The Queen's Pawn

by Christy English

  Richard stared at her as if he had never seen a woman before, and I was gratified. All my work in raising and sheltering her had come to this moment, when she faced my son, with my blessing.

  “Richard, this is your bride-to-be, the lovely Alais, Countess of the Vexin, and Princess of France.”

  Alais curtsied again, deeply, and Richard bowed back, courteous but distracted. As I watched, he tried to meet Alais’ eyes, but the princess was inscrutable—the sphinx all men adore, and thrill to possess. I had been one myself, once upon a time. As amusing as it was to remember, I drew my mind to the here and now, and the move I was about to make in my constant game against Henry.

  “Alais, this is my son Richard, Prince of England and Duke of Aquitaine.”

  My women gasped, and I felt Richard tense beside me. I had just announced that I was giving the duchy of the Aquitaine not to my eldest son, as Henry would wish, but to Richard.

  Richard was shocked, but knew that Alais did not fully understand the significance of what I had just done. I saw that he thought only of the princess, of putting her at ease as best he could. He was a man of courtesy always, as I had raised him to be. His blue eyes met hers as he bowed once more. “It is my honor, Princess. Welcome to England.”

  They smiled at each other, and it was as if the duchy of my fathers, the land my family had held unbroken for generations, was as nothing to Richard, and the princess, everything. Even while I understood why Richard had done it, jealousy rose in me, as green as the gown Alais wore. I fought it down, and almost won.

  I waved my hand. “Thank you, Alais. That will be all.”

  She curtsied to me, not offended that I had dismissed her like a servant. Her glacial calm was in place once more, but for her eyes. She drew her gaze from Richard’s reluctantly and moved to go, with her woman beside her.

  At the door, Alais turned back. Richard still was watching her. The bitter taste of dread joined the sour tang of jealousy in my mouth. I was surprised to taste it.

  I loved both my son and Alais. I wanted them to make a good match; with it, they would shore up my power. With the two of them holding the Vexin as a wedge between France and Normandy, and with Richard as duke in the Aquitaine, my position would be stronger, no matter what passed between myself and Henry in the future.

  But something in their eyes gave me pause. More than that, something in their shared gaze frightened me, an emotion so alien to my being that I barely recognized it. But I saw that they looked at each other almost as Henry had once looked at me, the day we first met.

  I raised one hand. My women retreated at once, closing the door behind them, shutting Alais out. My son and I were left alone.

  “Richard.” My low voice caught his attention. I touched his arm, and drew him with me toward the window.

  A light breeze moved my hair against my cheek. As I watched, Alais’ face faded from his mind, and he remembered. I had gifted him with the Aquitaine.

  The Aquitaine and my father’s castle at Poitiers were the only true homes Richard had ever known. He had learned there at my side, through all the sunlit summers of his childhood, what it meant to be a man of war and of poetry combined. I had given him more than just a political gift when I handed him my father’s duchy, and he knew it.

  “Mother, I am in your debt.”

  Richard knelt to me there in the sunlight, as if swearing fealty. He kissed the emerald ring on my hand, as if I were his bishop. His hair was like burnished bronze, less red in that light, less like Henry’s, and more like mine. I wanted to kneel with him, to draw him to his feet, but I knew that I could not. Alais had made her impression; now I must make mine. I must bind him to me with yet another thread of gold.

  I let him hold my hand in his great one. I raised the other, pressing my palm to his crown in blessing.

  “Richard, rise. There is no need for such demonstrations between us.”

  He stood, and drew me close. I allowed myself the weakness of leaning against him.

  “I love you, Mother. And not for the Aquitaine.”

  I turned from him, and drew my handkerchief from my sleeve. I pushed away all strong emotion, for it never served me.

  In spite of my joy in giving the Aquitaine to my favorite son, I knew that the ceremony three years before that had acknowledged Richard as the future duke would not be enough. That treaty had been drawn between Henry and Louis of France, stating that Richard would one day be given the duchy of the Aquitaine. The same treaty arranged Richard’s betrothal, and brought Alais to me.

  That agreement had been made and oaths sworn; three years later, Henry still held the land. I knew Henry thought to ignore the oath he had taken as if it had never been. He wanted to give our eldest, Henry the Younger, the Aquitaine as he had already given him Normandy. Louis of France was weak, and could do nothing to make the treaty hold, even though his daughter Alais stood to gain from it with her marriage to my son. Richard would have to take the Aquitaine now and hold it against his father.

  “Even now, Richard, a rider has gone to Henry, who is with your brother Geoffrey in Anjou. The king will be at Windsor in less than two weeks’ time.”

  “I know.”

  “Henry will stop off to see Rosamund, that woman he values so highly.”

  Blood rose in his face at the sound of our old enemy’s name. Not because she was the king’s mistress; it was Henry’s right to take lovers where he would. Richard hated that woman, as I did, because Henry loved her beyond all reason. She had taken what was mine, Henry’s genuine affection; he had never loved me the same way since he first laid eyes on her.

  Richard did not spit, but I saw the desire to do so cross his face. This sign of spleen made me smile once more; it was yet another proof of my beloved son’s loyalty. All thought of Princess Alais was banished from the room.

  “So we will have time to send word to Louis, and to make plans for your official investiture as duke in Aquitaine. A ceremony in Limoges to seal the beginning that we made three years ago.”

  “The king will not be pleased.”

  “No. Henry will be furious. You must be cautious. We will tell him simply that we thought it understood that once you were old enough to defend it, you would take your inheritance in hand. King Louis will agree with us, with his daughter promised to you, and your father will be forced to concede.”

  Henry had never made a concession in his life, which was why he was still king. My son knew this, as well as I.

  “Or he will not,” Richard said.

  I smiled my cat smile, relishing the thought of combat with Henry on open ground.

  Henry and I had been separated for years, ever since he had first taken Rosamund to his bed. We had met a few times for politics’ sake, and for some holy days, but even at those times, Henry had not shared my bed. He had taken many women over the last few years, but he had loved only her. The thought of that woman still rankled, even now. I set it aside. I would forget her, and deal only with Henry.

  “We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, you will make ready to leave for the Aquitaine in two days’ time. I have already sent word to the bishop in Limoges. He will be ready to receive you.”

  I knew that, in this, Richard would obey me. He would go to my holdings in the south and swear the final oath making him duke, with Louis of France as his witness. Once he had taken possession of the Aquitaine, even Henry would not be strong enough to wrest it from him.

  I stepped close to my son and laid my hand against his cheek. My confidence drew him to me and held him, as it always did, as it had always done, no matter who else was in the room.

  “Trust to me, Richard. I have all in hand.”

  Chapter 5

  ALAIS: PRINCE AND TROUBADOUR

  Winchester Castle

  May 1172

  On my first day in Eleanor’s court, she made me welcome but kept her distance, as if to avoid encouraging her ladies-in-waiting to envy. I saw behind her eyes that she loved me, even as she
dressed me with her own hands, in her own gown. It was made of emerald silk, the finest dress I had ever worn in my life. My shifts were all plain convent wear, and Eleanor would not rest until she had had her seamstress sew a ribbon of emerald silk around the hem of the shift I wore.

  Eleanor made a brief show of presenting her women to me, each in their turn. They were all beautiful, and all only a few years older than myself, save for Eleanor’s chief woman, Amaria, who was of an age with the queen. They left with Eleanor almost as soon as they came in, and I was left alone to take in the beauty of my rooms by myself.

  The bedchamber had wide windows that looked down over a rose garden. The flowers had begun to bloom early, and I took in the scent of their perfume. There was a dressing room with a fine clothespress, though as yet I had no gowns to place in it.

  The tapestries on the walls were old but well brushed, and the bedstead was large, its rosewood posts carved with trailing flowers. I fingered the carving, and felt the polish of the years beneath my fingertips. The bedstead, too, was old, but it had been cherished, just as Eleanor cherished me.

  I had little time to admire my rooms or the gown the queen lent me, for her lady-in-waiting came for me almost at once, and took me in to meet the prince.

  Marie Helene, one of Eleanor’s ladies who had not been presented to me before, was a quiet woman, always watchful, a woman who thought long before she spoke. She reminded me of my father in that, though in no other way.

  Her hair was a soft blond, like wheat when it first turns from green to gold. Her hair was as fine as silk, and she often kept it hidden beneath a wimple. Her blue eyes were bright but steady. Marie Helene was worldly enough to see deception in others, but she did not lie herself. She never lied to me.

  The day I met her, Marie Helene curtsied to me with as much respect as if I were married to her prince already. She honored me from the first.

  As young as I was, I saw her good sense shining out of her eyes. She saw me fiddling with my borrowed gown, for I was six inches shorter than Eleanor, and the hem dragged the floor.

  “May I help, Your Highness?”

  I smiled at her soft tone of diffidence; it was clear that she did not want to overreach herself, and offend me. This evidence of reserve, the only such I was to see in Eleanor’s court, pleased me, as it was tinged so heavily with respect.

  “ Yes.”

  I stood still under her capable hands. Marie Helene drew my skirt up and tucked it into the belt I wore so that the ribbon on my shift showed beneath the emerald of the gown.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I have no clothes of my own.”

  “You will.” Her blue eyes met mine, and I saw her kindness as well as her restraint. “The queen will see to that. I have heard her speak of it already.”

  “Is it time to meet the prince?” I asked.

  She hesitated, as if afraid to frighten me. “It is.”

  I smoothed the silk of my borrowed gown. “I am ready”

  I remember little of my first meeting with Richard. Eleanor’s ladies were there as witnesses, and Marie Helene stood waiting for me by the door. Beyond that, I remember fragments. Only that the sunlight came in from behind him, and touched his red hair with gold. And that his eyes were the deep blue of France, so that I felt I had come home when I looked into them.

  We barely spoke, and the prince was as courteous as I could have hoped for. Behind his eyes, I saw his joy in me and in my beauty, and I felt the same joy at the sight of him. I remember the tone of his voice, if not his words, as he welcomed me.

  The queen called us together to announce that Richard was taking on the duchy of the Aquitaine in his own right. No sooner had she made this announcement than I was dismissed, and her seven ladies with me. I saw from her eyes that she wished to take counsel with her son. I turned back at the door to look at him once more, and caught Eleanor watching him, and me.

  I reminded myself of my duty and followed Marie Helene back to my rooms. I looked down at the rose garden below, wishing I might walk in it, but I stayed in my room, and waited on the queen. I knew that, before long, she would call me to her.

  Later that afternoon, when I came into the queen’s rooms with Marie Helene at my side, all her ladies were in place once more. I saw that they were celebrating Richard’s rise to the duchy, but Richard himself was nowhere to be seen.

  As soon as I came in, Eleanor rose from her chair and smiled, crossing the room to meet me. Her ladies saw this sign of favor, and stopped their conversations, turning instead to look at me.

  I curtsied and Eleanor helped me rise, her hands on mine. I caught the sight of Angeline’s resentment, her jealousy clouding the blue of her eyes. I remembered her name from the time I had met her briefly in my own rooms. I had no doubt in that moment that she had been the favored lady before I first came to Eleanor’s court.

  “Alais, you are welcome to this place.”

  The queen kissed me. The silence deepened, so that birdsong could be heard beyond the windows.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Have you eaten? There is fruit here, and bread.”

  “Fruit would be welcome. I thank you.”

  Eleanor drew me with her across the room. At a gesture from her, Mathilde, Angeline’s sister, rose and offered me her chair. She was better at hiding her jealousy, and managed to smile at me. I sat at once, and the queen sat beside me, while fruit was brought to the table between us, and fresh wine.

  Eleanor offered me a goblet from her own hand. I sipped the wine, and found it fresh and sweet, with a hint of the flavor of pears. The cup I held was cast in gold, and glinted in the afternoon sunlight. This room was her solar, and there were windows to the west as well as to the east, so that the sun always fell within those walls, and warmed them.

  I looked around at the queen’s ladies, all of whom had taken up their embroidery once more, and were talking among themselves, though I saw that they still cast their eyes on me. They noticed the high favor the queen showed me, and wondered at it. I knew that Eleanor liked to keep her women, and all those around her, guessing. Though this public welcome was gratifying, it was calculated. Our real time together would come later, when we were alone.

  “I would have my troubadour sing for you, Princess, if you are willing to hear him.”

  “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”

  “No, indeed, little princess, it will be his.”

  Amaria, the chief of Eleanor’s ladies, called for Bertrand, and when he stepped into the room, there was a flurry among the women. Angeline and Mathilde, both blond and fair, turned bright pink at the sight of him. The girls rose at once, straightening their gowns and simpering. The voices of all the women rose in pitch, as did their laughter. The man was young and as tall as Richard was, but not as beautiful. He bowed first to the queen, and then to me, before casting his eyes upon the ladies.

  As I watched, they fawned on him. If I had not known the queen’s ladies to be virtuous, I would have thought a lascivious glance passed between Bertrand and more than one of the queen’s waiting women. I raised an eyebrow, only to find Eleanor watching me, a sardonic smile on her face.

  She was offering her women up in all their foolishness, for me to laugh at. I swallowed my mirth, but my eyes still sparkled. My suppressed mirth was enough to soothe Eleanor’s need for mischief, for she turned at once to Bertrand, and called for a song.

  He bowed low, his hose displaying his leg to advantage. Convent-bred as I was, even I noticed the fine line of his thigh in his rose-colored hose. He caught me looking and winked, and I laughed in spite of myself.

  “The princess has not heard enough music, locked away in her nunnery. Play something for her now.”

  Bertrand might have amused himself by smiling at me, but he knew where his duty lay. He strummed his lute, all sign of laughter gone, and sang a song for the queen that was so beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes.

  He sang of beauty that endured forever, and of a queen
that held all men under her sway. His voice wove a spell over me, and over all the women there. I knew that he was desired not only for his fine leg but for his voice, and the spell it cast.

  When he was done, the queen applauded him, and her women followed suit. I clapped as well, a beat late, for I had to wipe tears from my eyes.

  Eleanor, always one to chastise me for weeping, reached out and took my hand. She pressed a handkerchief embroidered with her crest into my palm. She drew it from her sleeve with a flourish, so that all her court ladies could see. This sign of favor granted to me, she turned to Bertrand, her public voice ringing in the room like the peal of a bell.

  “You have moved us all to tears, Bertrand, and given me much pleasure.”

  “Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.”

  Eleanor’s smile turned wicked. “Indeed, Bertrand, that is not what my ladies tell me.”

  Laughter filled the room. As I watched, Mathilde and Angeline blushed, and a few others raised their hands to their cheeks, or to their mouths, to cover their laughter. Bertrand said nothing, but took the warm laughter as yet more applause, and bowed once more to the queen.

  Shocked, I met Eleanor’s glance, and she smiled at me. I realized that she meant to tell me that her troubadour sampled the favors of her women, and she approved.

  I knew little of the pleasures of love. The Reverend Mother in the abbey had instructed me on my duties in my marriage to the prince. Now that I had seen Richard, I hoped that those duties would be sweet. But the queen’s women were not married to her troubadour, and some were not married at all.

  I saw that adultery and lasciviousness were things that Eleanor winked at among her women, but I knew she would not wink at them in me. She sought to teach me this, as she sought to teach me everything. While these women might sport with lowborn chanteurs, she and I could not.