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unwrinkled lower lids, so that he always seemed to be peering over them. He had clearly not starved in the prison, she thought. That much was obvious. He’d complained to his wife about the tailor’s fees for letting out his clothing, leaving her in tears.
    ‘If I had a moment to spare, I’d have you whipped, Margaret! Those dresses will all have to be cleaned.’
    He shouted and gestured angrily for some time, while Margaret stood with her head bowed, trying to look suitably ashamed. There had been maids and house servants once, to scrub every stone and polish all the fine French oak. If dust lay thick now, whose fault was that, if not the man who had ruined Saumur for his vanity? Margaret had listened to him complaining to her mother about the state of the castle, but without an army of servants, Saumur was just too big to keep clean.
    Margaret remembered to nod as her father raged. He called himself the king of Jerusalem, Naples and Sicily, placesshe had never seen. She supposed it made her a princess, but she couldn’t be certain. After all, he’d failed to win any of them and a paper claim was worthless when he could only froth and strut and write furious letters. She hated him. As she stood there, she flushed at the memory of a conversation with her mother. Margaret had demanded to know why he couldn’t just leave again. In response, her mother’s mouth had pinched tight like a drawstring purse and she had spoken more harshly than Margaret could remember before.
    Margaret sensed the slug was coming to the end of his tirade.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ she said humbly.
    ‘What?’ he demanded, his voice rising. ‘What do you
mean
, “Yes, sir”? Have you even been listening?’ Spots of colour bloomed on his white cheeks as his temper flared. ‘Just get out!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want to see your face unless I call for you, do you understand? I have better things to do today than teach you the manners you obviously lack. Running wild! When the king is gone, I will consider some punishment you won’t forget so easily. Go! Get out!’
    Margaret fled, red-faced and trembling. She passed her brother Louis in the corridor outside and for once he looked sympathetic.
    ‘John’s looking for you in the banqueting hall,’ he murmured. ‘If you want to avoid him, I’d go round by the kitchen.’
    Margaret shrugged. Louis thought he was clever, but she knew him too well. John would be in the kitchen, or close by, that much was obvious. They would not be able to put her in a cauldron, not with so many staff preparing a king’s feast, but no doubt her brother would have thought of something equally unpleasant. With dignity, Margaret walked rather than ran, struggling with tears she could hardly understand.It didn’t matter to her that the slug was angry; why would it? She resolved to find her mother, somewhere at the centre of the bustle and noise that had been quiet just a few days before. Where
had
all the servants come from? There was no money for them and nothing left to sell.
    By sunset, her brothers had given up their hunt, to dress for the feast. The population of Saumur Castle had increased even more as King Charles sent his own staff ahead. As well as the cooks hired from noble houses and the local village, there were now master chefs checking every stage of the preparation and half a dozen men in black cloth examining every room for spies or assassins. For once, her father said nothing as his guards were questioned and organized by the king’s men. The local villages all knew by then that there would be a royal visit. As darkness fell, with swallows wheeling and darting through the sky, the farmers had come in from their crofts and fields with their families. They stood on the verges of the road to Saumur, craning their necks to catch the first glimpse of royalty. The men removed their hats as the king passed, waving them in the air and cheering.
    King Charles’s arrival had not been as impressive as