“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Why are we going now? Isn’t the king coming? Should we not stay in London?” “I can’t stand to see him, nor her,” he says flatly. “I want to go home for a while. We’ll come back, of course we will, we will come back the moment they send for us; but before God, Jacquetta, I cannot stomach the court a moment longer.” “Why? What has happened?” He is tying his traveling cape on the back of his saddle, and his back is to me. I go behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. Slowly he turns to face me. “I see you’re angry,” I say. “But speak to me: tell me what has
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