VIII

eyes brimming, she adds, “Lord Daubeney is encamped with a force on Hounslow Heath to hold the rebels back from the City.”
    “How many men in Daubeney’s force?”
    “Eight thousand.”
    I feel my mother’s hand tighten on my shoulder. She says, “The last estimate I heard, the rebels had nearly twice that number.”
    “Our scouts have been reporting desertions. And, in any case, the King will bring his force to join Daubeney.” My grandmother says this as if my father only has to turn up to be sure of winning any battle. Is it true? I could well believe it. My father is a fearless warrior.
    “The Earls of Oxford and Suffolk have mustered good numbers too,” my grandmother says. “Daubeney simply needs to hold out until they arrive.”
    “And… there’s been no report of—” My mother hesitates. “No report from the Kent coast?”
    “Of a landing?” My grandmother smiles thinly. “Nothing yet. But if the rebels have a plan to take London by storming the bridge, that person will most likely sail up the Thames and assault the City from the water, don’t you think?”
    I know who my grandmother means when she says ‘ that person ’. It’s a man who wants to push my father off the throne and be king instead. Sometimes people call him ‘the Pretender’. He’s been talked about for as long as I can remember: how he moves from country to country, from court to court of the kings who are my father’s enemies, getting money from them and trying to build an army so he can invade England. I imagine him like an ogre, striding across kingdoms with a few giant steps – stump, stump, stump . He’s had coins minted threatening my father, with a quote from the Bible stamped on them: “Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.”
    Now, after years of waiting, they say this man – the Pretender – is coming for real. The rebel army closing in on London isn’t his – it’s a band of Cornishmen, rebelling against taxes. But this is the Pretender’s chance: while the country’s in chaos he’s going to invade. I glance fearfully at the hall’s great oak door, as if he might knock it down right now and come crashing in to kill us all.
    My mother mutters, “God preserve the King.”
    “Oh, He will,” says my grandmother. “I have faith in that.” She hands the crumpled napkin to a passing maid. “Arthur is not being moved?”
    “He has a garrison protecting him at Ludlow. It’s best he stays where he is.”
    My grandmother grunts, which I think means she agrees.
    “And the girls will be safe enough at Eltham,” adds my mother.
    My grandmother doesn’t even bother to reply.
    Arthur is my older brother and, being the heir to the throne, has his own household at Ludlow. He is also my grandmother’s favourite. I don’t think, in fact, that she knows what younger brothers like me are for, let alone sisters – of any age. She had only one son herself: my father. She gave birth to him when she was thirteen years old, and people say that he ripped her insides so badly she could never have another child.
    “Mass will be said in the White Tower at eight,” my grandmother is saying. “Your chambers should be ready soon.” She is about to leave, heading for the door behind us at the far end of the hall. But, as she comes close to pass by us, she stops. “By the way, Elizabeth, it occurs to me that I haven’t asked you…”
    “What?”
    “Who you are hoping will win, my dear.”
    I feel my mother stiffen. She whispers, “Not in front of my son, ma’am. Please.”
    There’s a tiny moment of silence. Then my grandmother sweeps past, flicking a bony finger painfully hard against the side of my head as she does so, and saying, “Stand on your own, boy.” I jerk to attention, leaving go of my mother’s skirts.
    When she’s gone, I let out a breath. My mother does too; we catch one another doing it and grin. Then my mother puts her hands on my shoulders and bends to look me full in the face.
    “May—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
    “God favours your father,” she says. “You know that, don’t you, Hal? There is nothing to fear.”
    “I know,” I say. “May I have a drink now, please?”
    ♦   ♦   ♦
     
    When my drink has been fetched and my mother and I are in her chamber, I say, “Why did Grandmama ask who you want to win, like that?”
    My mother’s been busy with two of her gentlewomen, unpacking some clothes from a newly arrived trunk. Now she