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.
“Did you not realize? It was the way you held him…the way you looked at him…the way he looked at you. It was clear to everyone in the room.”
“What are you saying?”
“My dear…my dearest mistress…how long do you think you are going to keep this a secret?”
“What…a secret?”
“What is going on between you and Owen Tudor.”
I was silent. She placed the hairbrush on the table with an angry gesture. “Secret!” she cried. “After this night it will be a secret no longer.”
“My dear Guillemote, how could I help it if he fell?”
“You could not help his falling. It was afterward. They are whispering about you. Don’t you see how dangerous it is? You are the Queen.”
“It was nothing,” I protested. “It was all over in a few seconds.”
“Long enough for you to have betrayed your feelings…and he, too. It was the way you looked at each other…the way he stayed there …”
“For a second or two?”
“It was too long. The looks were too ardent. And there were all those watchful ones who have already been…speculating. My lady, my lady, I beg you to think what you are doing…of what would happen if it were known to some of your enemies.”
“Guillemote, you are frightening me.”
She suddenly took me into her arms as she used to when I was a child.
“There,” she said in the old manner. “Perhaps they did not notice after all. It is just because I watch over you too much. I care too much …”