The Queen's Pawn

by Christy English

  “Richard, you must leave this place,” she said.

  “Alais.” Richard spoke only her name.

  My son had the sense to put away his weapon, but I saw that he was slain already Pain and love lingered on his face, at war with each other, vying for precedence. I saw then that he loved her far more than I had understood. For the first time, I saw that between these two, there were no politics, no talk of war, or lands, or gold. Between these two, they had found something I had never sought. A love based not on necessity, politics, or power but on the simple, personal bond between them. The loss of Alais had cost him not an alliance with France, or the lands of the Vexin, but something that was to Richard more precious.

  Alais seemed as struck by the sight of my son as he was by her. She blinked, swallowing convulsively, though she was too strong to weep. As I watched, she rallied, and found her voice once more.

  “You must go. John has brought Henry a letter that tells of your alliance with Geoffrey. Even now, the king musters his men-at-arms.”

  Light began to dawn behind Richard’s eyes, a light of joy I thought never to see again.

  “You have betrayed him,” Richard said. “You have risked yourself, for me.”

  Alais reached for him, and he caught her hand. “I will not stand by and let them kill you.”

  Henry would never raise his hand to our son. But I remembered Becket, and how Henry’s knights had murdered him in cold blood. I knew that Richard could not tarry here.

  Richard kissed Alais’ hand as if swearing her fealty, as he so often had with mine, but he held it longer, and lingered over it as a lover might. She let him hold her hand, but she turned to me. I rose and went to them.

  “Eleanor, Henry is coming. Before he gets here, you must forgive me,” Alais said.

  “For what, Alais?” I asked, thinking that she meant to ask forgiveness for trying to steal my throne.

  “For taking the king’s love from you.”

  The princess spoke low, her voice barely above a whisper. I knew then that this was what she feared, the one thing that had plagued her the whole time she schemed to take my place. It was love she craved, love she valued. She served France blindly out of love for her father. I took her other hand in mine and kissed it.

  “Alais, you never stole Henry’s love from me. For a long time, there has been no real love between us.”

  I saw the question unasked in her eyes, and I answered it. I did not make her pay for it, but gave it freely, gift for gift. For when faced with the choice, she had saved my son. “I have not loved him truly, Alais. Not in many years. Not since long before I met you.”

  She came into my arms then, and I held her. Richard dropped her hand, and turned away. At first I thought he was sorry to see her in my arms again, but as he donned his chain mail, I saw him swipe at his eyes. He was as softhearted toward her as he had ever been.

  “Eleanor, will you shelter me? Me, and my unborn child?”

  My grip on her tightened, and I breathed in the rose scent of her hair. Finally, the war between Henry and myself for the love of this girl was over. Finally, I had won.

  “Alais, I will protect you. You need not even ask.”

  Richard gestured, clearing his throat, his squire springing into action as if on a battlefield. “Bring my light armor. We ride for the coast.”

  My love for Henry had died long ago, and for the first time, I had admitted it; that admission had set Richard free. His pain was lifted as if it were a dream gone at morning. His anguish had been, not just jealousy over the princess, but fear that I had been suffering, and horror that he could do nothing to save me pain. With that burden lifted, he looked light again, the bright young prince I knew him to be.

  Richard had seen me hold the woman he loved, and heard me promise to shield her. It was no idle boast. I had protected him from Henry all his life; I would protect her now. Leaving Alais safe with me, Richard would be strong enough to hold his own with Geoffrey and young Henry when spring came, when all my sons rose as one against the king.

  “Go to Geoffrey,” I told him.

  “Will he receive me?” Richard asked.

  “Geoff is waiting for you,” I said. “That is why Henry is coming for you now.”

  Richard was clothed in his travel armor. His men-at-arms, John of Northumberland and Gregory of Lisle, were ready to follow him. Richard came to me, and pressed my hand.

  “Stay at my keep in Oxford,” I said. I rang a bell, and Amaria stepped into Richard’s rooms from the hall outside. “Go by river. I will have the ice-breaking barge ready for you.”

  Amaria heard my command and left at once to see that the barge was prepared.

  “Henry can’t move troops in winter, but as soon as there is a thaw, he will come after you. Wait for word from me. Come spring, we will all be ready”

  “If it is war Father wants, I will bring it to him in Anjou.”

  I kissed my son. I saw that the time for counsel was over. I would have to trust Richard now to act for himself. On the battlefield, he knew no equal.

  Richard turned to leave and passed Alais then, going out the door by which she had entered. He stopped and took her hand. He raised it to his lips.

  “I will remember this, Alais. In the end, you chose me.”

  She did not speak, but he saw her love for him on her face. He and his men left, and the hidden stone door closed behind him.

  There was no longer a question in my mind. For months I had debated with myself whether to mount a full-scale rebellion, a complete uprising of all Henry’s sons. I had hesitated, wondering if Henry might someday see reason, if he might release his stranglehold over our sons, and the lands they held only in name. Each was a lord in his own land: Henry the Younger in Normandy, Geoffrey in Brittany, and Richard in the Aquitaine. But always, Henry kept his far-flung empire under his control. No matter what titles and honors he grudgingly granted our sons, he refused to let them rule. Now Geoffrey’s letter had tipped the balance.

  Henry knew nothing of my involvement, and nothing of young Henry’s desire for war. He had only veiled references from Geoffrey to Richard, which I knew he would be too overconfident to heed.

  Once Geoffrey wrote again and placated Henry, no doubt Geoff’s lies would be believed. It was only Richard whom Henry hated with an unswerving passion. Once my favorite son was safe, I would wait, and take my time to spring the trap I had built so carefully.

  I would take action to protect my sons, and myself. Henry understood only force, so let that be. Come spring, we would show him force, my sons and I together.

  Chapter 30

  ALAIS: THE PIPER PAID

  Windsor Castle

  February 1173

  I prayed to God for Richard’s safety, standing there steeped in sin, my father’s rosary in my hand. I thought of all I must be shriven for, but I turned that thought aside. There was more to do before there was less. There was a piper to be paid, and I would pay him.

  Eleanor and I stood alone in Richard’s rooms. His men had fled with him, down the hidden corridor. I thought I saw her reach for me. Then Henry was there, and I saw nothing else.

  His eyes fell on me, and his men-at-arms stopped short behind him. He stared at me, at the betrayal he had not expected, from the last person on earth he expected it from. For I had warned Richard of his coming, and now Henry’s rebellious son had once more slipped his grasp. I saw the bitterness rise in his eyes, the same bitterness he had always turned on Richard. Now, for the first time, Henry turned that bitterness on me.

  “Alais.”

  He said nothing else. I saw that he would never forgive me. I had betrayed him to the son he hated most. Nothing, not even our unborn child, would succor that.

  I moved toward him and stood before him, in case he ordered his men to take me up, as he would have ordered them to take up Richard. The pain on his face cut me, but I stood firm under it, for I deserved it.

  Henry raised one hand, his gray gaze boring into min
e. I saw his rage build behind his eyes, a great wall of red that swept his reason from him, until there was nothing left but his fury. I did not move even then, but waited for his hand to fall on me.

  Eleanor stepped between us.

  “Henry,” she said.

  His eyes did not leave mine, but his hand did not come down to strike me.

  “She feared for his life, Henry. You forget, she is only fifteen years old.”

  Henry’s face contorted with rage. I thought he would spit at her, but he did not; his eyes never left mine. He did not speak, but turned and left me there, standing in Richard’s rooms. He did not say a word, but stalked away. His men followed him like dogs, their pikes in their hands.

  “What have I done?”

  “What you had to do,” Eleanor said.

  My knees buckled. I would have fallen had she not caught my arm. Eleanor held me up until she could get me to a chair.

  Marie Helene came in then, looking stricken. She came to me at once, and took my other hand. Eleanor had not let me go.

  “My lady, the king is calling up his men to ride after Prince Richard,” she reported.

  I felt my stomach tighten as a wave of pain washed over me. I gasped under it, as if I had been swept up in a tide.

  Eleanor squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “He will not catch them, Alais. They have gone by barge to my keep in Oxford. They will be safe there, until they can go down to the coast. Henry will not have them. They have slipped his net. Thanks to you.”

  I felt light-headed, and I could not answer her. Eleanor knelt beside me, and pressed her lips to my hand.

  “Thank you, Alais. Thank you for saving my son.”

  Pain in my abdomen struck me then, taking my breath away. Eleanor saw something in my face that she recognized, for she stood at once.

  “Marie Helene, call my chamberlain. Have him take the princess to her rooms.”

  My waiting woman moved to obey as the dull ache in my abdomen receded. I had felt dull pains off and on all day, but had thought nothing of them. As Eleanor watched me, I realized that these pains were something else altogether.

  Eleanor’s man lifted me in his arms. He tried not to jolt me, and I was grateful for his help. I was suddenly very tired, and I knew that I had a long night ahead of me. Her chamberlain brought me back to my rooms, and set me not on my bed but on a chair, as Eleanor directed him.

  As I thanked him, I saw the certain knowledge on Eleanor’s face: my child was coming two months early.

  Another pain came then, stronger than the last, and in the midst of that fire, Henry, Richard, the court, and my place in it faded as if they had never been. As my agony gripped me, all thought of the loss of Henry vanished. I released my grip on the chair and knelt on the floor of my room, my pain taking me as Henry once had done. I knew that I was truly in the hand of God.

  Eleanor called for a midwife, and for a birthing chair. Both were brought at once, though the keep was buzzing like a kicked wasp’s nest. All had heard of my betrayal of the king. No woman wanted to tend me in the midst of my disgrace, but one came, for she feared the queen.

  Henry left Windsor, riding out to his hunting lodge at Wood-stock, which was within striking distance of Oxford. I had lost him, and forever.

  Amaria whispered this news to Eleanor, but I heard what she said. When the queen turned back to me, she did not speak of Henry or of Richard, but nodded to the midwife, as if my birthing was the most important business to befall her that day.

  “Alais, between us, you will do well. God knows I’ve borne Henry enough children. I ought to know by now how it is done.”

  I took heart at her matter-of-fact tone, and felt my fear recede. Eleanor gripped my hand and helped me stand, so that Marie Helene could strip my silk gown off me. I wore only my shift, so Marie Helene then built up the fires in the braziers, and brought them closer so that I would be warm.

  Eleanor would not leave my side. She spoke to me of the doings of her women, and of the foolishness they had gotten up to in the presence of her minstrel, Bertrand. Her soothing voice took me back to that simpler time, when I sat with her women, listening to him sing. The time before I ever saw Henry, when Eleanor and her son had been my whole world.

  Three hours later, I was walking a circuit around the room with Eleanor when my water broke. Fluid gushed down my thighs, and I felt much lighter. The midwife and her women cleaned up the small pool of liquid from the floor, while Eleanor made me drink a glass of my favorite wine.

  She helped me walk between pains all that night. For hours she stayed with me, and walked with me in a slow circuit around the room. For the first time, I saw that room as it truly was: an old chamber filled with Eleanor’s castoffs, as my place at court had been from the time I first moved against her. The pillows, the tapestries, the plate, all belonged to her, as Henry did. As Henry always would.

  Somehow, in the midst of my childbed pains, this knowledge did not wound me. The world was reduced to what it had always been: myself, alone with Eleanor.

  As my pains got worse, I bit down on the fine linen cloth Marie Helene gave me, but it was too thin to do me good. Eleanor’s woman, Amaria, found me a piece of leather, and I bit down on that. Between contractions, I laughed. “I am just like Bijou now.”

  Bijou did not chew her leather thong, but lay beneath the table, wide-eyed, looking up at me as I walked in circles around the room.

  Agony rode me, over and again. In another hour, I could not walk at all, and Eleanor brought me to the birthing chair, from which I did not rise again. I gripped the arms of that chair, praying as each pain passed. Eleanor pressed a damp cloth against my face, and its coolness soothed me.

  I laughed even as pain gripped me, and Marie Helene looked at me as if I were demented. Only Eleanor smiled. She understood.

  “It is time,” I said.

  As my pains came upon me harder and faster, there was only Eleanor. Henry now was gone, as was Richard, off to fight over power in the kingdom. As each contraction took me, Eleanor stood by me, or knelt with me when I was laid low, the agony too much to bear.

  I pushed, gripping the arms of that birthing chair, and Eleanor held me up. It was as if we were one flesh, as if she gave me her strength to bear the agony. Her very presence reminded me that childbirth is a triumph, a field of war that men have no part in. Whenever I laughed, she laughed with me, her beautiful bronze hair falling from beneath her wimple, her emerald eyes on mine.

  The pains ran together, but always I felt my child moving toward me, a fish in a stream that would never run dry. This stream flowed beneath me, and through me, and was bringing my child to me.

  This stream crested, and my daughter came into the world. She slid out of me, into Eleanor’s waiting hands. My baby was very small and she was blue, except for where she was covered in my blood.

  Marie Helene washed me, and Amaria helped me to my bed. Eleanor brought my daughter to me, clean and dry, wrapped in one of the queen’s furs against the cold.

  “Here she is, Alais. What will you name your firstborn?”

  I saw my daughter’s face, her rosebud mouth and red-tinged hair that was so like Henry’s. “Rose,” I said. “For Our Lady.”

  “And for our garden,” Eleanor reminded me.

  When my baby lay in my arms, I was shocked to find her as light as down, as if she were not truly in the world at all. Rose was still blue, so I kissed her, and laid my mouth over hers, until her breath deepened and her color cleared.

  My daughter cried then as I held her close to my breast, soothing her. She was so small, smaller than any child I had ever seen. When she stopped crying, her eyes opened. She looked at me as if to say, “Finally. There you are.”

  I kissed her. I was sore, but my young body had been made for birthing. I felt elated, as if I had just conquered London single-handedly and handed the keys of the city to my father.

  “This is why men fight and kill,” I said. “So that they can feel like this.”


  Now I knew why I was not afraid of the future, though I had lost the favor of the king, though I would be cast aside, as my father once had been cast off by Eleanor. I got to have my child.

  My triumph did not linger, as nothing on this earth is meant to last. Eleanor saw before I did that my daughter had trouble breathing. Rose’s sighs rattled in her chest, so that Marie Helene had to turn away With tears on her checks, my waiting woman brought me the holy water that I kept on my prie-dieu.

  I sprinkled the water on my daughter’s head, bathing her in the salvation of God. “I baptize thee Rose, in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  I had spoken this last in Latin, and Marie Helene and Amaria crossed themselves. Eleanor simply reached out and caressed my baby’s head.

  “And my blessing do I give you, daughter of my daughter. May your spirit fly free and far, to the paradise your mother so fervently believes in.”

  Rose did not cry when the cold water touched her skin. She smiled at me, and at Eleanor, as if we knew a secret.

  For that day, it seemed that the world was not what I had thought it was. It was not a world that belonged to kings and princes, to queens and pawns.

  It was a world that belonged to God, but to a God nothing like the one I had known in my childhood. As I lay awash in this truth, I watched my little girl take her last breath, Eleanor’s hand in my hair.

  Chapter 31

  ELEANOR: ENDGAME

  Windsor Castle

  February 1173

  Alais had the strength of a lion. I had always known this, but I saw it clearly on the day her child died. My daughter stood strong in the face of the loss of Henry, and the loss of the Crown. I saw at once that such things were as nothing to her, compared to the love she bore her child.

  Alais came back to herself as she held her daughter in her arms. She did not weep when her child’s spirit flew, but dried her eyes on the fur the babe was wrapped in, as if my furs were made to dry her tears.