Little had been proved yet of this one, except that The Maid had seen my brother and had aroused in him a love of country to replace his hitherto languid acceptance of defeat.

And the people believed The Maid. Men were ready to fight beside her with new energy and purpose, because they were certain that God was their ally and that therefore they must prevail.

Then something happened to make all this seem unimportant to me. I was once more pregnant. I was filled with joy. Another child! And this time there would not be the same anxiety. I was surrounded by devoted friends. We had managed with Edmund, and we should know how to do so with a new child.

Owen was delighted and, although Guillemote pursed her lips and shook her head and wondered whether I was sufficiently recovered from the birth of Edmund, I could see that she, too, was overjoyed at the prospect of a new baby.

I suppose I should have been more interested in what was going on, but my mind was wholly absorbed by thoughts of my coming child. So I did not ask myself what was happening at the siege of Orléans and if The Maid and her heavenly allies would succeed against the all-conquering English, but “Will the child be a girl or a boy?”

The journey from Hadham to Hatfield was a little trying. I rode some of the way because I did not want to arouse suspicions regarding my state of health, but Guillemote insisted that when I looked tired I should take to a litter.

I must say I was glad to see the walls of the palace before me and to pass under the gateway. I was exhausted by the journey, and Guillemote insisted on my getting to bed without delay.

My ladies were bustling around me to make sure that everything was in order.

There was an element of danger in moving to a new place. We had had everything arranged to our satisfaction in Hadham. Here there would be new servants, and servants talk.

I knew that I could trust Owen and my devoted friends to make sure that we were as safe as we possibly could be.

I needed to rest for several days after the journey.

“It has been too much for you,” said Guillemote. “I am wondering whether it wouldn’t have been better to have stayed at Hadham…sweetening or not.”

“A foul place would have been no good for the baby,” I reminded her. “And we had been there too long already.”

“Nor was the journey any good for the baby,” retorted Guillemote.

However, all seemed to be well, and after a rest I felt in good health.

Hatfield Place is a beautiful residence, grander than Hadham, and perhaps for that reason I had felt safer at the latter. We were nineteen miles north of London, which did not seem very far. I loved the long gallery and the chapel, which had some of the most attractive stained-glass windows I had ever seen. I liked to sit there and pray, with the light streaming through onto the dark oak floor. I would thank God for giving me the blessing of marriage to a good man, for my son Edmund and for the child I soon hoped to have. I was fortunate. And what I prayed for was to go on in my peaceful happy home, with my husband and children around me…free from danger.

My thoughts were completely absorbed by my family; so I listened halfheartedly to the news which filtered into the palace and was avidly seized on by the others.

Guillemote’s stream of talk broke into my reverie.

“I believe it to be true,” she said.

“What do you believe, Guillemote?” I asked.

“That The Maid has been sent by God.”

“Oh, you are talking of that again, are you?”

“My lady…dear madam, everyone is talking about it.”

“Do they still think she is divine?”

“They do not think that she is divine…just that she is a messenger from God.”

“Well, would that not make her divine?”

“She does not say that she is. She says she is a simple girl who hears voices commanding her to take up arms and lead the soldiers to victory.”

I yawned slightly and stroked the little shift I was embroidering. “Orléans will fall to the French they say,” went on Guillemote. “And if it does, that will be the turning point. It will be Paris next.”

“Orléans fall!” I said.

“Yes…the siege. The English have been holding on. It is hoped that they are on the verge of surrender. Joan the Maid is there leading the men on, urging them to break through the walls and rescue Orléans.”

“How can she…a woman …?”

“With the help of God,” said Guillemote.

“Guillemote, you can’t really believe …”

Guillemote looked at me steadily and said: “I do believe.”

“The Duke of Bedford will never allow it.”

“What hope has he? He is losing Burgundy’s friendship. It only lingers on because Burgundy loves his sister Anne, who pleads with him not to desert her husband.”

“This is gossip.”

“Mayhap. But there is often truth in gossip. If Orléans should fall, men will flock to The Maid. It will prove that she has led her fellow countrymen to achieve what seemed impossible.”

“You are bemused by this Maid.”

“Madame…the whole of France is bemused by this Maid.”

I could not take these tales seriously, but I soon learned that I should.

Orléans was taken and this was a resounding victory for the French.

I could not help thinking of my brother-in-law Bedford. He must be disconsolate. It had been a sacred mission for him to carry out Henry’s wishes and keep—and add to—the possessions in France. And now one of the key cities was lost. It was not only this loss but the effect the victory would have on the army which was losing its spirit as well as much of the land conquered by Henry.

Owen was dismayed by the news. He repeated his conviction that it could never have happened if Henry had been alive.

“I cannot imagine what this will mean,” he said. “It is hard to believe that one victory like this can change the course of the war. But it seems this is not all. The Maid has aroused a new spirit in France. And when people are fighting for their own country, they seem to acquire a special strength.”

“You cannot believe this story of The Maid’s being sent by God?”

“There are many strange things that happen on earth which are beyond our understanding. This might be one of them. Moreover, we have to consider this victory, this new spirit which is arising in France. The Dauphin is now bestirring himself.”

“My brother never wanted the crown.”

“It seems that The Maid has inspired him to now.”

Owen had discovered that messengers were constantly crossing the Channel. The Duke of Bedford was keeping the Council informed. Even I, absorbed as I was in the child I had and the one who was coming, could not be unaware that momentous events were taking place.

One day a messenger came to Hatfield.

I was alarmed. I had hoped that few had been aware of my change of residence, but the fact that this messenger came meant that the move was not unknown.

He was French and had been in the service of my father at one time; and I think it was for this reason that he had made the perilous journey to Hatfield to see me.

He wanted to give me the news in person, for he did not forget that, although I was the Queen of England, I was also a French princess.

I could see that he thought he had brought me good news.

I welcomed him, feeling greatly relieved that my pregnancy, as yet, was not apparent.

He told me that there was great rejoicing in France, and the news he brought was that my brother had been crowned in Rheims.

How could that be? I wondered. My little Henry was the acknowledged King of France. It had been part of the treaty of peace which had been signed between my parents and my husband who had graciously allowed my father to bear the title until his death, and my father was now dead. Henry would have been King had he lived, and then none would have dared raise a voice against that—but now he was dead and the crown had gone to his son Henry.

So how could my brother Charles be crowned King?

“The Maid came with him to the cathedral,” said the messenger. “It was a goodly sight indeed. She carried her banner high. ‘Jhesus Maria.’ So bold it was that all could read it. Her face shone with glory, my lady. All knew that she was God’s messenger.”

“And my brother…the Dauphin …”

“The Dauphin no longer, my lady, but King Charles VII of France.”

I wanted to say: that cannot be. I could see Henry’s face before me, shining with victory. If he had lived…oh, but if he had lived, everything would have been different. Owen would not now be my husband. Edmund would not have been born. I felt the child move within me as though to remind me of its presence.

No. If Henry had lived, it would have been a different story.

“Hope is springing up throughout France, my lady. It is hard to believe that this could have happened. It is a different country. The people have been given hope. And all through The Maid. But when you see her…my lady…that radiant goodness…it is not difficult to understand why.”

I lowered my head, and the messenger seemed suddenly to realize that, although I had been a princess of France, that was no longer my country and he was talking of the defeat of the one to which I now belonged.

I wanted to ease his embarrassment. I said: “It was good of you to come to me with this news. I thank you. It must have been a very hazardous journey for you.”

“I served your father. I knew of his love for you. I see now …”

“No…no,” I assured him. “It was good of you. I thank you. You must be refreshed. I wish you a safe journey back.”

He left me…subdued.

The weeks were passing. My pregnancy was beginning to show itself. September was coming to an end, and the mornings were misty; the trees were taking on their autumnal tints. Before the year was out, my baby would be born.

I remembered the day well. Messengers came riding to the palace. They always caused me great disquiet. If my enemy Gloucester discovered that Owen and I had broken the law and married—even though the law was made after our marriage—I could not guess what our fate would be. They would perhaps not dare harm me, and as my brother now called himself the King of France, they would have to act with caution. It was Owen for whom I feared. They would call him a traitor. I trembled for Owen.

Guillemote came running to me, her face puckered in alarm.

“They are asking to see you.”

“Can you not say I am unwell?”

She slowly shook her head. “They are from the Bishop.”

“From Winchester?”

She nodded.

“He is a cardinal now,” I said.

“I know. From the Cardinal, then.”

“What do they want?”

“Some message from him. Come…let me see. If you are seated, no one will know.” She brought a rug and wrapped it over my knees and my waist.

“We will tell them you have a chill and are staying in,” she said. “Mind you do not rise from the chair.”

Someone was knocking on the door.

Guillemote went to open it. Two men stood there.

“We are from his Eminence the Cardinal. We have a message for the Queen.”

“The Queen is suffering from a chill. She does not want to be disturbed,” said Guillemote.

“It is merely to deliver a message, and we have instructions to speak to her and her only.”

“Well then, do so,” said Guillemote. “The Queen is here.”

They came to me and knelt before me. I bade them rise and said in muffled voice that they should state their business as quickly as possible as I was feeling unwell.

“We are here to tell Your Grace that the Cardinal is on his way to you. He has something of great importance to impart to you and wishes to do so in person.”

Alarm seized me. I heard myself saying: “Where…is the Cardinal?”

“He has already begun his journey, my lady. He should be with you in the early afternoon.”

I felt sick with fear. How noticeable was the change in my body? Would the Cardinal realize that I was pregnant?

I thanked the messengers and sent them to be refreshed before they began their return journey.

Guillemote came running in with the Joannas. They listened in dismay to what I told them.

“What are we going to do?” I demanded.

“You could go to bed …” suggested Guillemote.

I pondered that. It was a possibility, but illness had been feigned so often and the Cardinal, astute as he was, would be fully aware of that. It might arouse his suspicions, I said.