The Queen's Pawn

by Christy English

  His eyes met mine, and still he did not take his hand away. It was as if we were alone, though all the court watched us, Eleanor included.

  “Well, little princess, we will see if I can earn your love, if you will not give it freely.”

  A sudden hush fell over the hall. At first, I thought the rest of the court shocked by the king’s boldness. But they had not heard what he said to me. Silence had fallen because Richard had risen from his place at one of the lower tables. As one, the court turned to look at him, as did I, Eleanor, and the king. I wondered why he was not seated at the high table with us, but I had no time to ask.

  “I have written a song for my betrothed,” Richard said.

  A young man rose to stand behind the prince, and strummed the lute he carried. One note echoed across the great hall. There was no other sound. All I could hear was that note, and the sound of my own heart beating.

  Richard lifted his voice. A prince of royal blood sang a song he had written for me in front of his father, his mother, and all the court. Such a thing would never have happened in France.

  After the first note, he turned to me and met my eyes, and my nerves subsided. All I could see was him.

  Richard sang of a rose without thorns that grew in darkness, in a courtyard where light rarely shone. He sang of the rose’s soft petals and sweet scent, of how all who saw it wished to pluck it, though no one had yet done so.

  The double meaning in that verse brought snickers here and there across the hall. Richard turned his eyes on them, and the laughter stopped. He raised his voice to sing the last verse in his beautiful tenor.

  He sang of the rose once more, of how the sun would shine on it, gild its leaves and petals, protecting it always even as it fed its growth.

  He fell silent, his song finished. The applause began. Many stood, offering the prince glasses of wine, extolling him. They were courtiers, trained to fawn, but there was a note of sincere admiration in their praise. Richard nodded graciously, but otherwise did not heed them. He looked only at me.

  Richard bowed low as if to offer me fealty. Tears rose in my eyes, and I blinked them away.

  His eyes shone as he sat down once more. Beakers of wine and mead were offered him, but he took none, his eyes never leaving my face. Only when he looked away did I turn to the king.

  Henry did not smile, his feelings well hidden behind the gray of his eyes. I saw the wheels of his mind turning, but I had no idea where his thoughts were tending.

  “Well, Princess, it seems you have given your love to my son already.”

  I heard the accusation in the king’s voice, but I did not have the sense to be frightened. “The Lord Richard has made me welcome. I am grateful for his kindness.”

  “Are you indeed? Well, he is not the only one who welcomes you. You will find that the kindness of a king extends far beyond that of a prince.”

  “I thank you, my lord.”

  Henry’s face softened when I said this. As he met my gaze again, I heard the bells chiming for vespers, and I asked, “My lord king, may I go to the chapel?”

  “You would go to meet a lover?” he asked.

  I saw his gaze shift to Richard, where he sat among the young men. Richard met his father’s eyes, and a flash of hatred passed between them. I forced myself to stillness, until my horror passed.

  “No, my lord. The call to prayer just rang. I have need of praying.”

  “By all means,” Henry said. “If God calls you, do not let me keep you. I am only your king.”

  I searched his face. Though he did not smile, his eyes sparkled with mirth. I could see nothing of the hatred that had lurked in his gaze only a moment before. Perhaps it had been only a trick of the light.

  I stood and curtsied to him. Henry waved one hand, and I turned from him to curtsy to the queen.

  Eleanor raised her glass to me, and winked. She was pleased, both with Richard’s song and with the king’s reception of me. She had taught me to speak well and to hold my own with royalty. I could see, even with the distance between us, how proud she was of me.

  Richard stood when I did and simply looked at me. When I curtsied to him, he did not nod or bow in return. He watched me as I passed.

  Only as Marie Helene drew me out of the hall did he raise one hand to me. I gave him one more smile before I left him standing among his father’s courtiers.

  Chapter 10

  ELEANOR: THE LION’S DEN

  Windsor Castle

  May 1172

  As Alais left the hall, Henry’s eyes followed her. Richard did not sit again until she was gone, but it was Henry I watched from the corner of my eye.

  As I did so, I raised one hand, and my footman stepped forward with my wine. He refilled my goblet from my private silver urn. At Henry’s court, to take care to avoid poison, I drank my own wine. Also, one could never trust Henry’s steward at Windsor to keep decent wine at table, as Henry himself drank only mead. I let Amaria spread the gossip that I drank a special draft for my health, but all knew why I took care at Windsor. There were many at Henry’s court who did not wish me well.

  Only after I had drunk deep and taken a last morsel of squab did I turn to Henry I was pleased to see him fawn over my daughter, as if she were some housemaid that he might take up against a wall. I thought of Rosamund, and wondered if she had spies in my court, as I would have, had I been in her place. I wondered if those spies would carry tales to her of Alais that night, and if so, how my old rival might receive them. The thought made my smile deepen, and it seemed Henry was caught in the light of my eyes. For all his attentions to Alais, now that she was gone, he had eyes only for me.

  I smiled my old, wicked smile, and Henry laughed, raising his tankard. The musicians began to play the first measure of the first dance. Henry rose to his feet, and I wondered which woman he would choose to partner him. He walked, not down the steps to the dance floor, but across the dais to me.

  “My lady Eleanor, would you honor me?”

  Henry held out his hand to me. He pitched his voice low so that the court could see him approach me but could not hear his words.

  Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened to the love that once had been between us, the great love that I had cast aside a crown for, more than a lifetime ago.

  “My lord Henry, it is you who honor me.”

  I, too, kept my voice low, to keep the matter private between us as I laid my hand in his. Of course, nothing for a king is ever private. I had lived as a queen since the age of fifteen. I had long since grown used to the eyes of others always on me.

  He said nothing more, but led me onto the dance floor. The musicians stopped playing when Henry offered me his hand, so shocked were they to see us together. We had not danced with one another in years, since Henry first touched Rosamund de Clifford.

  The musicians Henry employed were ill trained and had not the sense to start playing again as soon as we took the floor. But Henry and I had heard the first bars of the song, and knew what steps it called for. It was a dance we had enjoyed long ago, when we had both been happy.

  Henry met my eyes, as if in defiance of all who watched us. The entire court was silent, and for the first few steps of the dance, we were alone on the floor, moving as one. Our bodies remembered each other.

  The musicians started playing then, first the mandolin, then the lute, the tabor catching up with a crash before they all settled together into harmonious time. Henry laughed under his breath and I joined him, my merry laughter filling that cold hall, touching even the dark corners with my own brand of fire.

  “It is good to hold your hand again, Eleanor.”

  “I am glad to see you, Henry I missed you while you were away.”

  Henry believed me, for his face softened as he looked at me. Had we been alone, he would have kissed me. As it was, he drew me closer in the dance.

  “Eleanor, I am not myself when I am not with you.”

  “Stay, then, and let us bide a while together.”<
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  He did not turn from me, but his emotions were engaged, and he did not like it. He changed the subject, a gleam of mischief coming into his eyes. I had forgotten how well matched we once had been in mischief making, too.

  “Your French princess is a beauty,” Henry said.

  I laughed again, and Henry smiled to hear it, the warm music that had been denied him for so long.

  “She is not mine,” I said.

  “Well, she did not learn to tempt a man that way in the convent,” he said. “You saw how Richard would follow her, like a hound come to heel.”

  I watched him, my eyes still gleaming with laughter. My smile did not slip; my expression gave nothing away.

  His face darkened. “I should not have brought that boy’s name into our conversation.”

  I changed the subject back to Alais before we could quarrel. “And how did you like the morsel I sent to tempt you?”

  Henry laughed, as if he had forgotten Richard, though I knew he had not. “Your morsel is tempting, but not one I can digest.”

  “I knew that, Henry, or I never would have put her in front of you.”

  “Perhaps it is war I have no stomach for. I am growing old, Eleanor. I want peace.”

  The music stopped, and the court applauded us. Henry kissed my hand. He did not raise his head at once, but let his lips linger on my skin, before all the court, as if to swear me fealty, as Richard often did. When Henry raised his head and met my eyes, Richard spoke.

  “My lord king.”

  Henry straightened. Though his hand stayed on mine, his eyes sharpened like a hawk’s. His predator’s gaze swept the hall until his eyes fell on Richard.

  “My son,” Henry said. “Or should I say, one of the jackals that would feed on my carcass before I am dead?”

  A woman gasped, and her man shushed her, drawing her quickly from the hall. I felt the color fade from my cheeks as the bloom fades from a rose once it is cut. With Henry’s hand still in mine, I silently cursed Richard for refusing to stay quiet when I ordered him to.

  “There are no jackals here, my lord. Please, come and sit with me,” I said, though I knew it was too late.

  I pressed my hand to Henry’s arm, hoping to placate him as I once could have done so easily. He hesitated while he considered my soft voice, as he had for many years before strife fell between us. Hope rose in me, if only for the space of a breath.

  The court waited to see which would win, my voice of calm, or his hatred for my son. As always with Henry, hatred won out.

  “You thankless whelp!”

  His voice was like the thunder of a god. More than one grown man flinched, wishing themselves anywhere but there.

  “You should join your cursed brother in Normandy. Henry, my eldest, scheming with the benighted French king. And you, taking the Aquitaine without so much as a by-your-leave. I am still king in this hall, by God. And in this land. I will be damned if I succor traitors who call themselves my sons!”

  The word “traitor” almost made my heart stop. Never, in all the years I had known him, had Henry ever referred to one of our boys in such a way. He had spoken of Becket with that kind of rancor, and look what had happened to him.

  My plans had not advanced far enough for hostilities to mount so quickly between Henry and my sons. I knew I must make the peace.

  Richard must have seen the look on my face, for before I could speak, he went down on one knee in front of Henry.

  “My lord king, it pains me that I have offended you.”

  Henry’s face was still red, his temper high, but his pallor had not risen to the color of puce. His hand was still in mine. He had not yet pulled away.

  He stared at Richard. Though Henry did not speak, he also did not order our son from his presence.

  “I ask that you support my rise, that I might serve you in the Aquitaine as I serve you here,” Richard said.

  Henry held my son’s eyes for a long moment. The silence in the hall was deafening. Even the least loyal of courtiers felt nothing but fear.

  “Very well, Richard. Then let all be witness. You take the Aquitaine from my hand. Have it, and guard it well. I gift it to you, out of my royal largesse.”

  Richard, being Richard, could not let the slight go.

  “My lord king, I thank you. But I remind you here, in the presence of this assembly, that the Aquitaine comes to me through my mother, as sanctioned by my overlord, the King of France, three years ago. Only now do I reach out my hand to take it.”

  I looked to Henry, as we all did, certain that he would send Richard from him now. I cursed Richard for a fool for not obeying me. He should have been well on his way to the Continent this night, and not at Henry’s court, deviling the king.

  Henry did not turn from me, even then, and I saw that we were safe. I realized what Henry was about: Richard and I had given him an opportunity to strike back at young Henry in Normandy. My husband was going to let Richard keep the Aquitaine to spite our eldest son.

  But there was something in Henry’s smile that I did not like as he turned it on Richard. It was not warm but calculating. And for once, I could not see behind the calculation in my husband’s eyes.

  “All here may bow to my son Richard, Duke of Aquitaine. He holds the land with his mother’s blessing, and with mine. God speed him on his journey hence.”

  I heard the order behind the blessing, and this time I would force Richard to have the sense to heed it. My son bowed to the king, and the court applauded Henry’s words. Everyone present was grateful that the scene had ended so well, but I was still uneasy.

  Henry met my eyes only then, and bent to kiss my hand. Then the king released me, and moved to leave the hall. I took an unsteady breath, unable to do anything but watch him go.

  The tension in the room did not dissipate when Henry left. I heard one old man say, “Christ’s blood, God help the prince. The king smiled like that on Becket, too.”

  Richard came to my side. He heard the man’s words but chose to ignore them, as he had chosen to ignore my advice. He took my hand, and led me into a dance.

  I raised my skirt in one hand, and we moved together in a dance of Richard’s choosing. He did not tell me the dance he thought of, but we moved together without thinking, in sympathy as we always were whenever Henry was not in the room.

  The musicians, behind three beats once more, soon caught up. Richard’s favorite men-at-arms took up partners and surrounded us, so that our conversation could not be overheard by Henry’s courtiers.

  “Richard, for God’s sake, never do such a thing again.”

  “Mother, I’m sorry. I lost my temper. I should—”

  “Have spoken with me first. Richard, you cannot beard the lion in his den. There is a strategy to politics, as there is in war. If you will not use your mind for chess here as you do on the battlefield, you must trust to me to make your moves for you.”

  “Mother, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  The contrition in his voice moved me, just as I had hoped to harden my heart, to make him see how close we might have come to disaster. His blue eyes met mine, as they had when he was a boy, guileless and full of love for me.

  I turned to him in the dance, and pressed my lips to his cheek.

  “You must go to Aquitaine tomorrow. Do not turn back, even if you hear that we have all fallen to a plague. I have sent word to the bishop. He will be waiting for you in Limoges.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “While you are gone, I will find some way to distract your father. We want peace with him, until we choose otherwise. We have won this round, Richard. Let me see to it that we do not lose the next.”

  The music ended and he kissed my cheek there on the dance floor, with all of Henry’s court watching. “I swear, Mother, I will be ruled by you in this, as in all things.”

  Richard led me back to my chair. With Henry gone from the hall, he sat down at the high table beside me. He poured more wine for me and courted me for the rest of the ni
ght. Three troubadours sang to my beauty, a record at Henry’s court, and Richard, too, raised his voice in praise of me.

  Like all good things, those moments were not to last. Before long, one of Richard’s men signaled to him, and he kissed me and left the hall. I wondered if he went to meet a lover.

  I chided myself for being jealous of my son’s attention. Soon he would marry Alais, with her sweet eyes and her long, rose-scented hair. She would hold him for me.

  Chapter 11

  ALAIS: THE KING’S JEWEL

  Windsor Castle

  May 1172

  That evening’s mass was attended by only myself, Marie Helene, and one of Eleanor’s elderly ladies as well as the priest who sang it. Vespers followed, and I knelt on the stone floor, my gown tucked under my knees as the sisters of St. Agnes had taught me, long ago.

  Marie Helene knelt beside me, though I could feel her thoughts were far from prayer. I turned my own mind to God, and stayed on my knees long after the priest had finished and blessed us. I heard the elderly lady withdraw. Marie Helene rose and stood by the stone wall, where candles in sconces gave the only light.

  I stayed on my knees, and prayed for my father and my brother, and for the future of France. I prayed for the Reverend Mother and all the sisters at the abbey, and I prayed for Richard and Eleanor. I even prayed for the king, though something about him vexed me, even as it drew me as the moth is drawn to the flame that kills it.

  I tried to turn my mind from Henry altogether, from the warmth of his gray eyes. I tried to forget the way he had tempted me into losing my temper in front of the entire court, though I had been raised to self-control and obedience all my life.

  I brought Richard’s face to the forefront of my mind, Richard and the song he had written and sung for me himself. The song had been beautiful, as he was, but for some reason I could not understand, no matter how I disciplined myself, my mind kept turning to the king.