On my last day, I worked on a rare star ruby from India. The next day, I would begin to cut gems.
The gemstone room was next to the setting room. The men—Saul, James, Judas, and Ben—all wore half-masks against the dust they created by sawing. Shelves along the wall were packed with uncut gemstones, and they spent the first day instructing me in passable French. They placed amethyst and tourmaline above a small flame to enhance the color, a technique, Ben explained, found in India centuries ago. Another Indian technique was to treat gems (appearing as quartz) with calcydrone. They produced rubies and diamonds and zircons and I know not what to prove their point. Only pearls remained free from some sort of treatment.
The brilliance of any gem—precious or semiprecious—depended on the cutting, and this was the art of these men. They held stones to the windows and argued the merits of slicing one way or another. All the stones had been analyzed many times. Then they brought forth a large diamond, the most precious gem of all. It was also the only gem that was valuable when colorless. Yet it was the most difficult stone to work on because it was so hard. And there were diamonds with color—red, blue, or green—called fancies, though they had none in the room. Yellow pigment lowered the price.
There were many types of cut stones: cabochons with smooth rounded surfaces, facets with flat surfaces, the carved cameo or relief, entaglio or the engraved. They used saws and fine chisels on all gems but the diamond, which was so hard that they used diamond dust on the saw.
My first cut, some weeks later, was on the least valuable stone (though very pretty), the topaz. All stones made me feel I held the world in my hands: India, Egypt, the Mediterranean, the Ural Mountains in Russia. Sweden, England, and Ireland also contributed, lands I would never visit, except for England. Pearls and opals were the most popular among jewelers; pearls must be found to fit the design, since they couldn’t be cut. Jewelers considered opals bad luck because they broke so easily. A big favorite, of course, was the onyx, which could be made to appear a huge jewel. For the semiprecious stones, I preferred the moonstone, which I thought particularly beautiful in a silver setting. Among the precious stones, I liked lapis and pearl, since both reminded me of Theo.
I was prohibited from learning Jewish law, but the priest who christened Theo sent me a few legal texts in Latin. I had St. Jrome, St, John, and St. Augustine, all of whom attacked women as the daughters of Eve, meaning we seduced our Adam-men to perdition. Annulments, I learned, were granted when a woman committed adultery (though not when a man did the same); annulments were also granted to the man if his wife’s father had exaggerated her landholdings or her wealth. Yet annulments were crushingly expensive. By Church law, if a man didn’t want to pay for an annulment from his adulterous wife, he could kill her.
It was six months before I was permitted to cut a diamond. The men deliberately chose the diamond—not their best diamond, of course, but a diamond even so. While my saw was heating, I carried the stone to the window to study once again its natural fractures. Back at the table, I waited for my saw, then dipped it in diamond dust. Just as I was about to cut, someone tapped my shoulder.
“Not now, please!”
It was Bonel. “Alix, you must come at once! Queen Eleanor’s here!”
3
I ran across a pool of blood and fell on my face! “Give me my baby!”
Queen Eleanor, with Theo in her arms, stared down on me. Bonel rushed to pick me up—I’d tripped on the queen’s scarlet train!
“She’ll murder him!” I screamed. “Please, oh, please!” I wrenched free—he grabbed me again.
“Theo, come to mother!”
“Alix, dear, calme-t, I’m here to save both of you!”
“Like you saved me at Fontevrault!” I cried. “And in the wood!”
I burst into tears—Theo pulled on my skirt and I grabbed him.
“This be my gamma!” he told me.
“Yes, Lady Alix, I am his grandmaman.” The queen’s eyes filled. “He’s so like the Great One at his age, if you only knew.”
“I know that you betrayed your precious Great One! But you’ll not contaminate my son! Never!”
I shrank from her reaching arms. Her scent of rose water sickened me, she sickened me. She might not be King John—might not have a Raoul between her legs—but she was a killer nonetheless. And that red robe—I saw my peasant girl wave again! And this woman had produced John! Betrayed Richard!
I carried Theo to the door where Bonel stopped me.
“Listen to her, Alix!”
“You, too? Judas!”
The queen hissed directly into my ear. “Not enough time to discuss the past! This is urgent! Your presence has been exposed, Alix!”
“Is that why you’re here? To arrest me?”
“Listen!” Her hand trembled as she reached—for the first time, I was aware of her age. What had happened in the brief time since I’d seen her at Fontevrault? She’d lost physical command.
“I’ve come to save you if I can! You and Theo! For God’s sake, listen!”
Bonel eased her to a bench. “Continue, Queen Eleanor; she’s listening.”
I shot him a withering look.
“Someone told a priest who told me.” Her face was now drenched with sweat. “I kept it secret at first, until—have you heard about Duke Arthur?”
“Who?”
“Another grandson, son of my dead son Geoffrey. Arthur also claims the throne.”
Memory surfaced—a long trek through a dense wood, a small, vicious boy. “I met him once. Why also? Theo makes no claims!”
“Arthur led an army against me at Mirabeau; John rescued me.”
“Was that why you betrayed Richard? Because John rescued you?”
Red spots appeared on her cheeks. “It happened after Richard had died. Listen! What you have to remember is that Arthur was captured by Lord William de Braose, one of King John’s closest friends. It happens that William’s wife, who is obviously above suspicion, is traveling to England this very night and I’ve persuaded her to take Theo with her!”
I hugged Theo closer.
He pushed back. “Theo go on boat!”
Bonel came close. “It’s a good plan, Alix—thank the queen!”
“She doesn’t have to thank me,” the queen said with her old asperity. “I’m doing it for my grandson—and for Richard.”
This strange lady, Lady Matilda de Braose, was leaving at night when the tides on the Seine were low, and she would carry two grandsons as well as Theo; the queen herself had booked passage to England at Calais.
“She will ride directly to London, where she will be the guest of Lord Robert fitzWalter for at least a month, at Baynard Castle, which has a dock on the Thames. You will follow the party tomorrow night and pick up Theo in London, identifying yourself as Lady Angela from the north. You will then take him to your estate—I forget the name.”
“Wanthwaite.”
“Yes, Wanthwaite.”
By now I heard both the urgency and the fear. “Does King John know you’re here?” My heart thumped so everyone could hear.
“Of course not!” She struggled to her feet. “May I hold Theo?”
He went to her arms.
“Who’s paying?” Bonel asked.
The queen smiled. “I am, as usual. The cost is trivial.”
“The journey, yes, but how much are you paying Lady Matilda?”
Now she laughed. “Clever Jew! A lot. Her husband, Lord William, owes the king a goodly sum; I’ve offered to pay half.”
“When should Alix follow? A month, did you say?”
“Pay attention!” Now her hard imperial voice. “I said Lord Robert had offered Lady Matilda and her party Baynard Castle for a month! Alix should leave at once, tomorrow night! As soon as she arrives in London, she can pick up Theo. But leave now, Alix! That’s an order!”
Her scarlet robe crackled; her face became young, bucolic—the peasant girl!
Bonel paled. “Did someone
in the commune betray her?”
“Does King John know?” I asked at the same time. I tried to find the peasant girl again—I’d made her a promise, hadn’t I?
The queen stared at Bonel. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone.” Then she said to me, “If he doesn’t, he soon will.”
“And here in Rouen, I would be the victim, whereas in England . . .”
“Who betrayed me? I have a right . . .”
“You have no rights!”
Oh yes I had, the right to kill, to save myself and Theo.
“Is it a Jew?” Bonel pressed. “Is the entire commune in danger?”
“No more! We must move fast, before . . .”
Bonel pushed me. “Go to your room, Alix. Take Theo with you and open your door to no one till I get there!”
For the first time, I bowed. “Thank you, Queen Eleanor.”
Our eyes held a single moment. “You’re welcome. Now, do as Bonel says.”
Back in my room, I quickly piled my scant furniture against my door. Theo watched from a corner.
“I love you, baby!” I kissed his damp skin.
No answer.
My room looked odd to me—was it the lack of furniture? No, it had the desolation of one of my camping spots on my travels through France. Twice someone knocked and called out, “Alix!” I put my hand across Theo’s mouth.
Then it was Bonel.
“Did you find out who . . . ?”
“Yes. You’re not packed yet?”
“Was it someone in the commune?” He didn’t answer. “I don’t leave until tomorrow, do I?”
“Pack for Theo.”
“Not much to pack. Where are you going?”
“Have to arrange things for our trip; I’ll be back.”
I pulled Theo to my lap. Only a few days and we’ll be together always.
Enoch and England.
Home, I was finally going home, everything was arranged. Yet someone knew I’d survived—someone had told the king. I was back in La Rochelle, running for my life.
Then I recalled the diamond—what must the gemstone cutters think? I went to the door, and hesitated.
Bonel knocked. “Is he packed?”
“I have to cut a diamond! They expect me!”
“Fine!” He pushed me back. “Let others think that’s where you are.”
“Is the queen still here?”
“Still in Rouen, if that’s what you mean. She tells me she’s returning to Fontevrault to die.”
“Pity,” I said in a hard tone. “We all must die, but not everyone can choose when and where.” Certainly not King John.
“I’ll take Theo to meet his carriage when it’s time,” he said in a calmer voice. “You can watch from my office window.” He took my arms. “I don’t want to frighten you unduly, but this is serious, Alix. Remember Fontevrault Wood?”
“I know the danger.”
After he’d left, the two of us played games and sang songs through the afternoon. Though he had no real idea of what was happening, Theo jumped up and down with excitement. He was going with his “gamma”—he didn’t understand that he was separating from me.
“Theo go to England!” His eyes shone.
“And Mother will be right behind you,” I promised, hoping he would remember if he became frightened. “We’re going home, Theo!”
“Home.”
Home. One day Theo would be baron of Wanthwaite.
At dusk, Bonel returned for Theo’s saddlebag. “Stay close. I’ll lead you to my office.”
His office was already dark. Twice, someone knocked. Once, a female called my name. I watched Theo being lifted into a cart covered with barrels—I didn’t see any woman. Then Bonel was back.
“Was she in the cart?”
“Yes, come quickly.”
He pulled me through the corridor, up the stairs—then up the stairs again, where he knocked on one of the closed doors.
Viette pulled us inside.
A shadow moved behind her—her husband, Ely, from the gemstone room. I knew him by his eyes and hair, as he’d always worn a mask over his nose and chin.
“Welcome, Alix,” he said.
Bonel put a sack made of leopard skin at my feet. “Dress yourself for travel tomorrow. I’ll collect you in late afternoon. Meantime, Viette will stay with you.”
When he’d left, we crouched in semidarkness; Ely and Viette conversed in Hebrew. I swallowed to keep tears at bay. Then Viette said in accented French, “You sleep on the mat tonight; we have the floor.”
At dawn, Ely put on his mask and left. I helped Viette pull the bed across the door. From a low cupboard in the corner, she took dry Jewish bread and a leather flask of wine. We sat in silence all day as she sewed what looked to be a tunic. In late afternoon, she gestured that I should put it on. It was in two pieces: an undergown of soft white muslin, then a cope of the Jewish blue linsey-woolsey to form an open coat connected at the top with laces.
“Is it for me?”
She nodded.
When the bell rang curfew, Bonel knocked. He glanced at the tunic in the gloom, then placed another saddlebag at my feet.
“Please put this nun’s habit over your tunic and be fast!”
The habit, much finer than the one I’d received from Sister Hilaria in Fontevrault, fitted perfectly, even over my new tunic. Bonel was dressed as a priest.
“Let me take your sack.” He put a small leopard sack inside my saddlebag, and picked up both his own and mine.
The Cathedral Square was crowded with priests. Workers on the cathedral shouted from a wooden platform across the entire back. Above human voices, chimes rang in a familiar melody, an Easter chant.
“What day is it?” I whispered.
“Thursday. Why?”
The next day was Good Friday. I stumbled on a loose cobble.
“Careful!” Bonel took my arm.
We took a narrow path sloping toward the river. A few men pushed us aside to get inside their houses before twilight deepened. A light rain fell—I slipped on wet mud.
Bonel steadied me.
A bridge loomed above the city wall with an unguarded gate.
“Where are we?”
“Unfinished bridge. Serves as shelter for the fishing fleet.”
He flashed papers at an ancient guard asleep in his booth.
“Don’t move.” Bonel pushed me against a pylon. “I’ll be right back.”
Water with the stench of dead fish lapped at my feet. The Seine, bright in the distance, was black below the bridge. The rainfall increased, but there was no wind. I tried not to think of Theo—had their boat avoided that dangerous tide below Rouen? The strong fish smell made me sick.
Bonel took my arm. “Let me lead.”
We walked under the bridge until it abruptly disappeared and the slime below it narrowed. I fell on all fours.
Bonel pulled me upright, and brushed mud off my front. “You’re a brave girl—don’t cry.”
I wept for Theo—what would he do if I had a fatal accident? Would Enoch take him? Would Bonel? Bonel gathered me briefly into his arms, stroked my wet cheek, murmered in Hebrew. He was like my father; no, he was like Bonel.
“Are you all right?”
“Are we the only ones here?”
“Yes, we’re the only passengers on a fishing boat—our safest transport, Alix. I’ve used these men often; trust me.”
The acrid stench of fish scales replaced floating carcasses, then the creak of boards and slap of waves, men’s voices speaking a Norman argot, one bawdy laugh, all in darkness.
“Go sideways; there’s no gangplank, only a single board that may be slippery. I’ll hold you from below.”
Rough hands lifted me over a rail. Bonel took me again.
“Still sideways—there’s no real deck.”
Only two boards around a deep hole in the middle of the craft.
“Sit here.” Bonel lowered me onto a coil of ropes in the prow of the boat. “I’ll be right
back.”
The boat tipped as men moved.
“You said forty,” a French voice growled.
“No, I did not, but I won’t argue. Take five more.”
“Juif,” muttered someone else.
Bonel was paying for this entire trip, not the queen, including the clothes on my back.
A tall shaggy fisherman stumbled on me as he crossed from one side to another.
“Pardon!”
Bonel sank beside me. At least the rain ceased.
“I hope you’re keeping track of our expenses, Bonel, for I promise to pay you back as soon as I get to Wanthwaite.”
He squeezed my hand.
Behind us the fishermen growled, grunted, tugged, farted, and lifted the anchor. Two oarsmen dipped as they sang some toneless chantey. We were in the center of the Seine, no longer bright.
“Peir!” called someone.
The boat rocked dangerously. The river hissed past us. Waves slapped the prow.
I’m coming, Theo!
“Are you all right?” Bonel whispered.
“Yes. How about you?”
He squeezed my hand again.
We were suddenly far from the shore on both sides, pulled by a strong current down the center of the Seine. The fishermen, now silent except for grunts, threw their lines. On my right, I could still distingush Rouen.
“Is the city burning again?” I pointed to a column of fire on one of the back hills.
“It’s a signal for boatmen, so they’ll know they’re approaching a curve. You’ll see many before we reach the Channel.”
“I should think the current would suffice.”
“The Seine snakes back on itself; fires mark the progress.”
The peasant girl loomed on the hill; I waved back. I haven’t forgotten! Give me time!
We hit a snag. “What was that?”
“I’m not certain. Nothing to worry about, though.”
Bonel pulled my head to his chest. I must have slept.
“Stay here.” Bonel disengagd himself.
I sat up. “Where are you going? Wait, Bonel!”
But he was gone. The boat was still stopped. Had they dropped anchor again? Was this where they fished? Had we reached the English Channel? No, we listed toward the Rouen side of the river, and there was Rouen itself, still in dim outline. And there was the fire, the peasant girl waved frantically—what was amiss? Was John following me?
The Prince of Poison Page 5