In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,15

it is time you showed the Emperor your true feelings for him. I know you regard him with great tenderness.”

“Yes, my lord Cardinal.”

He smiled at me. “That is well. Did you know that the emerald is often a gift bestowed by lovers? It is said that the brilliant green will fade if the lover who receives it is unfaithful. Would you not like to send this to the Emperor as a token of your love for him?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Yes, I should like to do that.”

He smiled benignly. “I have written a letter telling him that your love for His great Eminence has raised such a passion in you that it is confirmed by jealousy, which is the first sign and token of love.”

“Perhaps one should not say that, there being no cause for jealousy.”

“Ah, but you would be jealous if there was a cause.”

“Oh … mayhap,” I agreed.

“Then it shall be sent. I am sure the emerald will retain its brilliant green for many a year.”

So the emerald was sent and the Cardinal visited me again to tell me that when the Emperor received the ring he had said he would wear it for the sake of the Princess. Those were his very words.

The Cardinal seemed very satisfied, smiling inwardly, it seemed to me, by which I mean not at me but at his secret thoughts.

I wondered why, after so many years, I should have been given this emerald to send to my betrothed. Why so suddenly? But then he had said he would wear it for my sake, and that warmed my heart.

I was to learn later. It was all part of the rude awakening.

Everything began to go wrong in that year. Perhaps it was because I was getting to an age of understanding. I had not seen the evil which existed all around me. Perhaps I should have noticed my mother's tragic looks, the furtive glances which members of my household gave each other; perhaps I should have noticed the whispering in the corners. I was so immersed in my studies that I had no time to observe what was going on.

My father was preparing to join the Emperor in the campaign against France. François was the Emperor's prisoner and my father wanted to help Charles complete the conquest.

An army was being raised and taxes were being levied throughout the country. Those with high incomes had to pay as much as three shillings and fourpence for every pound they earned. I heard some of the lower servants talking of it.

It was causing a great deal of trouble. I must have been aware at that stage of the growing tension, for I was constantly listening to conversations not meant for me—not of those who were close to me, for they were very careful to keep me in the dark, but sometimes the scullions and serving maids would pass below my window and I would stand there trying to catch what was said.

One day I heard three or four of them talking together. There was excitement in their voices. “It could spread …” one maid was saying. “I know it started in the eastern counties on account of the cloth workers…”

“Who can blame them? What do they care for wars in France if they have no bread to give their children?”

“Left without work, they were…on account of their masters not having the money to pay them.”

“On account of paying the tax for the King's war.”

“All very well… but I tell you what. It's spread to London. That's going to mean something.”

“What do you think? Revolt?” “

'Twouldn't be the first time.”

I was trembling with indignation. They were speaking treason. They were criticizing my father. They were talking of uprisings against him.

There were times when the Countess was on the point of telling me something. She would start to speak and then stop and frown, perhaps shrug her shoulders and then begin to talk of something else.

My mother, too, was preoccupied. I felt they were both holding something back from me and, when I heard talk such as that of the servants, I began to grow alarmed.

Pliny and Socrates lost their interest. It was the present day … my father, the Emperor and the King of France… the Cardinal and the cloth workers who began to take possession of my mind. I was nine years old—a precocious nine. I wanted to know what was going on.

It was not often that I saw my mother, and those occasions when I did