―Joan?‖ Catherine said. ―Are you well?‖
Joan lowered her hands which she‘d had clasped before her. She rose and turned to face
Catherine.
For an instant, Catherine thought that the girl had tripped entirely into the murky waters
of insanity, impelled by the truth she‘d been forced to witness last night. But then she realised
that Joan‘s face was infused not with madness, nor even with her previous obsessive devotion,
but with a peace so profound that Catherine‘s eyes widened in wonder.
―What has happened?‖ she said.
Joan smiled secretively, although not in a sly manner. ―I have found myself,‖ she said.
Catherine indicated a small stool. ―May I sit?‖
―Oh, yes. Forgive me. I should have asked you myself.‖
Then Joan, who sat on the edge of her narrow bed, tilted her head and regarded Catherine
with a modicum of curiosity. ―You have not come to gloat, have you?‖
Catherine shook her head, wondering what it was that had caused this great change in the
girl over only a few short hours. When Joan had run from Marie‘s birthing chamber, Catherine
thought her close to breaking.
―I had wondered,‖ Catherine said carefully, ―if you might need someone to talk to.‖
―That was kind of you,‖ said Joan, knowing that was not quite the reason Catherine had
come to her.
Catherine hesitated, not sure what to say next. This was not the Joan she had expected to
find.
Joan spoke again, filling the uncomfortable silence. ―How is Marie, and her daughter?‖
―They are well,‖ Catherine said.
―For the moment,‖ said Joan, ―but how will Marie venture forth into the world, an
unmarried woman with a bastard child? I worry for her, and feel guilt, knowing how I deserted
her when she needed me most.‖
―I have arranged for her a place as housekeeper in a small convent in Amiens. The sisters
will be pleased to receive her, and both Marie and her daughter will be nurtured.‖
Joan‘s mouth twitched. ―If only they knew what they nurture,‖ she said, and then the
amusement died from her face. ―Tell me of the angels, Catherine, and of the misery they have
visited on you, and on mankind.‖
And so Catherine took a deep breath and, as Hal Bolingbroke and Margaret had once
talked to Thomas Neville, told Joan all she knew.
When she had finished Joan looked sorrowful, but still composed. ―We have all been
grossly misused and abused,‖ she said.
Catherine nodded, satisfied. ―What will you do now?‖
Joan smiled, beatifically, as if at an inner vision, and Catherine wondered if she‘d slipped
back into her previous blind and obsessive piety.
But the expression passed, and Joan spoke calmly and reasonably. ―I had thought to
return to my parents‘ home,‖ she said. ―I thought to devote myself to the tending of my father‘s
sheep.‖
―That‘s a wonderful—‖
―But I have changed my mind,‖ Joan said, grinning slightly at the expression on
Catherine‘s face. ―Oh, do not worry, Catherine. I have no doubt that I shall end my days
watching over my father‘s sheep in some blessed meadow, but there is still one small task left for
me to do here first.‖
―And that is?‖
―To fit Charles for his rightful place, as King of France.‖
―You cannot still mean to accomplish that! Charles is a hopeless imbecile who—‖
―He will not always be so,‖ Joan said. ―He merely needs an infusion of strength. I am that
strength.‖
―Then we are still at odds.‖
Joan took Catherine‘s hand. ―Yes. We are. Indeed, our positions have hardly changed.
You fight to replace Charles with…well, with whomever. And I fight to give him France. What
has changed is that I now understand you, and in understanding you, I have come to a
realisation.‖
―And that is…?‖
―I think that one day we will be friends. Even, I dare to venture, that we will fight for the
same end.‖
Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but Joan continued quickly. ―Am I not a
prophetess? Then hear me out. In the end, I think we will both do what is right for France, and I
think that we will both take the path that love demands of us, not those paths that previous blind allegiances have shown us.‖
Catherine chewed her lip, then nodded. ―Should we still spat in public, Joan? Should I
pull your hair every time you pass?‖
―Oh, indeed! Otherwise your mother will think the world has come to an end!‖
They both laughed, then Catherine rose, aiding Joan to rise at the same time. She kissed
Joan‘s cheek.
―Be well, Joan.‖
―Aye,‖ Joan said. ―I think I will be, now.‖
PART ONE
Windsor
In the meane time…certain malicious and cruel persons enuiyng and malignyng in their
heartes…blased abrode and noised dayly amongest the vulgare people that kyng Richard…was
yet liuyng and desired aide of the common people to repossesse his realme and roiall dignitie.
And to the furtheraunce of this fantastical inuencion partly moued with indignacion, partely incensed with furious malencolie, set vpon postes and caste aboute the stretes railyng rimes,
malicious meters and tauntyng verses against king Henry…He being netteled with these
uncurteous ye unuertuous prickes & thornes, serched out the authors…
Edward Hall, Chronicle, 1548
I
Tuesday 30th April 1381
Lord Thomas Neville walked slowly through the gardens of Windsor Castle, heading for
the entrance to the King‘s Cloister. He narrowed his eyes slightly against the mid-morning
brightness of the sun, enjoying its welcome warmth even though its glare made his eyes ache.
Windsor Castle had long been favoured by the English kings, but since his coronation
seven months ago Bolingbroke had made it his main residence. He‘d not wanted to reside in
Westminster, which he thought cold and uncomfortable; the Savoy was still in ruins; Lambeth
Palace was unavailable now that the new Archbishop of Canterbury had moved in; and the only
other truly regal palace in London was the Tower, which needed another few months‘ worth of
renovations before it could be suitable to use as Bolingbroke‘s royal residence. So Bolingbroke
had moved his court to Windsor, a solid day‘s ride west from London.
Neville raised his face slightly, staring towards the silvery stone walls of the castle,
looking for the tall, graceful, second level windows of the Great Chamber. Ah…there they were,
so afire with the glare of the sun that no outsider would be able to peer through and intrude upon
the privacy of the chamber‘s occupants. Neville had no doubt that by this time of the day
Bolingbroke would be settled with his advisers and secretaries and counsellors.
And here Neville was in the gardens.
―My Lord Neville! Morning‘s greetings to you!‖
Neville jumped, silently cursing the sudden thudding of his heart. He squinted against the
sun, then relaxed, nodding to the man striding down the garden path towards him.
―My Lord Mayor,‖ he said, extending a hand. ―My congratulations on your recent
election.‖
Dick Whittington took Neville‘s hand in a firm grasp, then indicated a nearby bench. ―If
you‘re in no hurry, my lord?‖
Neville sat with Whittington on the bench, wondering what the Lord Mayor could want
to say to him.
―I am pleased to have this chance to speak with you, my lord, that I might ask after your
lovely wife and children.‖
―Margaret? Why, she is well, as are Rosalind and Bohun,‖ Neville responded, surprised
at the enquiry. Whittington hardly knew Margaret…
―I have just come from the Great Chamber,‖ Whittington said, after a slight hesitation,
―and an audience with our king—you know of his edicts regarding education, and clocks?‖
Neville nodded. Over the past months Hal had instructed that science and the new
humanities were to receive a greater weight in schools at the expense of religion, while clock
hours were to replace church hours of prayer in people‘s daily lives.
It was all, Neville knew, part of Hal‘s not-so-subtle turning of his subject‘s hearts and
minds away from the religious to the secular.
―Aye, well,‖ Whittington continued, ―I needed to consult with his grace over some of the
details of the new school curricula, and the appropriate fees the clockmaker‘s guild can charge
for the installation of clocks in all London‘s gates and major steeples.‖
Neville shifted impatiently, wondering why Whittington was subjecting him to this
pointless conversation.
―My lord,‖ Whittington said, his eyes narrowing in what might have been amusement, ―I
am keeping you from your duties, and for that I apologise, but—‖
Ah, Neville thought, now we reach the heart of the matter.
―—I admit to some curiosity, even some concern, over the fact that his grace now
conducts his morning‘s counsel…and you are not there to advise him. I remember those dark
days when the peasant rebels set London afire, and murdered the great Lancaster. Then you and
his grace were close confidants, brothers almost.‖
Then I did not know who, and what, Hal truly was, Neville thought, keeping the
expression on his face a mixture of the vaguely pleasant and the vaguely impatient. Demon-King.