The Queen's Pawn

by Christy English

  I broke the seal, and read the letter. It was very short, and said almost nothing. Even the request it made was nicely phrased, and calm, almost blase in its demand. The fact that it had been written at all spoke volumes to me. Alais was desperate indeed, if she would turn to Louis herself, without consulting me.

  If Henry saw this letter, or even knew of its existence, he would lock the French princess away in a nunnery until all forgot that she breathed somewhere upon the earth. I could almost hear Henry’s rage, as it had so often been turned on me, or on my son.

  I thought of Richard; if Alais was banished from court for the rest of her life, it would break his heart. Henry brooked no treachery, not from anyone, not even from me. Richard knew this. Henry would never harm Alais, would never raise a hand to a hair on her head, but neither would he allow himself to be deceived.

  I smiled as I read the letter over once more. Its calm, cool clarity spoke to me, and sounded more like my own writings than the church-bred missives I had seen her write to the abbess of the Sisters of St. Agnes. I would have expected that pious tone to enter into her letter to her father, but after asking God for a blessing on him and her brother, she did nothing of the kind.

  And yet her style was not hurried or desperate. She called for her marriage as she might call for a basket of figs, as if it were a small thing, something her father might send by messenger, as if her marriage was only her due. Which, indeed, it was.

  I should be horrified that Alais had moved against Henry, that she had taken such a foolish risk, not knowing that my spies, and Henry’s spies, were everywhere. I thanked a god I did not know that her letter had fallen into my hands, that Clarissa had chosen last night to sleep with the ambassador, that after all these years there were still some people at Louis’ court loyal to me.

  Of course, my generosity was legendary in diplomatic circles. I made it my business to know what Henry paid for knowledge, and doubled his price. People found it expedient to do business with the king, but they were always sure to deal first with me.

  Pride rose in me as I read Alais’ letter over once more. She had stepped forward and taken her life into her own hands. I would have preferred that she come to me; in the days ahead, she very well might beg my assistance in bringing her marriage about. But her first instinct had been to strike out on her own. Her letter had failed, but she had written it, showing courage and a cunning I was proud she possessed.

  I laughed, but the bruise over my heart did not fade. I was proud of her. I loved her. But not long ago, she first would have come to me.

  I crossed the room to my bronze brazier, Alais’ letter to Louis in my hand. If I loved her with my whole heart, as I had always told myself I did, I would cast that letter into the fire. But I had been a duchess in my own right since the age of fifteen. I had worn two crowns in my lifetime not because of my beauty, not because of my fire, but because always, no matter what the circumstance, I faced life as it was. Information did not get burned. Information got hidden away, unless and until, someday, I might have need of it.

  I slipped the letter into my gown and rang the bell for Amaria. She stepped into my solar almost at once. As she looked at me, I could tell that she saw nothing of my emotions on my face.

  I raised one hand, and said nothing, but she knew me well. She called my women back in once more, but this time they sat at their embroidery frames. The tapestry for the cathedral in Poitiers was finished, and now they worked on cushions for my bed. I would give away my old ones, once these new ones were done. I had thought to give them to Alais, but now I knew that I would not. I would have new cushions made for her, for Alais and Richard were to marry. I would give them my support, whether or not Alais asked for it.

  I thought of Henry, of the light in his face when he smiled down at Alais while they were dancing. I thought of that expensive dog, and of how Henry had taken a new mistress in the last week, one with long curling hair, one with a sweet smile that made even me think of Alais.

  She wanted Richard; whatever her true feelings for Henry were, Alais would wed my son. Perhaps I had taught her well enough. Perhaps she understood, as I had always meant her to, that she must value herself above all others, that she must take care and make her way in the world on her own. Treaties came and went, wars were fought and won, but always, a woman must look to herself.

  As I sat among my ladies, Bertrand came to sing to us. I listened to my minstrel, all the while wishing he were Richard. Alais joined us, the woman beside me giving place to her.

  Alais took my hand in hers and kissed it, as if she had never betrayed me and mine, as if she had never written that letter, or taken her ease with my husband down by the riverside. Her afternoon with Henry had cost me something, and I knew it. I knew every blade of grass they had sat on, every flower that had gone into the wreath he made for her.

  I measured her with my eyes, and she sat serene under my scrutiny. Though I was proud of her courage, something was tarnished between us. I decided then that I would shield her from it. For as long as I could, I would protect the princess, even from this.

  Chapter 15

  ALAIS: ANOTHER GARDEN

  Windsor Castle

  July 1172

  ��

  I did not sleep that night, the last night of the month of June, but paced alone beneath my windows. The French ambassador had left that morning for Bartleur, and my letter with him. I said a prayer for his safe journey, and for my father to heed my request.

  The wind came up from the river, touching my face as the king had done when he placed the wreath of flowers on my head. I kept that wreath. It lay drying on my table. The flowers had begun to wilt, and soon their petals would fall.

  Marie Helene did not speak all that night, but watched me pace in silence. She offered me the good, sweet wine that Richard had sent from his lands in Anjou. I took one sip to please her, but the taste only pained me, reminding me of how precarious my position was as Richard’s betrothed, of how dangerous it was to catch the eye of the king.

  Bijou stayed awake with me almost until dawn. She saw I was agitated, and she paced with me, up and down the length of my room, her little legs trailing behind me or running ahead, as if it were a game we played. She finally fell asleep, watching me from the soft nest of Marie Helene’s lap.

  I felt the guilt of a hundred deaths on my conscience. I sat beside Eleanor all the day before, and all through the evening meal after I’d ridden out with Henry, as if I had not betrayed her, as if I had not committed treason. Perhaps even she would be in danger if the king was to know of my letter. Though she knew nothing of my treachery, she had had the raising of me. The king might hold her responsible for what I had done, for I was in her keeping.

  I felt guilty, too, that Richard knew nothing of my fascination with his father. He could never know. I myself must forget it. I prayed that I might, that this sin might pass from me. The Holy Mother watched me from Her niche above my bed, Her eyes patient, but I was not comforted. My mind whirled in a spiral, thoughts that led nowhere.

  The sun came up; my guilt did not keep the dawn from rising. I stopped pacing as soon as the night sky lightened to the gray of Henry’s eyes. I watched as light bled across the gray walls of his castle, and made its way to me.

  Marie Helene let me stand alone for almost an hour by the window before she came to me, knowing that if she approached any sooner, I would start pacing again.

  “My lady”, she said. “You must dress. You are still wearing the gown from last night’s feast.”

  I drew my thoughts back into the room. I looked around at the fine tapestries and the clean wooden floor, taking in the scent of the fresh herbs that burned in the braziers. My bronze goblet gleamed where it lay on my table, Richard’s wine untouched but for one sip.

  I met Marie Helene’s eyes and saw that though she worried for me, she had begun to see my strength. I took her hand, and we stood in silence, united in the knowledge that my marriage to Richard would take pla
ce, and quickly. I would see to it.

  Marie Helene raised my father’s rosary between us. She pressed the figure of Christ into my palm, so that the gold bit into my flesh, as did the diamonds, pearls, and amethysts that led up from His Body in an unbroken line of prayer.

  She said a Novena over me and called on the Holy Mother to guard my steps. I had never before heard a woman’s voice raised in prayer except Mother Sebastian’s in the nunnery There was sanctity in it that I rarely felt in church, a level of commitment to God that I had not found even when a priest raised his hand to bless me in the mass. I did not consider that this was blasphemy, but accepted Marie Helene’s blessing as a gift from the Holy Mother. I knew that I would need all Her gifts in the days to come.

  Marie Helene opened her eyes, and there were tears in them. “Your wash water is coming, my lady. You must take off your gown, so that the servants do not tell the king that you were up all night, thinking of him.”

  I laughed at the irony in her voice, and I felt my heart lift.

  I let her strip my gown from me and take it back behind the screen where my other gowns were kept. In the next moment, castle servants with my wash water scratched once at the door before letting themselves in. Marie Helene caught my eye before moving to instruct them on where to lay the water and fresh linens, as if they could not see for themselves that I had only one table, which served me in everything.

  Perhaps it was the new link between us, or perhaps I had begun to grow more wary already. I knew that she meant for me to turn down my bed, so that the servants would not see that it had not been slept in.

  I tossed the bedsheets, pressing my hand into my pillows to make a dent, as if my head had rested there all night. The servants did not see me do this, for I was quick.

  Bijou seemed to know what I was about, for instead of running to play with me as she normally would have done, she leaped down from the bed and chased the servants’ skirts, so that they laughed and made much of her. The women did not look at me at all until they curtsied in the hallway, closing the door to my rooms behind them.

  Marie Helene met my eyes over the steaming wash water. “The Lord Richard has returned from Aquitaine,” she told me.

  I stared at her, not moving. “How do you know this?”

  “The servant woman told me as she passed.”

  I felt as if a dam had broken over my head, washing me in a tide of hope. I knelt in the sunlight, wearing only my shift, my breakfast forgotten.

  “God be praised” I asked forgiveness once more for all my sins, my father’s rosary between my hands. I asked that God cleanse my mind of all thoughts of the king, and turn my mind once more to Richard, and forever.

  Richard waited for me in the kitchen garden. He stood by the willow tree, beside the bench I always sat on. He met my eyes, but did not cross to join me. It was I who crossed the garden to him.

  There was no one about, no servants from the kitchen, no women gathering herbs for dinner in the hall. We were alone but for Marie Helene, who stood well back, by the door to the castle.

  I held out my hand to him, and he took it. His face revealed nothing but wariness, and I wondered if he still wanted to marry me at all.

  “We must marry,” I said.

  He blinked, as if surprised to hear such words come from my lips.

  I lowered my voice, and stepped close to him. I was being too bold, but I did not want to be overheard. Though there were no servants to be seen, someone, somewhere close, was watching us. We did not have long.

  “I fear the king,” I said. I could not tell him that I feared myself more.

  His face darkened. Richard had never before turned such a look on me. I remembered in that moment the gray dove that had lain dying in his hand. That same knife was even now sheathed on his wrist.

  “Has he touched you?”

  If I told him of Henry’s kiss, Richard might leave that garden and kill his father with his bare hands. The king’s men-at-arms would stop him with their pikes. I would be without a husband, shamed before all the court, sent home in disgrace, or to a convent for the rest of my life. In my exile, I would know that I had brought about Richard’s death. And I would never see Henry again,

  “No,” I said. “He has not touched me.”

  My conscience pricked me, but I ignored it. I saw that I had surprised him. Unless I was more specific, he might not move at all. I had no more words to give him.

  So I offered what I never had, except to a crowned king or queen: I knelt at his feet, as I would at prayer. I said nothing, but lowered my head. If my words could not move him to act for both our good, perhaps my gestures would.

  Richard lifted me to my feet, his hands on my arms. He drew me close and breathed in the scent of my hair.

  I stood still in his arms, a bird who could not escape the net. Richard felt me stiffen. His grip loosened, but he did not let me go.

  “You need never fear me, Alais,” he said. He spoke no poetry and used no flowery phrases. He was a soldier, and not used to making his feelings known, except in song. He spoke simply, his blue eyes never leaving mine.

  “I will love you, for the rest of my life. You, and no other.”

  Richard kissed me, there under the flowering tree. The willow’s blossoms hung low, and caressed my skin as they fell from the branches above us.

  He tasted of honey and sunlight. No fire burned me as it did with Henry—no warmth rose within me at his touch—but his touch was gentle. This was the path I had chosen as a child. Richard loved me truly, and I loved him. He would stand by me, and serve with me, for the rest of my life. He would be a haven for me when the rest of the world grew dark. He would shield me always; he would keep me safe.

  “I must not touch you again,” he said. His voice was hoarse with longing.

  This time, Richard knelt to me. He grasped his sword, which was always at his side. He drew it from its scabbard, and drove its point into the ground at my feet. I stepped back, startled, but he took my hand in his, and drew me toward him.

  He placed my hand on the hilt of his sword, where it formed the cross of Our Lord. This was the sword he had carried all his life, the sword he had been knighted with, the sword he had taken from the hand of his king.

  Richard pressed my hands to the cross, his own laid over them.

  “I swear I will serve you for the rest of my life. With this sword, I will defend your life and honor as long as I draw breath. This I vow before God. May He be my witness.”

  I accepted his vow as my due. The sunlight touched his red hair with gold. His eyes were the clear blue of some distant inland sea. His voice,1ow and honeyed, did not waver, as he swore an oath he would not keep.

  Marie Helene and I went back inside. Richard bowed to me as I left, and I raised my hand to him. There was a sweetness about him that haunted me as I left him among the flowers of the kitchen garden. I prayed that I would be a good wife to him. I prayed that I would forget the king.

  I went to the chapel, made my confession, and took the Sacrament, for it was almost noon. I stayed afterward and prayed, the sunlight falling into that chapel from the courtyard outside. Only at this time of day did the sun find its way into that part of the keep, touching the colored glass of that chapel with blue and purple fire.

  I rose, certain of my purpose. My letter would be in Paris in a few days’ time; my father would support me. I must ask for Eleanor’s help before my father wrote to her. I would ask her to back me in my marriage to her son.

  I left alone, sending Marie Helene back to my rooms to look after Bijou. I was safe in the keep, but with only one leather curtain between my little dog and my dresses, my silks and shoes were not.

  I moved alone down the long corridor that led to Eleanor’s solar. I walked quickly, a spring of joy in my step, for in that moment Henry seemed far away. My soul was pure, newly washed in the blood of Christ. My betrothed loved me and would stand with me before his father. I had only to secure Eleanor’s support, and all woul
d indeed be well.

  As I stepped into the wide, torchlit hallway, I saw movement in a niche behind a tapestry This tapestry covered a window and a little bench, where one or two people might sit concealed, and find a bit of privacy from the rest of the court. Often I had seen Mathilde duck into that niche with one man or another, a few times even with the chanteur Bertrand. I thought that one of the queen’s ladies had hidden herself there with a suitor, and almost passed by without looking when I saw the flash of Richard’s red hair, and the blue silk tunic he had worn in the garden when he knelt and swore me fealty for the rest of his life.

  I moved closer, hoping to speak with him, as no one else stood by As I came toward Richard, I looked behind the tapestry. There was a young woman deep in the alcove with him. They sat together on a low stool, and Richard was laughing.

  The woman was Margaret, my favorite of all the queen’s ladies. I had not recognized her at first, for I had never before seen her hair loose. Always before, she had worn a wimple, but now her soft blond hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back. She looked at Richard with adoration as he leaned close to her, one arm around her, his lips on her hair. As I watched, Richard kissed her, as Henry had kissed me.

  I stepped back quickly into the shadows of the hallway Only one torch was lit, for the hall was little used at that time of day. The shadows were deep, though it was only afternoon. In Windsor, without torches to light our way, shadows ruled the stone keep.

  For once, the darkness helped and did not hinder me. The sunlight was bright within their niche. If Richard or Margaret had turned to look at me, the sun would have dazzled their eyes so that they could not have seen me hiding in the shadows. But they did not turn to look.

  I moved away quickly, but I could not muffle my steps on the stone. I thought Richard might hear me and come out, but the tapestry only fluttered once, before Richard and his lover were completely hidden from my sight.

  I do not know what told me that they were lovers. Perhaps it was the anticipation on Margaret’s face, the look of unbridled lust that I had never seen in her blue eyes before. And Richard shared her lust. I could almost feel the warmth of it rising from him in a wave of fire.