Dame Alice told me that he was good at his books but he did not excel as he should at outdoor games. She believed that he had little fancy for them.

“It is well,” she said, “that there are boys of his age here. He can watch them. Some of them are very skillful…riding…archery and such like. But the King always prefers his books. It is a pity. He should have enthusiasm for both.”

“We are all different,” I said, “and it is very important that he should do well at his lessons.”

“A king must excel in all ways,” she said with a touch of severity.

I used to talk to him about his father—the greatest warrior the world had ever known. He listened with a kind of awed anxiety.

I said to him: “But there are better things than war, Henry. It is better for countries to live in peace with each other than go to war…killing…maiming each other. There are wonderful things in the world…books…music…pictures.”

He was pleased with that. I knew that those about him constantly talked to him of Agincourt and Harfleur.

He liked to hear about his ancestors, and the Earl of Warwick had given instructions to his tutors that he must be fully cognizant of the history of his country.

I thought sometimes that they were forcing him out of his childhood too soon. It was true he was the King, but could they not let him forget that for a few years? Apparently not.

I wondered what effect coming face-to-face with the people had on him. He certainly liked their applause and responded to it in a manner which delighted them; and youth is so appealing, particularly when it wears a crown.

He said to me once: “They like me, do they not?”

“It is clear that they do,” I replied.

“Yes, but Dame Alice says it is the crown they are cheering, not me.”

“Dame Alice may be right.”

“Then why do they not carry the crown through the streets? Why do I have to be under it?”

“The crown needs someone to wear it and it is the possession of the King.”

“Then it must be the King they cheer as well as the crown.”

I could see that my son was developing a logical mind.

It brought home to me the fact that he was growing up, and I feared for him. I could not shut out of my mind the thought of Gloucester’s ambitious face.

A message came that I might spend Christmas and the New Year with Henry at Eltham Palace. I was delighted. I would travel there with my household, and that would include Owen, so I could enjoy the festivities in the company of both my son and my lover.

Henry had, that Whitsun, been knighted by his Uncle Bedford. It had been a solemn occasion, for after the ceremony he himself had knighted a few of his young companions.

He had described the occasion to me at some length and I had been saddened a little because I felt more strongly than ever that they were forcing him to grow up before his time. How I wished that he could have enjoyed a little more of his childhood more simply with me and Guillemote…and Owen too.

I was very pleased to see that Henry had quite a liking for Owen, who had taken great pains not to put himself forward. In view of the nature of our relationship, Owen felt a little embarrassed. I think he felt himself to be in the position of stepfather to the little King.

It was in a state of happy expectation that we arrived at Eltham. I could not restrain my excitement as we came through the magnificent avenue of trees and saw the stone walls and lofty archways of the palace. We passed into a cobbled courtyard.

Henry was waiting to greet us.

I wanted to pick him up in my arms, but I must remember that, although he was my little son, he was also the King. He smiled at me happily, so the formal greeting was not important. We should have an opportunity to be alone, when we would cast off convention and revert to the old easygoing relationship which was more natural to us.

How happy I was to be with him! He told me what had been happening to him—how he had to ride every day and practice archery. He wished it was not quite so often, but he was very fond of his horse. Best of all he loved his books. The Earl of Warwick, though, said he must not neglect sports or the study of arms for them.

“The Earl of Warwick will know best,” I said.

He accepted that rather dubiously; but I think on the whole he was a docile pupil.

He was very interested in the Christmas festivities. He had been allowed to take a hand in decorating the great hall and had helped bring in the yule log.

He had a present for me, he told me. It turned out to be a pair of gloves. He watched me unwrap them and put them on, studying me to see whether I was pleased with them.

I kissed him. I told him they were perfect. How had he known that I had always wanted such a pair of gloves?

“Dame Alice helped me to choose them,” he said modestly. “But I really wanted that pair for you.”

“They are the best gloves in the world,” I told him, “and I shall always treasure them.”

I was speaking the truth. I have them to this day. I often unwrap them and think of the time he gave them to me.

He told me that Jack Travail and his band of merry men were coming to amuse us and there would be mummers. He and his little companions would play all sorts of games. It was going to be a wonderful Christmas. “And,” he added, “you are here with me.” A remark which touched me deeply.

Among his Christmas gifts were some coral beads. He was delighted with them, and he told me that Dame Alice had said that they had belonged to King Edward.

“But,” he said, “there were three Edwards and she was not sure to which one they had belonged. I wish I knew. Do you know about the kings named Edward? One of them was a great warrior…like my father, but not so great of course. There were battles called Poitiers and Crécy—though they were not like Agincourt. He did not win the whole of France, though he did quite well. Then there was one who was always fighting in Scotland. But she didn’t tell me much about the second one. When I pressed her, she said, ‘You will know one day. But that time is not yet. It will depend on your tutor.’ He was the second Edward, and he is the one I should like to know about.”

I told him that I had learned my lessons at a place called Poissy in France. I could not enlighten him about the second Edward, but I would find out if I could.

I did find out later, and when I learned of the life of King Edward II, I felt very sad, thinking of the tragic fates which could befall kings. And it occurred to me that the second Edward was probably the one to whom those coral beads had belonged; and I rather wished they had not fallen into my son’s hand.

But that Christmas was a time for rejoicing.

There was great merriment when the boys played their games. I noticed they were all a little deferential to Henry, though most of them came from the noblest families in the land. They played blind man’s buff and hide-and-seek, and when Jack Travail arrived with his merry men, he devised new games and did little comic sketches which amused them mightily. He had brought with him some portable organs which provided special delight. I said afterward to Owen that it was wonderful to see my little boy enjoying fun naturally, unencumbered, however briefly, by his kingship.

I could not help thinking how wonderful it would be if we could slip away…taking Henry with us, and go with a few friends to some quiet place away from the ceremony of the Court…somewhere where we could live in the style of certain gentlefolk away from the turmoil of state affairs.

I think I must have been lulled into an even greater sense of security than ever, which made me careless. It was the relaxed atmosphere, the festive celebrations, the pleasure of having my son near me. I was bemused by my contentment.

It seemed nothing at the time. It all came about quite naturally, though it brought home to me the fact that I was being watched and that every little action of mine was noted, considered and judgment passed upon it.

The young people had retired to their beds and there was dancing in the great hall. Owen was present, but naturally he did not sit with me. We had to remember that in public he was the Clerk of the Wardrobe and one of the guards, and as such naturally would not be with me.

I sat watching the dancers, not wishing to dance myself. There was a great deal of laughter and chatter, and the musicians were playing tunefully. Often my eyes went to Owen across the hall, and our eyes conveyed tender messages.

Some of the courtiers had organized a competition.

“What are they doing?” I asked idly.

One of the men came up to me and said: “It is a contest, my lady. We were discussing who of us could leap the highest in the dance and turn the greatest number of times. Then someone said, ‘Let us put it to the test,’ and that is what we are doing.”

I clapped my hands and said: “Let us all see, then. Let us discover the champion.”

“Perhaps Your Grace will be the judge.”

“Why certainly. I will judge.”

They gathered around me.

“The test is who can jump the highest and turn the most number of times, is it not?” I said.

“Yes, my lady. They must jump while turning…as in the dance.”

“Well, let the trial begin. Who is to be the first?”

The contest started. The men came and danced before me, twirling and leaping into the air. The watchers shouted the number of times they turned and gave their opinions of the height of the leaps.

We had almost decided on a winner when someone said: “Come on, Owen Tudor, try your luck.”

“I am no dancer,” protested Owen.

It was true. I had watched him in the ballroom with great tenderness. I would not have him like those mincing, prancing men who prided themselves on their agility in the dance. Again I thought of Gloucester, who, of course, was the perfect dancer. It was amazing how frequently his image came into my mind. It was a man’s place to excel at things other than dancing.

Owen was embarrassed and continued to protest.

“Come on, Owen Tudor,” someone cried. “Are you a coward, then? What will Her Grace think if you refuse to dance before her?”

Owen stood there slightly flushed. I smiled at him encouragingly.

“It is only a game,” I said.

The musicians started to play. There was nothing he could do but attempt to dance, which he did clumsily, twirling around and around.

“Higher, higher,” shouted one of the courtiers.

Owen leaped, lost his balance and fell straight into my lap.

I put out my hands and caught him. For a few moments I held him against me. I was not aware that I held him longer than I would normally have held anyone who had fallen upon me in such an impromptu manner until I became aware of the deep silence in the room. The musicians had stopped playing. Everyone seemed to be very still…listening…waiting for something to happen. I heard myself laugh.

“My lady …” stammered Owen.

“I do not think that Owen Tudor will win the prize,” I said as he stood up before me.

Owen looked overcome with embarrassment. “I am sorry …” he began.

I waved my hand. “You did protest,” I reminded him. “I shall blame all those who forced you to it. Come, let us continue with the game. I am eager now to see who will be our winner.”

The music had started. There were two more competitors who wished to try their luck. But something had happened. People were watchful. Secretive glances passed between them.

It was not long before Guillemote raised the subject.

She made a habit of brushing my hair before we retired for the night. It was then that we discussed the events of the day and night.

She came to the point in her usual candid way.

“It was noticed,” she said.

“What was noticed?”

“You and the Tudor.”

“What was noticed?” I repeated.

“That he fell into your lap.”

“How could they help noticing? They were all watching the contest. Owen did not fall purposely.”

“It was the way you received him.”

“Received him? He fell into my lap. How should one receive a dancer who falls into one’s lap?”

I laughed at the memory. “He looked so funny,” I said. “Poor Owen, he did not want to do it. They should not have insisted. He knows he cannot dance. And why should he? Dancing is no occupation for a man of intelligence.”

“And wit…and all perfections,” added Guillemote.

I was silent. She looked at me accusingly.