The Queen's Pawn (15 page)
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 night. 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
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.
As if I had conjured him with my thoughts, I found Henry standing by the altar of the chapel when I rose from my prayers. He had come in silently, and alone. He must have sent Marie Helene away, for she was gone.
I reached for my father’s prayer beads, their smooth pearls calming me, their cold diamonds and amethysts reminding me of my father, and all the training of my childhood.
The king came no closer. Henry seemed almost handsome in the dark of that chapel, the dull light from the sconces catching the red of his hair. His eyes did not move from my face, except once, to take in my hair under its red veil, and my breasts beneath the red silk gown his wife had given me.
“Do they not miss you in the hall, my lord?” I asked, because I could not bear the silence.
A strange heat had begun to mount in my belly, and it grew as Henry’s eyes returned to my face. I strained my ears to listen for the sound of the priest in the sacristy. As I listened, I knew there was no one there.
“They miss me whenever I leave them, but like the sun, I always return.”
Henry did not move closer, nor did he touch me. There were still at least five feet between us, but I felt as if he had stepped toward me. I remembered how it felt to have his breath on my cheek.
“I hope some of your prayers were for me, Alais.”
My voice did not fail me, though it sounded strangled, not like my own smooth tones at all. “They were, my lord. And for the kingdom.”
Henry’s face softened when he heard my earnestness. I am sure that no matter how young he once was, he had never been earnest in his life. But my words must have reminded him of my youth, for the spell was broken as if it had never been. As Henry retreated behind the gray of his eyes, I wondered if I had imagined the connection between us.
“I will leave you,” he said. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”
I curtsied, my sore knees protesting, my voice still thick in my throat, as if I had swallowed honey “Good night, Your Majesty.”
Henry did not speak again, and left me as silently as he had come. I held my curtsy until he had gone, then stood once more as Marie Helene rushed back into the chapel.
“Are you well?” she asked, fear on her face.
I took her hand. I would never betray to her or anyone the way I was drawn to him, nor the power his gaze held over me. “Of course, I am well, Marie Helene. He is no ogre. He is only the king.”
She crossed herself. I took her arm and led her into the hallway. It was dark, the cold gray stone reflecting very little light from the torches that were lit here and there along the walls. I was not sure that I would be able to find my way back to our rooms.
“Do you know the way?” I asked.
Before she could answer, Richard stepped out of the shadows. My voice stopped in my throat. The sight of Richard standing near me, the blue of his eyes searching my face, reminded me that any idea of a connection with the king was foolish fancy. This man was my future.
“I will lead you,” Richard said. “Come this way”
We followed him in silence. It was not a long journey, for Richard knew a quicker way than I had taken earlier that evening. Marie Helene went into my rooms before me, to check the fires and to see that the bed was turned down. I stopped in my doorway.
“Thank you,” I said. “If you had not come, I would still be stumbling in the dark.”
“Alais, I am going to France tomorrow.”
“Yes,” I said. “I thought you had gone already.”
“I was delayed.”
“I am glad.”
He smiled then in spite of himself. He seemed to remember that I did not dissemble, nor did I lie.
“I will be gone for some time.”
“I hope that you will write to me,” I said.
“I will.”
Richard stood staring at me, as if trying to communicate without speech. I could not read his face.
“I will not be here to protect you,” he said.
I did not ask what he meant, for surely there was no danger for me in his father’s court.
“Take care,” he said, “while I am away.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
I stood in the dark hallway, the only light the fire from my room behind us. I looked into his eyes, but I could see nothing, for the shadows were long, and hid the blue of his gaze from me.
“I promise, Richard. I will be careful.” I raised my eyes to his. “Thank you for my song.”
He said nothing more, but only took my hand. I thought he would kiss the back of it, as he had done once before. Instead, he turned my hand over in his own large one, and kissed my palm.
The softness of his lips and the bristles of his beard made my breath come short. I waited for the hot warmth to pool in my stomach again, as it had done when Henry simply stood and looked at me. But it did not come.
He left me and I stood cradling the hand he had kissed. Marie Helene found me like that and brought me inside. She made me drink the warmed wine she had heated, and gave me a little cold meat and bread, for I had eaten little at dinner.
I lay in bed a long time without sleeping, while I tried to convince myself that the liquid heat Henry inspired in me was some strange alchemy that would have no power in the light of day. I drew my mind back to Richard, to the song he had sung for me, to his kindness. But as I slept, it was King Henry who came to me in my dreams.
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