Servants from the kitchen are here. They carry in large platters and trays, which Jean directs them to set on the table, pushed back to the center of the room, along with the chairs.

“I have done better than steal a loaf of bread like a common thief,” he says, puffing out his chest. “The head cook feels as I do. He is enraged you were not invited to the feast, so he has sent these up to you, with his compliments. The Archbishop will be wondering why his own table is so bare.”

Her pages jump to their feet first. They run to smell the sauces, the steaming beef and duck and veal pies, the tray of stuffed mutton, and the platters of sugared wafers.

They eat hungrily, and she gives out the prizes she promised them, gifts she received before they set out for Reims. For Raymond, a silver brooch with a large purple stone. For Louis, a small knife in a jeweled sheath.

“What have they done to warrant these?” Jean asks. He looks at her, faintly hopeful, as if to say, Do I get one, too, for bringing so much delicious food?

“We were wrestling,” she explains. “I said if they knocked me down, they would receive a prize. And they did.”

Jean laughs. “Yes, and I would sooner believe His Majesty bested you than either of these children.” He scoffs. “The Dau…I mean the King has one talent. He can eat and eat and eat and never add a sliver of flesh to his own person. The very opposite, of course, is true of my lord La Trémoille. Now, La Trémoille has only to look at a partridge, and before he has taken even a single bite, he will fatten himself up.”

She covers her mouth, but laughter still escapes.

“His Majesty is like this…” Raymond arranges the small bones on his plate into the shape of a person. “Here, his legs, and these are his arms. It is all clothes that make him big. Like feathers on a chicken, but once you pluck the bird, it is…” He imitates the crowing of a rooster. “He does not have the figure of a king.”

“Be quiet,” she says, though her mouth twists. “Do not say such things.”

“Let him talk,” Jean says. “We are alone, and what he says is true enough. Lord strike me if I tell a lie, but I nearly broke into a sweat for His Majesty when he was making his way to the altar this morning. Everyone thought he would trip himself. You could see it on their faces. Our knees were shaking for him, and I am certain he, too, was shaking. Did you see anything? You were closest to him, Joan.”

“No,” she lies. “I noticed nothing.”

Louis takes the bowl of sugared almonds and empties it. He reaches to place it upside down on her head.