GRAFTON, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE,

SUMMER 1450

As the warmer months come the king and queen agree to travel north. They give out that they want to be away from London during the hot weather when plague often comes to the city, they say that they want to see the good people of Leicester. But those of us who live in the palace know that the guards have been doubled at the gates, and that they are employing tasters for their food. They are afraid of the people of London, they are afraid of the men of Kent, they are afraid that whoever murdered William de la Pole blames them for the loss of France, for the continual stream of defeated soldiers and settlers who come every day into every English port. There is no money to pay the London suppliers, the queen mistrusts the people of the city. The court is going to Leicester; in truth it is running away to hide in Leicester.

Richard and I are granted leave to go and see our children at Grafton, as the court goes north, and we ride quickly out of London, which has become a surly city of secretive people whispering on street corners. There is a rumour that the king and queen will take a great revenge on the county of Kent. They blame the very seashore where William de la Pole’s dishonoured body was dumped. Lord Say of Knole and his heavy-handed son-in-law who is Sheriff of Kent say that together they will hunt down the guilty men and execute them and every one of their family; they say they will empty Kent of people, they will make it a wasteland.

Once we are out of the city, away from city walls, Richard and I ride side by side, holding hands like young lovers, while our small armed guard falls back and rides behind us. The roads are clear and dry, the grass verges dotted with flowers, the birds singing in the greening hedgerows, ducklings on the village ponds and roses in blossom.

‘What if we never went back to court?’ I ask him. ‘What if we were just to be the squire of Grafton and his lady?’

‘And our nursery of children?’ he smiles.

‘Many, many children,’ I say. ‘I am not satisfied with eight, and one on the way, I am hoping for a round dozen.’

He smiles at me. ‘I should still be summoned,’ he says. ‘Even if I were the smallest quietest squire of Grafton, with the largest family in England, I should still be mustered and sent to war.’

‘But you would come home again.’ I pursue the thought. ‘And we could make a living from our fields and farms.’

He smiles. ‘Not much of a living, my lady. Not the sort of living you want. And your children would marry tenant farmers and their children would run wild. Do you want a dirty-faced little peasant for a grandchild?’

I make a face at him. He knows how much I prizeur books and our musical instruments, and how determined I am that all my children shall read and write in three languages, and master all the courtly skills.