did.
‘God’s Blood!’ The boy sucked his afflicted knuckle while I could not help but laugh, wondering where he had picked up the phrase that sat so quaintly with his immaturity.
‘I warned you.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Undeterred, he tried again and managed to stroke the bird without harm. ‘What’s its name?’
‘Pierre.’
‘Why?’
‘All our parrots have been called Pierre.’
‘Is it male? Or female?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can I have one?’
‘If you wish.’
‘I do. And it will wear a gold collar.’
It made me laugh again, perhaps with a touch of hysteria. The bird was more to his taste than I was. He was certainly much taken with it.
‘I will buy you one.’
‘Will you? When you are my wife?’
‘Yes.’ My heart thudded. By this time tomorrow I would be Countess of Pembroke.
‘Can I call you Elizabeth?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I am John.’ His gaze returned to the bird that proceeded to bite at its claws. ‘Perhaps I will call my parrot Elizabeth. If it is female of course.’
What a child he was. Eyes as brown as the chestnut fruit, his bowl of hair rich and curling of a similar hue, he was incongruously charming.
‘Do you wish to wed me?’ I asked, willing to be intrigued by his reply. I had no idea what an eight-year-old child would think of marriage.
The boy thought about it while observing the parrot’s attentions to its toes.
‘I suppose so.’ His smile, directed at me, was thoroughly ingenuous. ‘You are very pretty. And a parrot as a marriage gift would be perfect. Or a falcon. Or even a hound. I would really like a hound. A white one, a hunting dog, if you could. Did you know that if you carry a black dog’s tooth in your palm, then dogs will not bark at you?’
‘No. I did not know that.’ So my affianced husband was an expert in the magical properties of animals.
‘It’s true, so they say. I’ve not tried it for myself.’ He tilted his head, on an afterthought. ‘What should I give you for a wedding gift, Madam Elizabeth?’
I had no idea.
As the welcome audience drew to a rapid close and our guests were shown to their accommodations, my father beckoned me, and in that brief moment when we were alone and out of earshot, I let my frustrations escape even though I knew I should not. Even though I knew in my heart that it would have no effect, my worries poured out in a low-voiced torrent.
‘How can I wed a child? How can I talk to this boy? I would have a husband who shares my love of the old tales, of poetry and song. I would have a husband who can dance with me, who can talk to me about the royal court, about the King and the foreign ambassadors who visit, of the distant countries they come from. You have given me a callow boy. I beg of you, sir. Change your mind and find me a man of talent and skill and learning. You found such a woman in my mother. Would you not allow me the same blessing in my marriage? I beg of you …’
I expected anger in my father’s face as I questioned his judgement, but there was none, rather an understanding, and his implacable reply was gentle enough.
‘It cannot be, Elizabeth. You must accept what cannot be changed.’
I bowed my head. ‘All he can talk about is parrots and hunting dogs!’ I heard the timbre of my voice rise a little and strove to harness my dismay. ‘He has given me a list of things he would like as a wedding gift. They are all furred and feathered.’
‘He will make a good husband. He will grow. It may be that John Hastings will become everything you hope for in a husband.’
The ghost of a smile in my father’s lips dried my complaint, and made me feel unworthy. It was clear that he would not listen.
‘Yes, my lord,’ I said.
Of course the Earl of Pembroke would grow. But not soon enough for me.
When I could, I fled to my bedchamber, where my command over any vitriolic outburst vanished like mist before the morning sun in June.
‘I won’t do it! How can my father ask me to wed a child?’
I wiped away tears of fury and despair with my sleeve, regardless of the superlative quality of the fur, snatching my hands away when Dame Katherine tried to take hold of them. I was not in the mood to be consoled, but equally my governess was in no mood to be thwarted, seizing my wrists and dragging me to sit beside her on my bed. I had fled to my own room so there was no need for me to put on a brave face before my royal aunts and uncles.
‘Make him change his mind,’ I demanded. ‘He will do it, if you ask him.’
‘No, he will not.’ She was adamant. ‘The Duke is decided. It is an important marriage.’
‘If it is so important, why not my sister? Why not Philippa? She is the elder. Why not her?’
‘Your father looks for a marriage with a European power. To bind an alliance against Castile. That was always his planning.’
I heard the sympathy in her voice and resisted it. I had had enough of pity for one day.
‘So I am to be sacrificed to a child.’
‘It is not the first time a daughter of an aristocratic house has been wed to a youth not yet considered a man.’
‘A man? His is barely out of his mother’s jurisdiction.’
‘Nonsense! It is time you accepted the inevitable. Listen to me and I will tell you why this is of such importance.’
I huffed disparagingly. ‘I expect he has land.’
‘Of course. The Earl will be influential. He is extraordinarily well connected, and his estates extensive. His grandmother is the Countess of Norfolk. They are linked with the Earl of Warwick. Their allegiance is vital to challenge the voices raised against the Duke. Before God, there are enough who resent his influence over the King and would do all they could to undermine his position. Your father needs powerful allies. This boy may be a child in your eyes, but he is heir to the whole Pembroke inheritance, with royal blood from Edward the First through his grandmother the Countess. It is indeed an excellent match, and will make you Countess of Pembroke. Do you understand?”
‘Yes. Of course I understand. It may all be as you say.’ I looked at her candidly. ‘But how can he be my husband in more than name? How long before I am a wife?’ Passion beat heavily in my blood, and I frowned. I needed to explain my heightened humours, but how could I with
