‘You knew the terms of the law.’

‘I did, my lord.’ Nothing would shake me.

‘And yet you were determined, wilfully determined, to flout it!’

I stood, handing my gloves to Owen. I would stand and face them. How could I argue for my greatest desire from a position of inferiority?

‘Wilfully?’ I said, strengthening my voice, but not too much. I had a role to play here, and I allowed my gaze to range over the ranks of those who would judge me. ‘I did not fall in love by intent, my lords. Thus, it was not my intent to break the law. But when my emotions were engaged and I desired marriage—then yes. Perhaps I was wilful. Or perhaps I would say that I was pragmatic. My son is too young to give his consent—and will be so for at least another seven years.’

‘Could you not wait? Could you not wait to indulge your physical needs until the King is of age?’

I felt my skin flush, cheeks and temple hot as fire. There was no mistaking this innuendo or Gloucester’s displeasure as his eye swept over my figure. So the rumours had spread, suspicions ignited. Beside me I could feel Owen straining to hold his temper. We had known it would be like this, and that Owen’s participation would do nothing but harm. The burden was on me. I prayed that he could keep a still tongue.

I drew myself up, and with all the pride of my Valois blood I marshalled the arguments that we had talked of.

‘How long would you wish me to wait, my lords? I am thirty years old. If I wait for the Young King’s blessing, I may be beyond the age of childbearing.’ I let my gaze move again, lightly, over the assembly. ‘Would you condemn me to that, my lords? How many of you are wed and have an heir to inherit your title and lands? Is it not a woman’s role to bear sons for her husband?’

I saw the nodding of some heads. Pray God they would listen and understand…

‘You have a son.’ Gloucester had his response at his fingertips to destroy any strength my words might have with the august gathering. ‘A fine son, who is King of England. Is that not sufficient?’

‘But my husband, Owen Tudor, has no son to follow and bear his name. He has no one to continue his line. Do I deprive him of children? And for what purpose I do not understand. My marriage to Owen Tudor does not, as I see it, detract from the King’s authority. My son is now crowned. The ties of childbirth have been loosened and he is, as he should be, under the tuition of men. Why should the Queen Dowager not wed again?’

Once more I surveyed the faces.

‘I am a woman, my lords. A weak woman, if you will, who has had the misfortune to fall in love. Would you condemn me for that? I did my duty by my husband, King Henry. I brought him the crown of France and an heir to wear it. I have been a vital part of my son’s childhood years. Now I wish for a more private life as the wife of a commoner. Is it too much to grant me that, or do you compel me to live alone?’

I pushed on, repeating the salient points, finding no favour with what I had to say, but if I had to plead on my knees to achieve my heart’s desire then I would do it.

‘My son is now nine years of age. He has not needed his mother’s constant care for many years. Those appointed to his education—by yourselves, sirs—are men of ability and good character, such as my lord of Warwick.’ I inclined my head towards him. ‘That is how it should be. But my womb has been empty for those years. Would you condemn me to a barren life? The Holy Mother herself would not. She bore other children after the Christ Child.’

How did I find the courage? I did not even look at Owen, not once, for I did not need to, conscious throughout of the strength of his love, urging me on. When I felt an almost overwhelming need to seek his hand with mine, I did not. I must stand alone and make my plea, for this attack was directed at me, not at Owen.

A new, harsh voice intervened. ‘It is blasphemy for you to draw comparison with the Blessed Virgin.’ I recognised the disparaging features of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

‘It is no blasphemy, my lord,’ I replied. ‘The Blessed Virgin became a mother in a human sense. Her sons were brothers of Our Lord Jesus Christ and recognised by him. She would understand my need. Do not you, my lords?’

There was some murmuring.

‘There might be something in what you say, madam.’ Was this a possible ally in the smooth intervention of the Bishop of London? I thought he might be stating a position in opposition to the Archbishop rather than in support of me, but I would snatch at any vestige of hope.

‘The Holy Mother is full of compassion, my lord,’ I said, turning a smile of great sweetness on him. And on all the councillors.

‘Amen to that,’ the bishop intoned.

So what now? I shivered as a little silence fell on the proceedings, and again, astonished at my own temerity, I forced the issue.

‘Well, my lord of Gloucester? I have stated my case. Are we free to go? To live together, united by God, as we most assuredly are?’

And I sighed silently when Gloucester picked up my challenge without hesitation.

‘We are not finished here. Any man who weds you without permission will forfeit his property. You transgressed the law, and so must pay the penalty.’

‘But my husband has no property,’ I said gently.

‘Then he made a fine bargain, did he not?’ Scorn all but dripped from the walls. ‘Seducing a wife of wealth and influence!’

I dared not look at Owen. Every muscle in his body was taut with controlled outrage, straining for release.

‘There was no seduction,’ I said. ‘You dishonour both myself and Owen Tudor, my lord. Do I not have the wit to make my own choices? Neither did my husband set himself to seduce me. He had been Master of my Household all the years since I was left a widow. It is only of late that we were touched by love. I was not seduced or forced against my will.’

It was a strong argument.

‘It seems to me that it was not so great a bargain for him in taking me as his wife,’ I continued. ‘Why should a man have to appear before the King’s Council over his choice of his bride? Yes, I am a wealthy woman, but as for influence—what influence do I have? None, I would suggest. Owen Tudor would not work his way up the ladder to greatness by marriage to me. And that is not our intent. We do not seek a life in the full light of the royal court. We would live privately.’ I lifted my hands in appeal. ‘My lords, that is all I ask of you. Your recognition of my married state and permission to live as and where I choose.’

But Gloucester was not finished. ‘How could you choose a man in disgrace before the law?’

‘I chose a man of pride. A man of honour and integrity, my lord.’

‘A man of honour?’ Oh, he was inordinately, savagely pleased. He had found a weak spot, and I knew immediately what it would be. ‘And when is the bastard you carry due to be delivered?’

‘My child will be no bastard,’ I replied serenely. ‘He will be born within holy wedlock, recognised by his father and by the Church.’

‘He was conceived in sin.’

‘But he will live in the light.’ I stared at Gloucester, no longer dominated by him. How dared he speak so to me? ‘I find you presumptuous, my lord. Do I deserve such calumny? If you have nothing more to say—’

‘You are still to remain at Windsor in your son’s household,’ he ordered, grasping at straws, so it seemed to me.

‘No.’ I allowed a little smile even as anger beat in my head. ‘I will not.’

‘It is the law.’

‘Then I will ignore the law. I will live in one of my dower houses. They are mine, given for my use by the late king in his wisdom. I will live in them with my husband.’

‘And if we insist?’

‘Will you insist, my lords? The only means to determine where we will live is by the use of force. And if you do…’ once more I eyed Gloucester ‘… if you force me to live at Windsor, I will broadcast to the world the disgrace of your treatment of the once Queen of England, the Queen Mother, Princess of France. The wife of the hero of Agincourt. I think my royal state deserves respect. I think I will be given a hearing by the Commons, don’t you?’

Gloucester flung himself down into his chair, denying any respect.

‘God’s Blood, woman! Was it not possible for you to embrace a chaste and honourable widowhood?’

‘I could have. But I chose to be a lawfully wedded wife again.’

‘To a palace minion, by God!’

And since Gloucester at last stared at Owen, my husband bowed and replied, ‘I was not always a servant, my lord.’

‘And Welsh too!’

‘I consider that an honour, my lord, not a detriment. The law of England cannot dictate my pride in my birth.’

‘Pride in your birth?’ Gloucester’s disgust grew to vast proportions as he turned his ire on me again. ‘Could you not have let your eye fall on someone of your own status?’

‘I tried that, my lord. You refused Edmund Beaufort because his status was equal to mine.’

I had him there, and he knew it. Oh, it was a direct challenge and my heart beat against my ribs. Gloucester, his face the hue of parchment, had thought I would bow before his dictates because I had in the past. He swung his attention from me to Owen.

‘And what have you to say? We note that you have left your wife to plead your cause. That does not strike me as being the stand of a man of honour. Is your facility in speaking the English tongue not good enough?’

I sensed Owen inhale slowly. He held my gloves lightly in his hands and addressed himself to the Council rather than to Gloucester. How calm he looked, how impressively dignified. Not one man there saw the fire in him, the fury at his and my treatment.

‘I have not spoken, my lords, because this is concerning the freedom of the lady who is my wife. It is her right to put her own case, and that is what she wished. I agreed that it should be so, although I found it hard to hold my tongue when she was subject to such crude accusations. My blood may be Welsh, but I was raised a gentleman and I know degradation when I witness it at first hand, as I have here today.