady Bedford from sewing duty soshe might pursue her God-given talent. Brianna kept a wise silence.
    The dried-up old spinster felt even more outrage at the girl’s upthrust breasts and long golden tresses. “I shall advise the queen to betroth you to an older