The Queen's Pawn (21 page)

I knew that fire well. I felt it for Henry. I had done everything I could to drown that fire within me, to quench it, to put it out. I had risked everything by writing to my father, to make our marriage come about, so that I might turn my back on my desire for Henry for the rest of my life. And now I saw that lust reflected on Richard’s face, and the look of desire he wore was not for me.

I did not think, but went at once to Eleanor. I stood in the doorway to the queen’s antechamber in full view of her ladies, the horror of what I had seen on my face. The thought that Richard would make love to another woman after kneeling and swearing fealty to me was almost my undoing.

Eleanor’s hand was on my arm, her strength flowing into me.

“Alais, come inside. Sit with me. You look ill.”

She sent her women away, and brought me to a chair. Mathilde and Angeline laughed at my distress behind their hands, but I did not heed them. If I had not known better, I would have thought that they knew Richard had a lover, and that they mocked me for a fool. I felt like a fool as pain rose in me, taking my breath. How could he have sworn love for me in that garden, and turned to another woman not even two hours later?

I sat down in the chair Eleanor offered me, the strength of my legs draining away. I thought of the look on Richard’s face as he bent to kiss the woman I had thought of as my friend. Tears rose in my eyes, a scalding heat that burned my throat. I prayed to the Virgin for strength, that I might not shed them there in front of Eleanor.

Eleanor poured wine for me herself, though Amaria stood by In the next moment, a look passed between them, as if they had stood in that corridor with me, and had seen what I had seen. I saw the worldly knowledge in both their eyes as Amaria withdrew.

Richard loved another. And Eleanor knew it.

 

 

Alais rushed into my antechamber from the outer hallway as if the devil himself were on her heels. I knew then that she must have seen my son with his lover. The niche in the outer hallway was a favorite of Richard’s trysting places, as it was for half the court. Even Alais had known of this niche, though she had never used it herself. No, she took her ease with my husband by the riverside, in full view of his men.

Alais froze in my doorway, as a rabbit does before it runs. She, too, would run from her pain, but it would catch her in the end. Better to face it, and know herself. Men brought pain as the spring brought rain, my son included.

I remembered the day I had known that even Henry would stray from me. I had absorbed my pain, and lived with it, but in those days Henry had known me well, and had seen the pain on me as he would have seen a bruise. I covered it from others, but then I could hide nothing from him.

“Would you rather return to Louis?” he asked me. “He would never take a lover.”

“No,” I said. “He never did.”

“And yet you chose me,” Henry said.

I had seen my choice, and knew what path I would take. I reached for Henry’s hand, and drew him with me onto my bed of furs.

“I choose you,” I said.

I took Alais’ arm and she followed me, away from the sight of Richard hiding from the rest of the world with another woman. Alais sat in the chair I offered her, her face as pale as I had ever seen it. Her eyes were vacant, lost, and I knew that I would have to take her in hand. If she thought to marry among my men, she had better learn to take what comes.

“Alais,” I said, “you saw something you did not like.”

“Richard,” she said. She closed her mouth and did not speak again.

I sat beside her and waited, sipping my own wine.

She did not drink her wine, but held the golden goblet between her hands, as if it were the last connection she had to earth. I took it from her and set it on my table. I drew my chair close to her, and took her hand.

“You saw Richard with my woman Margaret.”

She met my eyes, and I saw that she was older than she looked. She understood me.

“You knew.” she said. “You’ve always known.”

“Alais, if you mean that I knew my son took women to his bed, you are correct.”

I let her take this information in. She sat once more in silence, her great brown eyes wounded as they had been on the day I took her hunting, and that bird had bled out its life on Richard’s glove. Fury rose in me, that she would be so weak. I had trained her to see the world as it was. I blamed the Church and all its teachings for this.

“Did you truly expect fidelity, Alais? Richard is a good man, the best man I have ever known. But what is true of all men is true even of my favorite son.”

I sat back against the cushions of my chair and watched her, my anger behind my teeth.

I saw the political value of all this. I think I saw it first, as I see everything, as a tool to be used to shore up my power. This pain of Alais’ could be used as a wedge. I might drive it between them, if I had the need. I might support their marriage while keeping them apart, separate from each other in any real sense, and both dependent on me.

I saw this, as I would see the next move laid out on my chess table before I lifted my chosen pawn. I felt my heart twist within me. I wanted Alais to be stronger than that. I wanted her to let it go, to become the kind of woman I had always been. The woman I had been since the age of fifteen, when I had looked in Louis’ eyes and known that my husband loved me, and I did not love him.

She would join me in the here and now. I would see to it that she chose to live in the world. She was my daughter in truth, and I would prove it, both to her and to myself.

I spoke harshly to her, more harshly than I had ever spoken to her in my life. I watched as tears sprang into her eyes. She drew her handkerchief from her sleeve, the one that bore my crest. She wept openly, but I did not hold back. I loved her, but I loved Richard, too.

“All men take lovers. No man, save your sainted father, lives without whores. And Louis would barely rouse himself to sleep with me, his lawful wife.”

Alais stood when I said that; fury blazed in her eyes, burning up her tears. For a moment I thought she would cast my wine in my face. But she was my daughter. She stepped back from me, her control fleeting but steady. Her goblet of wine stayed where it was.

“It means little to you who sleeps with my son,” I said.

I stood to face her. She was a little taller than she had been a few months ago. She had grown since I had brought her out of the nunnery. She could almost meet my eyes without raising her chin. For some reason, this filled me with pride, even as I fought down my rage.

“Whether Richard sleeps with men or women or dogs, it can mean nothing to you. You will be his wife. You will bear his children, and give him an heir. You will reign as the Duchess of Aquitaine at his side. Your alliance is a political one. Alais, you have given your life to it. You knew that already.”

“He said he loved only me.”

Her tears were dry then, and my fury drained away, as water from a broken jar. I wanted to reach for her, but knew it was too soon. I held back, and watched her as she wiped the salt from her cheeks, and carefully folded the handkerchief I had given her, placing it once more in her sleeve. I watched her gain control of herself, her passion spent, her inner fire banked.

My heart surged within me, with pride and pain: pride that she was after all as strong as I had ever known her to be, and pain that she suffered so, as all women suffer, and I could do nothing.

We all must walk this path. Sooner or later all women must learn their place in the world of men. Only then can that place be remade, to suit ourselves. But we must first see the world as it is.

“Richard does love you, Alais. More than I have ever seen him love another, more than any woman that he has ever hoped to take into his bed. But Richard is still a man. Men are what they are. Even my son. You must learn to live in the world.”

She met my eyes, and I thought for a moment that she would be reconciled, that she would sit with me and drink my wine, that she would let me hold her hand. But she did none of these things.

Instead, Alais walked to the outer door. I thought she might leave me in silence, without a curtsy, without being dismissed. But she turned back and looked at me, and I saw once more how truly young she was.

“I will not live in that world,” she said. And then she was gone, my door left standing open behind her.

I did not move, but let my ladies come to me, surrounding me as an incoming tide. They brought chatter and fresh fruit. Amaria took my arm and led me back to my chair. Only when I saw her face did I know that my wound showed on mine.

I smiled then, and laughed, and called for more wine. Bertrand came in and played for us without being asked, and Angeline and Mathilde got up to dance. I saw that my women meant to distract me; they knew something had passed between me and my favorite. As I watched, I saw that they did not know what. We had remembered ourselves that far, at least. We had kept our voices down, knowing always that the walls of every castle have ears.

 

 

Marie Helene helped me dress for dinner in the hall. I did not speak, but she saw my face, and the pain there. She was kind enough to say nothing, but laced my gown in silence.

The door was always open, but this day Bijou did not try to flee as she had always done before. Her desire to explore the smells of Henry’s castle was overwhelmed by the need to stay by me. She sat on her cushion and stared up at me as I dressed. She seemed to sense my sorrow, as dogs and children can. Bijou came to me, and licked my hand, not for her comfort, but for mine.

I wore cloth of gold, heavily embroidered, the most elaborate dress I had been given since being brought out of the nunnery. The gown had been very fine fresh from the seamstress’ hand, but Marie Helene had a talent with a needle. She had added to the sleeves in gold thread an embroidered crest, twining my father’s fleur-de-lys with the lion of Richard’s house. I looked down at those sleeves that had given me so much pleasure. I thought to wear a different dress, but I remembered Eleanor’s eyes, and how she challenged me to be the woman she had raised me to be. I swallowed my pride, and left the gown on.

I remembered how proud I had been of that gown when Marie Helene first showed it to me, and how I had looked forward to wearing it. Now that joy was ashes in my mouth.

Marie Helene placed the filet Eleanor had given me over my hair. Tonight my veil was a light gold. The fleurs-de-lys of my childhood blessed my temple where they lay on my brow, and gleamed on my finger where Eleanor’s ring winked at me in the firelight. I raised my hand and crossed myself, though I had not been at prayer.

Marie Helene repeated my gesture before she followed me from the room, down into Eleanor’s hall.

 

I did not see Richard when I came into the great hall, though I looked for him. Eleanor caught my eye and smiled, gesturing that I was to join her at the high table. If she saw the embroidery on my sleeve, she did not speak of it.

“Alais, what a pretty gown. You will outshine us all.��

She met my eyes as if our earlier conversation had never happened, as if I had not stormed out of her rooms without her leave less than two hours before. Instead of stoking the fire of my anger, her calm regard gave me strength. As always, the presence of Eleanor reminded me of who I was.

My courtier’s tongue loosened as it rarely did, and I spoke without thinking. “That would be impossible, Your Majesty, as long as you are in the room.”

I coupled those words with a pretty curtsy. Eleanor laughed and clapped, admiration in her eyes. No doubt she thought I had given in to her point of view, that I would lie back and let Richard take any lover he pleased. I, of course, knew otherwise.

“Well said, Princess, well said. Come and sit by me, and tell me more of my beauty.”

I sat beside her at once, and Marie Helene took a chair farther down the table, her worried gaze never leaving my face. I turned from her to the queen, wondering what I might say. I had never before spoken lies to Eleanor. In the end, I found that I could not. Between us, there had always been truth.

“My father loved you.” I met the queen’s eyes to show her I was no coward.

She faced my gaze, all traces of her smile gone. Eleanor watched me as I had once seen a man eye another over a shield at a tournament, gauging his opponent’s strengths, and where he might strike first.

It was the first time she looked at me that way, her calculation naked and open before me. I did not flinch from her, as a lesser woman might have done. However foolhardy my words had been, I meant what I said.

“Your father spoke of me to you, did he? Did he tell you of my fine eyes?”

“No, Your Grace. He never spoke of you. He rarely speaks at all, as you know. But once, someone else said your name, and his eyes filled with tears.”

Eleanor scoffed, waving one hand. Her footman moved to fill the queen’s glass, and barely dodged out of the way in time to avoid having her select wine spilled across the table. “They were tears of horror, I assure you. Louis bears no love for me, nor I for him.”

“I know you don’t love him,” I said.

She stared at me, her gaze sharp pointed knives, though she smiled. “And how do you know this? Do you claim to know the secrets of the hearts of all women, or only mine?”

“I do not presume to speak of secrets, Majesty. I know none. But if you had loved him, whatever came, you would never have left him.”

Eleanor pushed herself back against the cushions of her chair, pinned by my words as I uttered them.