The Queen's Pawn (6 page)

I would take action that day, moving finally in the direction I had planned months before. This move was risky, but risk was a part of the game of power, as was passion, and the ability to lead. These were all traits I excelled in; all reasons why Henry still loved me, in spite of himself. Though Henry was in Anjou, I would make my move in Winchester, and by sunset the next day, Henry would know of it.

I scratched at Alais’ door and came in without waiting for leave, followed by a retinue of ladies. Alais bowed, half-dressed in one of my own gowns, which I had sent to her so that she might wear it to meet my son. She had been looking out the window at the rose garden below, and the laces were still undone, dangling from her hand.

My women saw at once that I had lent the princess my favorite gown. I saw them take this in, exchanging glances. I thought for a moment that Angeline, the least discreet of my ladies, might even comment, but her sister Mathilde laid a hand on her arm in warning, and she said nothing.

I laughed to find Alais half-dressed, and reminded myself to send a woman to see to her needs. I moved across the room at once, and helped her lace her gown.

“Look, ladies, the flower of France has learned to dress herself among the sisters.”

I used my brittle, public voice, and Alais met my eyes. She smiled wryly, making sure that my women could not see her do it. I would have kissed her, but with half my court present, I simply tied up her gown.

The ladies laughed at my gibe even as I finished lacing her. Alais could not care less what my women thought of her.

“Well, Alais, I have good news. You will be fitted for new gowns, and the first just waits for the seamstress to take your measure. It will be ready tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I have even better news today.”

My ladies leaned in closer, though I still spoke in my public voice, which could have filled a room much larger than this one.

“This simple dress will have to do. Today Richard has come here to meet you.”

My women laughed again to hear me call my own gown simple. Just as I had known it would, its deep emerald green went well with Alais’ rich brown hair. I stepped back and took stock of her. Richard would no doubt be on his knees.

My ladies watched her, as if their eyes would drink her in. Alais stood as unruffled as a glassy lake, her calm rising from the depths of her soul. In the last day, I had realized that this calm did not come to her from Louis, or from me. I wondered who had given it to her. Perhaps it was her religion, or her mother, or something else altogether that I had yet to learn of. As well as I knew her, some facets of her heart were still a mystery to me.

She curtsied to me, her curls falling in a curtain to hide her face. “As you say, Your Majesty. I serve you in this, as in all things.”

I almost laughed out loud that she would take a servant’s tone with me. I would reprimand her later; I would remind her that whatever honor was due to me was due her as well. She was a princess of France.

“Very good,” I said. “I will tell Richard that you are eager to meet him. We will all come together in the solar in an hour, if that suits you.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

I saw only then that she was pale and frightened. I remembered that she had seen little of men in the nunnery I had sent her to. Only a few priests, and to call such milksops men was generous.

Beneath her fear, I saw her determination. Her strength would always outweigh her fear, and always conquer it. It had been many years since fear had touched my heart, but I remembered. I once had to face and conquer my fear, too.

If we had been alone, I would have said something to comfort her. But I had made the first meeting between the princess and my son a public matter, as it must be. I could show her no sympathy before my ladies. Always, especially in front of the court, I was queen.

 

 

My solar was full of women when Alais arrived, but none of them sewed or embroidered or gossiped, their usual pastimes in my keep. They watched the door, waiting for the princess. Richard stood beside me, fresh from the tiltyard, his chain mail visible beneath his tunic. I loved to see him dressed in armor, his red hair falling around his shoulders like a lion’s mane.

My son was fifteen summers old, and towered over me, as Henry had the day I met him. His eyes were the same bright blue my father’s had been, and they shone with love for me, just as my father’s always had. His shoulders were broad, and the planes of his cheekbones high in his face, cheekbones that were so like mine. Alais would be pleased with his beauty, I had no doubt.

His power rose off him in waves, waves held back by a wall of protocol and honor. As I watched him, he took in the room and all the women in it, looking for ways to defend it, or ways to conquer it. It was my solar, a room built for women taking their leisure in times of peace. But always, Richard’s mind was made for war.

Richard was like a lion in a room full of forbidden sheep, uncomfortable surrounded by so many women. I could see in his stance, in his utter stillness, that he would rather be anywhere but here. He would rather be outside in the fresh air, a man among men. The women’s solar was a place he came only out of love for me.

Alais stepped into my rooms with only the one woman I had given to attend her. She moved with grace, and curtsied to me as she always did, the smoothness of her motion belying any fear I had seen when we were in her rooms. Her eyes were downcast, hiding even her strength. Her hair fell in long curls to her waist against the deep green of my silk gown.

I saw her in that moment as a man would see her, a fresh young thing just out of the nunnery, ripe for whatever pleasures a man might devise. Her breasts rose with her breath beneath the borrowed silk. The skirt of my gown had been drawn up in a leather belt worked in gold, so that the emerald ribbons of her shift showed at her ankles. She smelled sweet, like spring rain. Her cheeks were fresh and smooth, and only faintly tinged with a blush of pink.

Richard stared at her as if he had never seen a woman before, and I was gratified. All my work in raising and sheltering her had come to this moment, when she faced my son, with my blessing.

“Richard, this is your bride-to-be, the lovely Alais, Countess of the Vexin, and Princess of France.”

Alais curtsied again, deeply, and Richard bowed back, courteous but distracted. As I watched, he tried to meet Alais’ eyes, but the princess was inscrutable—the sphinx all men adore, and thrill to possess. I had been one myself, once upon a time. As amusing as it was to remember, I drew my mind to the here and now, and the move I was about to make in my constant game against Henry.

“Alais, this is my son Richard, Prince of England and Duke of Aquitaine.”

My women gasped, and I felt Richard tense beside me. I had just announced that I was giving the duchy of the Aquitaine not to my eldest son, as Henry would wish, but to Richard.

Richard was shocked, but knew that Alais did not fully understand the significance of what I had just done. I saw that he thought only of the princess, of putting her at ease as best he could. He was a man of courtesy always, as I had raised him to be. His blue eyes met hers as he bowed once more. “It is my honor, Princess. Welcome to England.”

They smiled at each other, and it was as if the duchy of my fathers, the land my family had held unbroken for generations, was as nothing to Richard, and the princess, everything. Even while I understood why Richard had done it, jealousy rose in me, as green as the gown Alais wore. I fought it down, and almost won.

I waved my hand. “Thank you, Alais. That will be all.”

She curtsied to me, not offended that I had dismissed her like a servant. Her glacial calm was in place once more, but for her eyes. She drew her gaze from Richard’s reluctantly and moved to go, with her woman beside her.

At the door, Alais turned back. Richard still was watching her. The bitter taste of dread joined the sour tang of jealousy in my mouth. I was surprised to taste it.

I loved both my son and Alais. I wanted them to make a good match; with it, they would shore up my power. With the two of them holding the Vexin as a wedge between France and Normandy, and with Richard as duke in the Aquitaine, my position would be stronger, no matter what passed between myself and Henry in the future.

But something in their eyes gave me pause. More than that, something in their shared gaze frightened me, an emotion so alien to my being that I barely recognized it. But I saw that they looked at each other almost as Henry had once looked at me, the day we first met.

I raised one hand. My women retreated at once, closing the door behind them, shutting Alais out. My son and I were left alone.

“Richard.” My low voice caught his attention. I touched his arm, and drew him with me toward the window.

A light breeze moved my hair against my cheek. As I watched, Alais’ face faded from his mind, and he remembered. I had gifted him with the Aquitaine.

The Aquitaine and my father’s castle at Poitiers were the only true homes Richard had ever known. He had learned there at my side, through all the sunlit summers of his childhood, what it meant to be a man of war and of poetry combined. I had given him more than just a political gift when I handed him my father’s duchy, and he knew it.

“Mother, I am in your debt.”

Richard knelt to me there in the sunlight, as if swearing fealty. He kissed the emerald ring on my hand, as if I were his bishop. His hair was like burnished bronze, less red in that light, less like Henry’s, and more like mine. I wanted to kneel with him, to draw him to his feet, but I knew that I could not. Alais had made her impression; now I must make mine. I must bind him to me with yet another thread of gold.

I let him hold my hand in his great one. I raised the other, pressing my palm to his crown in blessing.

“Richard, rise. There is no need for such demonstrations between us.”

He stood, and drew me close. I allowed myself the weakness of leaning against him.

“I love you, Mother. And not for the Aquitaine.”

I turned from him, and drew my handkerchief from my sleeve. I pushed away all strong emotion, for it never served me.

In spite of my joy in giving the Aquitaine to my favorite son, I knew that the ceremony three years before that had acknowledged Richard as the future duke would not be enough. That treaty had been drawn between Henry and Louis of France, stating that Richard would one day be given the duchy of the Aquitaine. The same treaty arranged Richard’s betrothal, and brought Alais to me.

That agreement had been made and oaths sworn; three years later, Henry still held the land. I knew Henry thought to ignore the oath he had taken as if it had never been. He wanted to give our eldest, Henry the Younger, the Aquitaine as he had already given him Normandy. Louis of France was weak, and could do nothing to make the treaty hold, even though his daughter Alais stood to gain from it with her marriage to my son. Richard would have to take the Aquitaine now and hold it against his father.

“Even now, Richard, a rider has gone to Henry, who is with your brother Geoffrey in Anjou. The king will be at Windsor in less than two weeks’ time.”

“I know.”

“Henry will stop off to see Rosamund, that woman he values so highly.”

Blood rose in his face at the sound of our old enemy’s name. Not because she was the king’s mistress; it was Henry’s right to take lovers where he would. Richard hated that woman, as I did, because Henry loved her beyond all reason. She had taken what was mine, Henry’s genuine affection; he had never loved me the same way since he first laid eyes on her.

Richard did not spit, but I saw the desire to do so cross his face. This sign of spleen made me smile once more; it was yet another proof of my beloved son’s loyalty. All thought of Princess Alais was banished from the room.

“So we will have time to send word to Louis, and to make plans for your official investiture as duke in Aquitaine. A ceremony in Limoges to seal the beginning that we made three years ago.”

“The king will not be pleased.”

“No. Henry will be furious. You must be cautious. We will tell him simply that we thought it understood that once you were old enough to defend it, you would take your inheritance in hand. King Louis will agree with us, with his daughter promised to you, and your father will be forced to concede.”

Henry had never made a concession in his life, which was why he was still king. My son knew this, as well as I.

“Or he will not,” Richard said.

I smiled my cat smile, relishing the thought of combat with Henry on open ground.

Henry and I had been separated for years, ever since he had first taken Rosamund to his bed. We had met a few times for politics’ sake, and for some holy days, but even at those times, Henry had not shared my bed. He had taken many women over the last few years, but he had loved only her. The thought of that woman still rankled, even now. I set it aside. I would forget her, and deal only with Henry.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, you will make ready to leave for the Aquitaine in two days’ time. I have already sent word to the bishop in Limoges. He will be ready to receive you.”

I knew that, in this, Richard would obey me. He would go to my holdings in the south and swear the final oath making him duke, with Louis of France as his witness. Once he had taken possession of the Aquitaine, even Henry would not be strong enough to wrest it from him.

I stepped close to my son and laid my hand against his cheek. My confidence drew him to me and held him, as it always did, as it had always done, no matter who else was in the room.

“Trust to me, Richard. I have all in hand.”