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seize my sword and leave my home to make my own way? My father would have beaten me to death if I had set my will against that of the king.”
    â€œThere are convents—” I began.
    She laughed again. “Few that would take in a woman against the king’s will and her family’s will, but even if I had been a man, I would have been constrained to obey. My refusal would have meant disaster for my whole family. How could the king trust my father to hold lands and enforce order if he could not obtain obedience from his own family?”
    â€œAnd why did Papa agree?” I cried, for I was still young enough then to think my father the strongest and wisest man in the world, one who did not need to submit his will to any man.
    â€œHe had no right to Ulle,” my mother replied. “He had no more choice than I, for if he refused so reasonable a request, no one would have blamed King Henry for being unwilling to enfeoff him.”
    So, in exchange for a charter for his lands, Papa had to agree to take Mama as his wife. Whether King Henry actually told my father what he had arranged, Mama did not know, but Papa was not stupid and he guessed.
    I did not learn until much too late that my mother had been the victim of two clever men. Years after Mama had told me her story, Papa retold it, except he laughed—not at my mother’s pain, I do not mean that. Papa was not a monster, and he had had his own grief to bear, for he had never dared to let himself show affection for Mama or let her forget her purpose. It was King Henry at whom he laughed because the king had not seen the trap he was laying for himself—at least, that was the way my father saw the matter. To promise my mother that the lands would stay with her and her children if she gave warning of any treason intended by my father had freed him, Papa said, to do as he pleased. When there was some contest between England and Scotland, where he felt his honor was engaged with the Scots, he planned to tell my mother to send her warning, which would ensure she and his children would be safe from retribution.
    It happened that it did not matter. In all the years of King Henry’s reign, there was peace between Scotland and England. I do not count the raiding by outlaws and by the lowland lairds, who sought to add to their thin fortunes with loot from England. Naturally, Papa fought raiders with the same ferocity whether they were Scots or English or anyone else, just as any other landholder did. Besides, most of the raiding took place in the west, where, I now know, the land is richer. Thus, there was never any reason for Mama to be torn between loyalty to her husband and fear of the king.
    At the time my mother spoke to me of these matters, of course I did not know why my father had kept the memory of the purpose of their marriage always between them. I thought that wrong, but there were many reasons I never spoke of the matter to him. The most important was that when he saw Mama was dying, he softened and became tender to her. I was afraid then to blame him for past coldness lest he be angry with Mama for telling me of her long pain and withdraw the warmth he was at last offering. There were also selfish reasons: I adored my father and could hardly bear, even for my dying mother’s sake, to make him angry. Least important, but still a real problem, was that I had little time or energy to spare for anything. As my mother weakened, more and more of the ordering of the household fell on my shoulders. I was only thirteen, and for fear a mistake would bring the servants’ scorn on me and make them disobedient, I did too much myself and mulled over every order ten times before I dared give it.
    I have not mentioned my grief at my mother’s illness and death, partly because it has grown dim over the years that have passed and partly because that whole period was so filled with pain for me that I could hardly distinguish one grief from