The Red Rose of Anjou

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Bleak March winds buffeted the walls of the Château Keure and the two women who sat together in the large draughty room huddled closer to the fire. They were both busily sewing.

The elder of the two paused suddenly and held up a small garment. ‘I never thought,’ she said, ‘that it would come to this. A child to be born and here am I hard put to it to find clothes worthy of it. Who would have thought that a son of the King of Anjou would ever be in such straits?’

Her companion lifted a strikingly beautiful face from her work. Her expression was of a serenity unusual in one so young.

‘The whole of France must be prepared to accept these differences, Theophanie,’ she said.

‘Oh, ‘tis all very well for the young,’ was the reply. ‘Remember I was with the King and Queen of Anjou for years until I came here. I brought the children up...every one of them.’

‘Well, you have not really left the household.’

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