Root of the Tudor Rose Read Free

tables. The captain stopped a passing footman, commandeered a bench for Catherine, and had it placed against the wall. Then he sent the man off to inform the Queen that her daughter had arrived. Catherine eased herself gingerly down onto the seat, the muscles in her buttocks and her back stiff and painful after the long, unaccustomed ride from Poissy. Fascinated, she watched the controlled activity going on around her.
    â€˜What do you know of this, Captain?’ she asked.
    He shrugged. ‘It seems that a banquet is being prepared, Your Highness, and my guess is that it will have something to do with the English King.’
    â€˜King Henry?’
    â€˜Aye, he spends much of his time in France these days. No doubt he’s come to pick over our bones.’
    â€˜He’s not expected to come here tonight, is he?’
    â€˜No, my Lady, probably not, or we’d have heard about it in the guard room. But he does spend a deal too much time hereabouts. Him or his damned lackeys.’
    He spat out the words and Catherine, taken slightly aback, felt a worm of apprehension begin to gnaw at her stomach. Why had she been brought here? The Queen would hardly have summoned her to court for the pleasure of her company. After all, she had done without that pleasure for fifteen years, apart from a few fleeting visits to the convent. Catherine remembered the upheaval those rare royal visits would cause, with Mother Superior seeming to relinquish all her authority as she fawned over the Queen. The nuns would be tripping over each other in their excitement, even Sister Supplice, who was usually so calm except when anyone mentioned the English invaders. And now the captain, too, was clearly agitated by the mention of the enemy.
    â€˜Did you fight at Agincourt, Captain?’
    â€˜I did, Your Highness, and lost three good fingers to an English hatchet on the battlefield.’ He pulled the leather mitten off his mutilated left hand and Catherine recoiled at the sight of it. ‘Still, I got out alive which is more than most men did. Six thousand French dead and many more maimed, nobles and commoners alike.’
    â€˜Was it really as bad as everyone says?’
    â€˜Oh, yes, and a good deal worse. It was as if the gates of Hell itself had opened, men and animals drowning in pools of blood and filth, screaming in pain.’ He warmed to his subject. ‘And King Henry takes no prisoners: the poor bastards were herded up in the mud and killed where they stood. He is a brute, a beast, the very spawn of the Devil. Begging your pardon, Your Highness,’ he added. He had gone too far but, by God’s bones, he’d been honest.
    Catherine’s eyes were wide with dismay at the captain’s account of the battle and she felt real revulsion at the sight of his hand.
    â€˜Excuse me, Your Highness.’
    She turned at the sound of a voice, glad of an interruption. A dark-haired young woman of about her own age was curtseying deeply to her.
    â€˜Yes, what is it?’
    The young woman straightened up. ‘The Queen wishes to see you immediately, my Lady. I am to take you to her.’
    Catherine had been summoned to her mother’s presence. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
    â€˜Very well, er … what is your name?’
    â€˜Guillemote, my Lady. I am to be your personal maid.’
    A personal maid! How different her life was about to become. She rose from the bench and inclined her head in dignified dismissal of the captain. Then she followed the girl called Guillemote towards a heavy oak door behind the dais at the far end of the great hall. A liveried footman held open the door and a small brown dog scampered around them, yapping noisily as they crossed the threshold.
    â€˜Catherine! There you are, child! Why are you so late arriving? Did that nincompoop of a captain lose his way?’
    Catherine was caught up in the whirlwind which was her mother, Her Highness Queen