A gust of cold air blew into the hall as the great door briefly opened and closed. Footsteps advanced: they were sure and determined, and only a very careful ear would have detected the hint of unevenness about them.

The Lady Gloria noticed at once, and bent her head lower over her embroidery. To her, the slight irregularity in the step was a shuffling limp, a marked deformity. She hoped he would not stop to talk to them.

He did, of course: he halted, and, making a hunchbacked bow, said, “Good day, my Queen, and you, fair Lady Gloria.”

The Queen smiled graciously, and extended her hand, that he might kiss her ring. “A fine, hopeful day, Sir John.”

The Lady Gloria kept her gaze trained on her needlework: she refused to see the eager way in which his eyes would flick towards her, wishing for acknowledgement.

“’Tis bidding fair to becoming the finest we have seen in years, my Queen,” he answered, after the briefest of spaces into which Gloria might have inserted a remark. “The negotiations proceed most propitiously. Is my liege within?”

“Indeed he is, and anxiously awaiting your report, Sir John, I doubt not,” returned the Queen. “Prithee go you to him without further delay.”

He bowed again, first to his Queen, then to her lady-in-waiting, but could draw no response from the latter. The shuffle proceeded out through the door leading to the King’s chamber.

Once the door had safely closed, Lady Gloria dropped her needle and burst out angrily, “Why did he stop to ask? He must know the King is in his chamber; there was no need to address us!”

The Queen made her no answer, but continued imperturbably with her work on the tapestry which lay draped on her lap and pregnant belly.

Gloria waited a moment; but, receiving no response, could not resist adding, “Can he not see when he is not wanted?”

“You did not want him, perhaps,” said the Queen quietly, “but I did. I was as anxious as my Lord to hear how the negotiations go on; and Sir John is the first and best to give me the news.”

“It was presumptuous to approach us – you – without invitation.”

“My smile at seeing him was invitation enough – and his position and skill give him leave to presume a great deal more than his modest nature allows. Without his aid, this peace could not have been achieved. You don’t know how much we owe him.”

Gloria said fiercely, “He was able to come to terms with the Dir because he has Dir blood himself!”

“You know he is the Court’s first knight,” the Queen said firmly, “and my Lord’s trust in him is implicit and unshakable. His mother’s Dir ancestors give you no cause to distrust him.”

“I wonder you can stand the sight of him,” grumbled the Lady.

Sir John was neither as aged nor as misshapen as the Lady Gloria suggested. He was indeed nearly thirty, which, to Lady Gloria’s fifteen summers, seemed old; and his hunched back robbed his movements of grace; but he had all the energy and vigour of a younger man, and fought as well with his left hand as others did with their right. The opinion of the Court was largely against him, since his rough, swarthy features, his crooked shape and shortened right arm were distrusted, and earned him the name Sinistra; but all must grudgingly admit that he was a great diplomat as well as a brave knight. He repaid his King’s unwavering trust with fierce loyalty, and was a favourite companion of both his King and his Queen.

The Queen now continued, gently, to defend him from his fair attacker. The Lady Gloria was another of her favourites, and it pained her to see her take this attitude towards Sir John. It was clear to all that the hunchback had, in his modest way, fallen deeply in love with the lady-in-waiting; and the Queen, who knew the better side of her young protégées character and felt that the couple should suit admirably, wished with all her heart to bring about the union between them – but Gloria was set against it, and nothing would persuade her to look upon her lover with more favour.

Gloria was not purposely vicious: but her youth and beauty, and popularity at Court, had made her vain. She had come to Court at the age of eleven, to be fostered by the King and Queen, and four years later had developed into a lively, delicate-featured beauty with rich brown hair and shining blue eyes. The Queen liked to have her near, for her conversation – which was sweet enough when Sir John was not involved in it – and her skill on the harp. She would sing ballads of knights and ladies, her fair hands plucking at the strings, and in her voice and face would be all the hope and vigour of a young girl waiting for her own tale of love and romance.

Now the Queen asked, “May I not, as I used to do when you were little, and newly come to Court, tell you a story, Gloria?”

Pleased that her Lady’s thoughts were apparently diverted, Gloria assented readily. She enjoyed stories, and the Queen knew many and told them well.

“It is a tale,” the Queen began, “which I learnt as a girl from a wandering minstrel from across the sea; but I have not, as I recall, ever told it to you. It is the tale of a Prince who, at birth, was given great knowledge by a good fairy, but stripped by a malignant one of all his beauty. Thus he grew up in his parents’ castle, with his books and a wise cleric for his tutor, for he was never done with learning; but he kept closely to himself, for he was so ugly no one would believe he was a Prince. Now in the neighbouring kingdom, the same fairies had attended the birth of a princess. The good fairy made her as beautiful as an apple blossom; but the evil fairy, out of jealousy, made her as foolish as a new-born chick...”

“I beg you, my Queen, have done!” cried the Lady Gloria impetuously, jumping to her feet. “I am sorry to give you pain by my dislike of Sir John, but if you will persist in speaking of him I cannot fail to hurt you. Pray mention him no more: I will not allow him to come between us. Let us forget him, and speak instead of the happy event to come!”

The Queen, flattered, laid a hand on her belly, and talk of the heir to be born soon drove Sir John from their minds.