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‘I consider, my lords, that my husband should have the right to own land. And also to own weapons—as does any other man in this kingdom—to protect his family from those who would break the law and attack us. For you should know that twice in recent weeks we have come under duress from armed men. Twice his life has been put at risk.’

‘No!’ Gloucester’s expression was inimical.

‘It is a point to consider.’ In comparison Warwick was courteously bland. ‘But some would say that, even if we are willing to discuss the rescinding of the law in this particular case, it is not appropriate for us to single out this man for so great an honour. A man of less than noble birth—’

It was beautifully done. I thanked Richard with all my heart.

And Owen replied on cue, ‘If my birth is something that you cavil at, my lords—’

‘Your birth, by God.’ Gloucester sprawled in his chair again, glowering across at Warwick, who stared back complacently. How I despised his ill-judged disdain against a man of whom he knew nothing. ‘The Queen Dowager’s dignity. Have we not heard enough, my lords? What dignity did she show when she chose to marry a man no better than a servant from her own household?’

‘It is true I was a servant in the lady’s household,’ Owen replied evenly. ‘It is no secret. But as for my birth, it is as good as any man’s here.’ He paused a little, before addressing Gloucester directly. ‘Even yours, my lord.’

‘Have you gone mad?’ Gloucester responded, leaning forward, hand fisted on his knee.

‘No, my lord, I am not. My descent is a long and honourable one. And I have proof.’

He gestured to Father Benedict, who might be trembling like a reed in a gale but who walked forward to place his document in Gloucester’s hands.

‘As you can trace, my lords,’ Owen advised, while Gloucester unrolled it but barely scanned the contents, ‘my family is high enough to be connected with Owain Glyn Dwr himself. Glyn Dwr was first cousin to my own father, Maredudd ap Tudur.’

‘It is no advantage to be linked with a traitor to the English Crown,’ Gloucester replied.

‘All Welshmen have fought for their freedom through the ages,’ Owen observed carefully. ‘But my ancestry cannot be questioned. My grandmother Margaret came of direct line of descent from Angharad, daughter of Llewellyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd. His blood is in me, and in my children. I think there is no higher rank that any man could desire. I am honoured to call the Prince of Gwynedd my ancestor. He was defeated by King Edward the First of England but that does not detract from his birth or his legitimate wielding of power over the kingdom of Gwynedd.’

Would it work? Would the argument of Owen’s descent sway them? Unable to remain still, I struggled to my feet to step to Owen’s side, although I did not touch him. We would retain our dignity here.

Warwick, as if it were all new to him, twitched the scroll of genealogy from Gloucester’s hand and observed, ‘It is an impressive argument.’

‘I wish to say one thing, my lords.’

I braced myself at a twinge of discomfort in my belly, but forced myself to speak calmly and surely of a matter I considered very pertinent.

‘The King, whom I have visited, has no difficulty in recognising my sons as his brothers. They are with him now. He has been generous in his gifts to them.’ My heart warmed as I recalled, only a few hours before, Young Henry, kneeling on the floor of his chamber, for once careless of his dignity, graciously donating the little silver ship, which no longer took his interest, to a loudly appreciative Edmund and Jasper.

‘Will they, as sons of their father, continue to be punished as they grow to manhood?’ I held my breath at another inconvenient knotting of my muscles and, abandoning my own dignity, gripped Owen’s arm. ‘Will the brothers of the King be held up before the law as less than English citizens? Will they find no protection from English law? This, my lord, will open them to persecution, as it has my husband, by those who would wish them ill.’ I looked up at Owen. ‘I cannot believe that such an injustice—such a ridiculous travesty—should be allowed to stand.’

We had said all we could.

‘We will give our opinion.’ Gloucester gave nothing away.

And how long would it take them? A lifetime? I did not think I could wait that long.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘Where do we go now?’ I fretted, nerves jumping at every footfall, every shadow. ‘I need to be here. I need to know what they are doing.’

We were standing outside the Council Chamber, in the courtyard that seemed to attract every blast of cold air. I shivered, thinking that, despite my reluctance, we would have to go to my old rooms in Westminster after all. Edmund was almost asleep on his feet. Jasper had already succumbed in Joan Asteley’s arms, head heavy on her shoulder. I smoothed Edmund’s hair as he clung to my hand.

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