Canterbury Papers (20 page)

I was quiet for a moment. Before my inner eyes floated my father's face when last I had seen it. I was with Henry when the two kings had their final meeting in this life. My father's face was crumpled with the strain of age. He was strangely formal, as if my association with Henry had separated us in some unforgivable and final way.

I found myself staring out one of the openings in the wall, as if I could find answers in the air beyond. Dusk was approaching, and the rolling mists hid the spring-green valley below.

Isabelle's tone was honeyed as she continued. “Eleanor was expert at treason. John says the entire family was savage.”

I grew weary of this conversation and weary of Isabelle.

“I'm certain John thinks of his family as savage, with all the fighting among sons and father. But John participated fully and with less honor than any of them, switching sides at every opportunity. He was the best loved of his father.” I saw the image of Henry, old and ill and wounded, lying in a drafty castle in northern France. When he looked at the list of those against him, John's name was at the top. They said when he saw that, he turned his face to the wall and cried. “He broke his father's heart at the end.”

“You sound bitter. I thought you cared not for this family.” She had a needle in her, this English queen.

“I loved the old king,” I said, letting down my guard for one moment. “Despite everything. He died alone and friendless, Richard and Geoffrey and John victorious, his queen imprisoned. Only the old bastard son of his youth, Geoffrey, and William Marshal were with him at the end. Even the servants deserted, stripping his dead body and stealing his belongings before they ran off like rats to join his pursuers. A sad end for a great king.”

“If you cared for him so much, why weren't you there with him?”

“Because I was in England at the time, by the king's orders. I could help no one.” I touched the linen to my lips again to hide my emotion. “Now I find that I am very tired, and I would like to be alone.” I stood and brushed the crumbs that had gathered in my green wool lap. “Yes, Eleanor sent me to Canterbury. I owed her a favor from long ago, so I agreed to retrieve her letters. But as you know, I was not successful. I know nothing of any letters to my father and nothing on the whereabouts of the infant son of Henry and myself. I thought he was dead.”

I spoke to her over my shoulder. “Tell John that even the dreariness of my brother's court is preferable to the tower at Old Sarum. Tell him I would like a safe conduct and some servants to help me make my way back to Paris.” I walked across the room with some effort, catching the white stone wall with my hand at one point.

“I'll tell him,” she said rising, pulling her cloak about her. “I don't know if he'll believe me.”

“God's breath, why should he not?” My patience snapped. “All of these things happened years ago. They have nothing to do with me now. I can't see how John thinks I can harm him.”

“Alaïs.” Suddenly Isabelle was at my side in one quick move, her hand staying my arm. “There is another way you can help. And you should take it. If those letters to Louis are found, it will embarrass Eleanor more than I can say. It is your chance to get back at Eleanor for all she has done to you in life.”

I whirled on her. “Do not presume—”

“It is rumored you have the gift of second sight. Use it to help us find the missing youth.”

“How dare you ask me to use my powers for such a vain effort!” I jerked my arm from her grasp.

“The throne of England is at stake,” she persisted, like a dogged robin pulling at a worm in the ground. “You owe the Plantagenets something. They were your family. You could not want to see the throne of England pass from them.”

“To my son? The son of King Henry?”

“Your son is not the lawful king.”

Now it was my turn to lay a hand on her, and I did so with the iron strength of my good right hand. I held her wrist and twisted it quickly behind her with all the fear I felt within myself. She let out a sharp cry like a caught animal and then began to whimper, close to tears. I loosed the pressure on her arm slightly, keeping her wrist still enclosed with my fingers.

“Go back to John and give him this message: Not for you, not for him, not for the godforsaken Knights Templar, nor for anyone else in this wretched world would I ever give up my son.” I dropped her arm and watched her gather her cloak around her. She cast a baleful look in my direction, but my face was set in stone. I heard her footsteps on the stairwell grow faint.

She left me alone with one chilling thought. There was not much time. The wolves were closing in. I must find the child before they did. As always in a time of worry, my fingers crept to my throat to seek reassurance from my talisman. But my throat was bare. The pendant was gone. It had been stolen while I was groggy with the mandrake. And there was no doubt who had it now: Isabelle.

T
orn as I was between dread and anger, it was some time before the drugs finally overpowered me once more and I slept. Even then I drifted in and out, and when I woke finally, I was surprised to find that my head had cleared. Light from the rising moon filtered in and lay in careless ribbons across the floor. Most of the chamber rested in shadow, but I could make out the dim outlines of the writing desk and the chairs Isabelle and I had occupied. The fire had gone out completely. I wagered with myself there was no tray of food brought in as before. John and Isabelle were going to let me languish here as I had languished in Rouen. As if, somehow, I could be browbeaten into submission.

I thought of the jewel and how many people seemed intent on possessing it, and I still had no clues as to why. Then I remembered my discovery of the writing desk just before Isabelle's visit. I crept from the bed and began to make my way quietly across the room. Although I could hear no sound, I did not want to give the guards any signal that I was stirring.

I bumped into the chair and was able to drag it over to the writing desk. After I sat, I located the top of the desk, and opened it carefully. The room vacillated between light and dark as the moon played hide-and-seek through the narrow slits. I pulled out the drawer, as before, found the spring, and the side dropped. My fingertips explored carefully and finally located the rough edge of the parchment. The cache I had discovered appeared to be several flat papers stretched out under the thin piece of wood that separated the hidden part from the rest of the drawer.

They felt dry to my touch. It took some time to figure out how to retrieve them without damage. They seemed to be more fragile than parchment. Perhaps they were this new paper that had come from the south, made from wood pulp and not skins at all. When we were at Poitiers, Eleanor had been fascinated with the new paper, though she was able to obtain only a few sheets at a time from the queen of Navarre. I remembered that paper tore more easily than parchment and fingered these sheets carefully.

Someone had taken care that these papers would not be easily removed, even if the false drawer were discovered. Whoever had hidden them could not know the task would be made even more difficult because I could use only one hand. I worked my fingers gradually around the edges of the false bottom and discovered that the left side could be raised higher than the right, leaving a small opening through which I could slide the papers. With care I did so, using my left hand as a prop and extracting the layers one by one with my live hand. One, two, three, four—that seemed to be all. Then I felt a fifth and teased it out. I didn't want any of them to drift to the floor, to be discovered in the morning by whoever brought my food, if any should come.

A slight noise behind the wall that ran opposite the bed distracted me. By now the room was completely dark. The noise, at first like the sound of a small field animal, grew louder and more complex. As I watched with astonishment, the entire stone wall opposite the bed began to move. I hurriedly snapped up the false side of the desk, replaced the drawer, and managed to roll the letters. Stuffing them into the top of my gown, I moved away from the desk.

An entire section of the wall swung open, just missing the oak table by two feet. Lights glimmered in the cavity now yawning where the wall had been. Several men entered noiselessly, the lead carrying a torch. He swung it around the room until it discovered me, standing behind the chair Isabelle had occupied the night before.

“This must be the chamber,” said the last one to enter. “Desolate place this, with no fire on this bitter May evening. Ho!” He raised his voice slightly when he saw me. “Princess Alaïs. Is that yourself?”

“Yes, of course it is the Princess Alaïs. Who else would be here in the tower? King John?” Despite my pleasure at seeing someone who approached as a friend, I felt owlish with surprise. I began moving toward the arc of light cast by the torches. “The question is, who are
you?
And why are you here?”

“Earl Graham of Chester, Your Grace.” The flaxen-haired young man in front of me managed a bow, passing his torch to his short companion. Even in the dim light, I could see that his skin was as fair as his hair. But of course: The earls Chester came from the north, not yet much contaminated with dark-haired Normans' blood.

“I'm here in your service. That is to say, I've been sent to get you out of here.”

“Earl Chester. I thought you were older,” I said, squinting at him. A memory of the Earl of Chester from years earlier ran through my head. He was a bearded and bent, grayer version of the lad in front of me. Same large ears, same round, open blue eyes.

“You must remember my grandfather, Your Grace. He spoke to me often of meeting you when you were with King Henry.” The young man paused, then bowed again. “He said you were the fairest of all the young princesses.”

“Did he so? That must have sent Eleanor's daughters into a spin.” His words brought a smile despite my efforts to be stern. “What are you doing in this place? And with such an unorthodox entry.”

“Not so unorthodox, Your Grace. We came up through an old passage that hooks into the secret tunnel to the treasury. It's thought the wall was false from the time the tower was built, but no one knows for certain.”

“But how did you know about it?”

“Oh, we have many sources of information.”

“That's a comfort,” I replied, nettled. “What about the guards? Was there no danger of being seen?”

“King John always has a tendency to leave fewer guards than he needs. There are only four here, and they are occupied with a game of hazards in the vestibule of the postern tower. They won't trouble us. They seem to be well along in their ale cups.” He smiled briefly. “Nevertheless, we should not tarry. We must be on the road. There is always chance in these situations.”

“I'm ready,” I said, pulling my cloak quickly from the bed. I glanced at the leg wrappings and shift I had shed earlier, then stepped over them. “I came to this place with precious little, and I'm happy to leave with even less.” My hand brushed against the front of my gown where the papers crinkled, then around my bare throat. As an afterthought, I slung the small travel sack, still holding the chisel and my small Book of Psalms, over my shoulder.

“Then follow me.” His tone was commanding, I noted with amusement. “We'll go back down the passage through the treasury. It's a bit tricky out the other end, since there is no formal passage to the outside. We have to drop down a bit at the end.”

I grimaced. I could already hear my hip creak with the effort that would be required to make a jump to the ground. But I put a good face on it and followed the young earl down the steep passageway. His three knights, who had remained wordless, followed behind, pulling shut the piece of wall they had opened. I could see from this side that the wall door was plainly marked, although there was no evidence from the other side that a passage existed. I wondered if Henry had cut that door and built the passageway. If he did, it might have been to pay Eleanor private visits when she was here. I blinked at the thought. If that were true, it cast a whole new light on the relationship of their later years.

Moving down the small passage was not difficult, nor was the drop at the last, which was shorter than I had feared. The knights had pulled several large stones over to boost themselves up, and these had to be pulled back so that I would drop onto the softer ground.

Eight more men stood watch, several on horseback, and they moved with a collective rustle when we started dropping out of the passageway.

After I had landed and been helped to my feet, I was happily surprised to see Tom of Caedwyd and Roland and Étienne, who came immediately to my side. My men greeted me warmly, and Tom, looking somehow older than when we had parted at Canterbury, asked me if I were unharmed. When I reported that I was all right, they said no more.

“And Marcel?” I whispered as we made ready to mount.

“Dispatched back to Paris by Prior William when he heard about the abduction,” Tom said. “He sent word from London that one of us should return to the French court, to tell your brother what had befallen you … and all about the rescue plan,” he added hastily, no doubt in response to the alarm leaping to my face. The last thing I needed was Philippe tearing across the Channel to confront John over me. Then I heard what Tom had just said.

“Prior William.” In truth, I was as startled as I sounded. “God's bones, now I see. Prior William ordered you to Old Sarum.” Roland waited patiently at my horse's side, and I placed my foot in his hand.

The young earl, who was on his horse first after being the last one out of the chute, was having trouble controlling his feisty mount. But when he heard my words, he turned my way and said, “Of course. I thought you knew.”

With that, everyone mounted swiftly, and we were off without another word, while the guards in the postern tower on the other side of the keep apparently never looked up from their game of hazards. I had no idea of our destination. Under ordinary circumstances I would have demanded information before setting out. But no matter now: I had a good horse under me, and I believed I was among friends. And I was eager to show my back to Old Sarum.