The Lady in the Tower

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in

Oxford New York

Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto

With offices in

Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam

Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries

© Marie-Louise Jensen 2009

The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker)

First published 2009

First published in this eBook edition 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication

Data Data available

ISBN: 978-0-19-273266-8

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those reSponsible may be liable in law accordingly.

For Paul

Acknowledgements:

Thank you to my wonderful writing group, Karen Saunders, Kelley Townley, Karen Priest and Julia Draper, who gave me invaluable support in the writing of this story.

1540

I used to be happy here. In the days when happiness still dwelt within the castle walls. Mother’s merry laugh could often be heard ringing out in the great hall and Father’s voice echoed cheerfully as he shouted orders to servants and played games with us.

Four years ago, when I was just eleven years old, a day came that altered everything. A day that is burned into my memory like a brand that will never fade. It changed my life and it changed me.

These days I move about like a ghost or a shadow. I slip quietly up spiral staircases or hide behind tapestries to avoid being seen. I overhear much, but take part in nothing. I’m still Eleanor Hungerford, daughter of Lord Walter Hungerford, but I eat my meals with the servants. I shun my father’s presence.

Often my thoughts stray to the south-west tower, where sometimes I glimpse my mother’s face, pale and wan, imprisoned behind the high windows. The Lady Tower, they call it now. The door to the tower is kept locked and I cannot go to her.

I’m older now. I am turned fifteen. And though I’ve grown sadder, I’ve grown wiser too.

Winter 1536
(
four years earlier
)

I gripped the reins tightly in one hand and my practice lance in the other. I could sense my horse Arianna gathering herself beneath me, waiting for the moment when I let her go.

‘Don’t let me down this time, Arianna,’ I whispered. I could see her ears pricking up as she listened to my words. She had tried every trick imaginable this morning already. If she had set out to prove herself an unsuitable mount for me, she could not have succeeded better. This was her last chance.

‘We have to best Gregory’s performance,’ I told her fiercely, as I watched my cousin limping back up the meadow towards us, muddy and humiliated, leading his horse.

We were riding at the quintain, a target attached to a long arm that swings away as you strike it. We had used it often enough before, but today a heavy sack of meal had been tied to the other end of the arm. The sack would swing round and catch an unwary rider in the back. This is how it would be done in a real tournament. It had unhorsed my cousin twice.

‘Good luck, Eleanor,’ said my little brother Walter. At just four years old, he looked tiny on horseback. His legs did not reach to the bottom of the saddle. But like me, he had been riding since before he could walk.

‘Your turn, Eleanor!’ ordered the castellan.

At my slightest urging, Arianna sprang into a swift canter. She fought with me to turn our controlled charge into a headlong gallop. I held her steady and on a straight line to the quintain.

The target was looming closer. My heart was pounding with excitement. I could feel wild energy coursing through my veins like fire. I eased the reins a little more and Arianna quickened her pace. Her hooves were thundering on the meadow now, sending pieces of turf flying into the air.

I levelled the lance and raised myself a little in the stirrups, taking careful aim. As my lance struck the centre of the target, I gave a cry of triumph.

But the thud of the lance on the wood and the jolt that accompanied it brought Arianna up short. She shied, leaping wildly into the air. I kept my seat without difficulty, but the sack of meal that should have passed harmlessly behind us came flying straight at me. It all happened so fast I had time only to throw myself forward onto Arianna’s neck. The sack struck me a heavy blow on one shoulder, knocking the breath from my body and sending me sliding across the saddle. I grasped my horse’s mane, righting myself, but to my shame the lance slipped from my grip and tumbled to the ground.

I paused a moment before dismounting to retrieve it. I didn’t want the others to think I had fallen. Arianna stepped sideways and threw up her head as I bent to collect the lance, dragging me through the muddy grass. I held on to her reins grimly, and once she had calmed down, I began to trudge back up the meadow to rejoin the others. I was bitterly disappointed.

‘Bad luck, Eleanor,’ said Gregory sympathetically. He was back up on his horse, but with a huge smear of mud across one cheek.

I scowled at him, knowing he felt better because I had failed.

‘If you are going to insist on taking jousting lessons with the boys, Eleanor,’ the castellan said severely as I reached him, ‘you will have to ride a suitable horse.’

Dropping the lance at my feet, I pulled Arianna’s head down and smoothed her velvety nose. Her glossy neck, normally gleaming, was dark with nervous sweat.

‘She’s already learned to let me ride astride,’ I protested. ‘And she is beautiful. The best horse in the world.’

I had only had Arianna for two months. She had been an eleventh birthday present from my father. He was surely the kindest and most generous father to bestow such a costly gift on me. Arianna was part Arab and the most graceful and elegant horse I had ever seen.

‘Perhaps,’ agreed the castellan unenthusiastically. ‘But she’s also nervous and flighty. You’ll never make a tournament horse of her. She’s putting you in danger with her tricks. I agreed to keep teaching you with reluctance. This is no sport for a girl. If you argue with me, I shall have to exclude you from these lessons.’

‘Yes, Johnson,’ I said meekly. I knew very well how fortunate I was to have been allowed to continue riding lessons with the boys once they began training to tilt. My mother considered that it would be more appropriate for me to improve my stitching and learn to read and write better. Luckily, Father had overruled her, saying I might continue riding lessons for at least a few more months. He was proud of my riding skills and despised book learning of any kind.

But the castellan, our teacher and the head of castle security, was not a man to be argued with. I knew if he told Father I was putting myself in danger, Father would call a halt.

‘You are possibly the best rider of your age I have ever seen, Eleanor,’ the castellan added in a gentler tone. ‘But you are not doing yourself justice. Have Beau saddled next time.’

The lesson was ended for that day. I felt dispirited as I accompanied Gregory and Walter across the river Frome and back up the hill to the castle. I had failed to avoid that sack, I had dropped my lance, and Arianna was in disgrace.

‘What a long face, Eleanor,’ remarked my cousin. ‘If the castellan had spoken of my riding like that, I should be overjoyed. He’s pretty sparse with his praise.’

I managed a small smile.

‘And you still have Arianna to ride whenever we are not jousting,’ added Gregory. ‘I don’t see the problem. In fact I think it pretty unfair that you should be the best rider of us. I mean, you are just learning for fun. You will never be allowed to ride in a tournament. It will be Walter and I who do that. So what use is it to you to be skilled with a lance?’

‘Why won’t Eleanor be allowed to ride in a tournament?’ asked Walter.

Gregory rolled his eyes.

‘Because she’s a
girl
,’ he sighed. ‘Girls can’t enter tournaments. They are men’s sport.’

I frowned at being reminded of this. Riding was my favourite occupation.

We reached the stables and Tom, the stable boy, came hurrying up to us. He took hold of Arianna’s reins and held her while I slid to the ground.

‘How did you do, Mistress Eleanor?’ he asked me eagerly.

‘Not well, Tom. I’m to ride Beau next time,’ I said sadly.

‘I told you so,’ Tom remarked.

‘Damn your eyes, Tom,’ I said rudely.

He laughed. ‘Your cousin looks as muddy as a pig in a midden,’ he added for my ears only. ‘I’m guessing he took a tumble?’