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his face in the heavy cloth for a moment, then yanked hard before letting go. The frame of the canopy rattled, but held. Hands outstretched, he rushed toward us. “Have you any idea how they have betrayed me?”
    I shook my head, feigning ignorance. During the time that I had been awaiting Joanna’s birth at the Tower, I had insisted on hearing the news from across England. Patrice had fed me every detail. Edward’s unbounded patronage of the younger Hugh Despenser had fostered widespread dissent among the Marcher Lords. Rebellion loomed. Had he heeded the signs – any of dozens – it could have all been averted. But Edward was beyond obstinate. He was blind with devotion to Despenser, just as he had been with Gaveston – and that had ended miserably.
    Edward stomped to a halt before me, his face contorted, as if he were wracked with anguish. “Not only have they burned and ravaged Hugh’s lands, but they’ve taken up with Lancaster. God in Heaven – Lancaster!”
    Eyes downcast, the archbishop’s shoulders sagged, as though he had long since given up trying to persuade the king to hear reason.
    Pembroke stepped past me into a slanted beam of reddish sunlight. “It was said that the Mortimers sent Lord Badlesmere to meet with Lancaster in Pontefract. If Lancaster joins them, their might and power will be far beyond anything we can muster. I beg of you, sire, this is not the time to resist. Remember your coronation oath. Hear the barons out. Grant their request to banish Despenser. Then promise pardons in full. If you shut your ears to their pleas, you stand to lose more than your kingdom.”
    “I know what I stand to lose, Aymer,” Edward snapped. “I will lose him either way, it seems. Already I have lost the power my birthright has afforded me.”
    “Then you understand that you must put your own preservation above all others? To ignore that is to perish, sire. Where is Lord Despenser now?”
    Edward’s eyes flew wide, like those of a rabbit caught in the snare, knowing there is no escape – no sense left in struggling, else the string will tighten. His hands, now hanging limp at his sides, began to tremble violently. “Leave us.”
    “Sire?” Pembroke’s feathery black brows twitched.
    Edward’s voice bore the ragged edge of strain. “I trust you brought my queen here for a purpose?” He straightened his spine, although his mask of authority fooled no one. “Both of you – leave us. Now. I wish to speak with the queen. Alone.”
    “As you wish, my lord.” Pembroke inclined his head toward the door. Archbishop Winchelsey took his cue and followed him from the room.
    The moment the door banged shut behind them, Edward dashed to the middle window and clambered over the window seat. The buttons of his tight-fitting sleeves clacked against the window pane as he pressed his face to it to survey outside. A muffled voice hailed him from below. He scrambled backward. Then, darting a suspicious glance around the chamber, he went to stand in the very center. He beckoned me with a curled finger.
    “Trust no one,” he whispered as I neared him. “Not the nobles, not the servants  ... Not even the clerics.”
    “Do you at least trust me?” I laced my fingers together beneath the slight bulge of my still overstretched belly. The creation of four children between us, I hoped, had at least forged some measure of confidence.
    Blue eyes narrowed, he cocked his head. “Who do you think asked for you? Did you think it was all Pembroke’s doing? The archbishop’s? Fie!” He spun away to face the window, arms crossed. “I recalled Mortimer from Ireland again, thinking he would defend me. After all I have done for him, making him Lord Lieutenant there. And what did he do when I asked his help? He joined the wolves in their hunt. I am like the orphaned lamb bleating in their midst, as they circle around me, fangs gnashing.”
     Shaking his head slowly, he drifted toward the end of the chamber. His voice grew