Rebellion Read Free Page A

breath, but content to wait.
    Only the English queen was not content.
     Waiting was not something she did well.
    King Louis had promised her nothing, she
     said. He had ushered her from his presence with only the pledge that he would give her
     situation some thought.
    â€˜As if I am not thinking enough for both of
     us,’ she said, gazing out of the window to where the sheep stippled the hillside,
     motionless, without urgency.
    The archdeacon, Dr Morton, with whom she
     said Mass every morning, observed that thinking was indeed man’s curse. ‘That is why God
     has given us prayer,’ he said, ‘to channel thought.’
    â€˜I do pray,’ said the queen. She had prayed
     every day that Edward of York would fall on his sword, or Warwick from his horse and
     break his neck.
    The archdeacon refrained from saying that
     perhaps this wasnot what was meant. The queen was in no mood to be
     instructed about prayer. Ever since she’d heard that Warwick had made a truce with the
     Scots she had been beside herself. God, she said, no longer listened to her prayers.
    He said instead that at least Louis had
     given them lodging in the palace.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said. ‘And I am kept here,
     waiting, without purpose. Every day the usurper secures his grip on my throne and all I
     can do is wait to be summoned, for Louis to tell me what he will or will not do. He has
     already decided – that much I know – but it pleases him to make me wait. And wonder. And
     wait again. When will it come?’ she said, turning round to him. ‘When will I hear the
     knock at the door?’
    Dr Morton was about to say something when
     there was, in fact, a knock at the door, and they both froze, comically startled. The
     queen drew herself up, very pale. ‘Enter,’ she said.
    She did not at first recognize the man who
     stood in the doorway. He was somewhat shabby, unshaven, grey stubble covering his face
     and head in roughly equal amounts. There was a scar beneath his eye and it was this she
     recognized first.
    â€˜Chevalier?’ she said wonderingly, and in
     two strides he crossed the room, sank to his knees and kissed her hand.
    â€˜My lady,’ he said.
    Margaret of Anjou looked at the archdeacon,
     who seemed as astonished as she but more wary.
    â€˜It is the Seneschal,’ she said, her face
     breaking into a smile.
    â€˜Pierre de Brézé, at your service,’ the
     kneeling man said.
    â€˜I thought you were in custody,’ she said,
     and the man made a dismissive noise.
    â€˜His majesty has released me,’ he said. ‘I
     was told I could come to you and I came, at once. I have had no time to change.’ He
     indicated his clothing.
    The queen’s heart quickened. This was surely
     a good sign – the best indication that Louis intended to help her. She looked at thearchdeacon. ‘The Seneschal and I have many things to discuss,’ she
     said. The look of wariness on Dr Morton’s face intensified. ‘Perhaps you will wait in
     the outer chamber,’ she said, and after a moment in which it seemed as if he might argue
     or offer a cautionary sermon, he bowed and left.
    The queen helped de Brézé to rise. He moved
     more stiffly than she remembered, but his lopsided face creased into a smile. He had a
     new scar, running from his chin to his mouth.
    â€˜You’ve been fighting,’ she said.
    â€˜It was nothing, my lady – a duel only. A
     man unfit to be named accused me of cheating at cards.’
    â€˜Of course you would never do such a
     thing.’
    â€˜I would never allow it to be said that I
     would do such a thing.’
    â€˜And you were in prison.’
    â€˜No, no, my lady – I was confined to a
     chateau. It is not the same thing at all.’
    â€˜You look as though you have been in
     prison,’ she said. ‘You look like a pirate.’
    He knew she was referring to the acts of