The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean. Страница 55

She was fortunate in having been able to form a friendly relationship with the Prince of Wales and she had been greeted warmly by other members of the family.

There was one in particular. She smiled at the thought of him. Joanna liked admiration—^who does not?—and coming from such a person as the royal Duke of York it was very welcome.

Henry was deeply immersed in the affairs of the country. He had a great deal to occupy and worry him, and he was often morose. There was a reason for this which she had soon discovered.

It had alarmed her.

She remembered the scene in their bedchamber when he dismissed the servants and would not allow them to assist in his disrobing.

He had had to confess to her for she might easily discover his affliction for herself.

'Joanna,' he said, *a terrible misfortune has come upon me.'

His face had turned grey as he talked to her and that made more noticeable the marks on his skin which she had thought till then were due to cold winds or sitting too close to the fire, and that they would pass with the aid of balmy weather and unguents.

*I am afflicted by a disease. I know not what it is. I had thought it would pass. But it does not. It affects my skin and at times I feel as though I have been doused in fire. The irritation is sometimes unbearable. Once it showed itself on my face ...' He touched his wrinkled skin. 'It disappeared ... or almost did. But I dread its return and it never goes completely away.'

She had looked at the marks on his body with growing uneasiness and tried to comfort him. She would consult the keeper of her stillroom. She believed there were ointments which could cure such afflictions.

But she was disturbed and so was Henry.

This man with the fear of a horrible disease which was advancing on him was very different from the romantic lover who had given her a forget-me-not to remember him by.

She had found unguents but they had no effect on him. A terrible thought kept occurring to her. Could it be leprosy?

As she mused one of her women thrust a paper into her hands.

'The Duke of York himself gave it to me,' whispered the woman. *He would have me swear to deliver it to no one but you.'

'Oh, he becomes too foolish,' said Joanna.

'And reckless, too, my lady,' giggled the woman. * 'Tis to be hoped this does not come to the King's ears.'

Joanna gave the woman a sharp push. 'There is no need to fear that,' she said sharply. 'I may show it to the King myself. There is nothing wrong, my good woman, in writing a verse to a lady of the Court, which is what the Duke has done. In the Courts of Provence and such places it was the natural order of the day.'

'Yes, my lady,' said the woman quietly.

Joanna looked at the paper.

It was verses, as she had expected it would be, and from that foolish young man. She must warn him. It was gallant of him to find her so beautiful that he sighed for her love, but he must remember that she was the wife of the King and such writing could be dangerous.

She would warn him when next she saw him, not to write so to her again.

She left her women and went to join the King. They would sit side by side in the royal box and watch the jousts. Young Harry would give a good account of himself she doubted not and the people would shout for him. There was something about the boy which won cheers wherever he went.

Henry's face was grey beneath the velvet cap looped up at the side with a fieur de lys. His furred velvet mantle hung loosely on him. Joanna dared not ask him whether more spots had appeared on his skin. She could see a redness on his neck

and she wondered what would happen when his face began to be really disfigured.

*I see you looking in good health/ he said.

She smiled warmly and heartily wished she could say the same for him.

*Have you seen Harry?' he asked.

*No, but I look forward to his performance. I am sure he will be the champion.'

*No doubt of it. The boy gives me cause for alarm, Joanna.'

*Has he been in further trouble?'

*I hear stories. They think they ought to tell me. I know he will be the champion. I know that he can lead an army. But there is more to kingship than that.'

*He can win the applause of the people,' Joanna reminded him. 'They love him.'

*The people love today and hate tomorrow,' said the King ruefully. *Not that they have ever shown much adulation for me. I always had my enemies. I came to the throne through a back door you might say. That is never good for a king.'

*You came because the people wanted you. They were tired of Richard. And you were the next...'

'There was the young Earl of March, remember.'

*A boy I They wanted you, Henry. You were King by election. You have done well for them.'

'They do not like me. Perhaps they will like Harry better ... that is if he mends his ways.'

'What have you heard now?'

'That he visits the taverns of London. That he spends hours in the company of low people. That he throws off his royalty and is one of them. It will not serve him well, Joanna.'

'Have you spoken to him?'

'I have in the past. There is an insolence about him. He is the Prince of Wales. He has the people with him. He implies that he does not need me. I believe he would be ready to take the throne from me.'

'Never. He is high spirited, that is all. He chafes against the bonds of royalty. Give him time. He will be a great king when the time comes ... and I pray he will be a sober old greybeard by that time.'

'You bring me comfort, Joanna,' he said. 'But there is one other matter which causes me concern ... and were I to believe what is whispered it would bring me greater unhappi-

ness than I suffer from the bad habits of my son.'

'What is that?' asked Joanna in surprise.

'It concerns you ... and my cousin of York.*

Joanna flushed slightly. 'Oh you have been listening to tales. He is a foolish young man.'

'And you are a beautiful young woman.*

'Not so young. But this is nonsense. He fancies himself as a poet and I am a good target for his verse.'

'He sends them to you?'

'Yes, he does.'

'And you?'

'I read them and tell him he has much to learn.*

'Of what matters?'

'Of how to write verse for one; and of me for another.*

'I like it not,' said Henry.

'My dear husband, trust me. I loved you when I was the wife of the Duke of Brittany but I did not tell you so. Never a word of what we felt for each other passed between us. I am a woman who respects her marriage vows and even if I felt a tenderness towards this man—which I hasten to tell you I do not—there would never be anything but friendship between us.*

'I believe you,' said the King. 'But I do not trust him. There was a time when he was ready to support Richard against me. I might have lost my crown. Oddly enough he saved it for me. He was one of the conspirators who planned to rescue Richard and set him on the throne. He was then Rutland for his father was alive and he had not yet acquired the title of York, and suddenly he was afraid and confided in his father. My good uncle of York saw at once what must be done. I was informed by both father and son of what was afoot and so the plot did not succeed.*

'So you may well owe your throne to him.'

'I may well do that but all the same I do not care for a man who changes coats so easily.'

'Then you must believe that he is not a strong enough man for you to waste your thoughts on. I swear to you that nothing has passed between us but that which you know of.'

'I believe you.'

'Then you must not pay attention to such trivialities.*

'Nothing that touches you can be trivial to me.'

'I know it,' she said, with her voice soft and tender. 'May