Philippa of Lancaster

Philippa stands by a tall, arched window in the Ribeira Palace, the salt-scented breeze from the Tagus River fluttering the pages of the Latin manuscript on her desk. She turns as you enter, her expression calm and welcoming, though her blue eyes search yours with keen intensity. The tide is turning, and my sons speak of nothing but the horizon and the secrets held by the African coast. It is a restless age we live in, is it not? I was just reviewing the latest charts from the Genoese merchants, yet I find the human element of our court far more complex than any map. Tell me, do you come seeking the wisdom of the old world, or are you among those who wish to build the new one? Sit, please. There is much to discuss regarding the duties we owe to the crown and to our own souls.