The Queen's Pawn (17 page)

Whatever her feelings were, she would follow my guidance in this as all else. I would watch over her fascination with the king, to make sure it did not become overblown, and confuse her wits. We had come too far with her marriage to my son to turn back now over some benighted folly.

Alais sang for me at my request, so that I could watch her face without encumbrances, so that I could think. She sang a sweet song of spring, of a girl whose love has gone away. I know she thought of Richard as she sang it, for her face took on a softer look, the kind of look she got when caressing Bijou.

I saw then that I could cast the die either way. If Henry continued to support the alliance with France, and allow Richard and Alais to marry, I would gain power in the Aquitaine and the Vexin both. But if Henry turned his eye on Alais, with a covetousness I knew he possessed, I could secure Richard against his father for all time. If such a thing was to happen, there was nothing I could not persuade Richard to do.

My mother’s instincts rebelled in horror at this idea. But if I ever thought that Richard looked to attach himself to Alais above all others, even me, then it was an option I would have to consider, and carefully.

Alais fell silent, her song finished. There was a long moment of quiet, when she looked at me. I feared that she read my eyes, and the evil thoughts that lurked behind them. I loved this girl, more than my own daughters, more than anyone but my son. But I knew that if need be, I would betray her. I had been a politician longer than I had loved anyone. Self-knowledge was a hard thing, but I could bear it. Self-knowledge and the strength to bear it had made me queen, not once, but twice.

I reached for her and drew her to me. Alais set her dog down and came into my arms as sweetly as she ever had, as if she had never cast a lustful eye at my husband, as if she had never threatened to take my favorite son from me. I had no god to pray to, but I prayed anyway I begged a god I knew did not exist to shield this girl in the days to come, to harbor her, even from me.

 

In the great hall that night, I made certain that Alais was seated next to me, at my very trencher. No one else shared it, and in this I showed her such high favor that it was remarked on. No one had ever shared my trencher at Windsor but Richard. My food had all been tasted beforehand, and Alais shared the wine from my own silver goblet.

Henry raised his glass to me in greeting, but his glance was cool, the look he might have given anyone, with no calculation behind it. He turned at once to the man beside him and spoke of the kingdom’s business, as if Alais and I were both forgotten.

Alais was disappointed that the King of England did not drop all he was doing and welcome her. I laid my hand over hers.

“Try this mutton,” I said. “It is very tender.”

I spent the entire meal speaking to Alais, often feeding her from my own hand. Before long, she was smiling once more, Henry forgotten. She even lowered her voice and made a joke about one woman’s ill-fitting wimple, and I laughed, so long and low that even Henry turned to look at me. Alais did not notice him then, and I thought perhaps my work was done. She could not allow herself to be distracted by the king. She had my son to think of, at least until I decided otherwise.

The whole court noticed the favor I granted her, and smiled on her with more warmth than they had before. Though Windsor held plenty of my enemies, I had friends there, too.

As soon as the dancing started, I beckoned a young man to my side. I think Alais assumed that I would dance with him. I hid my smile, and laid her hand in his. Alais met my eyes, startled, and I winked at her.

“It is time you danced at Windsor, Alais, as you did at Winchester. You must dance, and be joyful, while you are young.” I lowered my voice. “Richard will be back in a month. Until then, we must make merry where we can, must we not?”

Alais smiled at me, and it was as if the sun had come out in that dark hall. I simply smiled back at her, and let her go.

The boy I had called over bowed graciously and led Alais onto the dance floor, any thought of another partner forgotten in his duty to the queen. I watched Henry; his earlier indifference was feigned. His gaze never left Alais as the boy I had chosen led her in a reel, hand to hand, spinning slowly on the floor below the dais. I raised my goblet so that he could not see my eyes.

Alais wore her emerald gown that night, cut from the same bolt of silk as my favorite gown. I was dressed in cloth of gold, the only green on my person the emeralds on my fingers, and my eyes. Emerald was a color that suited Alais well.

It seemed Henry noticed, too, for he did not turn from her for even a moment. I had seen that look in his eye many times before, for the first time when it was turned on me.

He did not move on her at once as I thought he might, but bided his time. He watched as one man after another led her out onto the floor. Before accepting the hand of each one, Alais would look to me. I would nod my permission, and smile if the man was particularly good-looking, keeping my face smooth of care, my hand light on the goblet of my wine.

I listened to the jokes and gossip at the table around me, and laughed whenever it was appropriate, letting the music of my laughter compete with the music of the tabor, the lute, and the fife. Henry did not hear me. He had eyes only for her.

It was almost an hour before he rose and left the table, when the man who was speaking to him was in the middle of a sentence. A song had just ended, and before Alais could take the hand of yet another young man, Henry stepped between them.

Alais moved to one side deftly, almost as if her step was unplanned, and she was simply taken aback at the honor of the king’s presence. But she had her wits about her. She looked to me, as if I had the power to deny Henry, even on the dance floor. My smile widened, and I nodded. Her face lit with relief, and she accepted Henry’s hand.

I wondered if, at my prompting, she might have refused the King of England a dance in his own hall. She turned to me without thinking, without hesitation, as if either she or I had a choice. Her courage warmed my heart, as did her arrogance.

Alais and Henry moved together, the rest of the court forgotten. They stepped forward, then back, weaving in and out among the other couples as if Alais was the prey and Henry, the hunter. Henry was graceful, his movements measured and stately. Like a lion, he matched her pace at every turn, watching not for signs of weakness but for signs of strength. Alais stared back at him, the only woman in the room who could have held his eyes in such a moment, save one.

He seemed to find pleasure in her grace, for his gaze never left her, even when they were separated by the movements of the dance. I saw the fire that drew Henry to her, the same fire that had called to me when she first came from France so long ago. Alais’ fire was banked, but it burned strong, and warmed all who came near it.

When the dance ended, they stood close, her hand in his. Henry seemed in no hurry to release her. Alais was first to remember where they were, and who.

She turned to the high table, trying to find me. Henry stepped between us, blocking me from her sight. He brought her hand close to his chest, as if he had no intention of releasing her. A spark of fire arced between them. It did not begin with him.

Henry smiled, his long, slow smile, the smile he had not turned on me since he left my bed. He bowed over her hand, and let her go.

She curtsied low. When she rose again, Henry was gone. He left the hall quickly, as if he wanted to carry the sight and smell of her with him, the touch of her hand in his. I knew he went to his mistress. Alais had forgotten the girl’s existence in the heat that had risen between them. No doubt, that night when my husband took the girl from Anjou, he thought of Alais.

She met my eyes across the crowded hall. Everyone was pretending that they had not seen the exchange between her and the king, as if they were not speculating whether he would make her his mistress, and when.

For once with Alais, I revealed nothing of my thoughts. My face was as smooth and seamless as the silk I wore. In one graceful motion, I raised my glass to her.

She curtsied but did not come back to sit with me at my empty trencher. She left the hall, her lady-in-waiting trailing behind her.

I stayed another hour, and called for a song to go with the dancing. I laughed, and ordered more wine brought. I even took the floor myself, when a handsome young man bade me. I had learned years ago, before I ever went to Louis’ court in Paris, how to make merry in adversity, how to hide my thoughts and feelings while in company, even from myself.

 

 

“My lady, you are called to go on a hunt.”

I sat in the simples garden, doing my embroidery. It was the only place where the ladies of the court would not follow me. The kitchen servants knew me by then, and paid me no heed, thinking me odd. Knowing that I was in high favor with both the king and the queen, they did not turn me away.

A month had passed since Richard left for the Aquitaine. After our dance in the great hall, I had not seen the king alone again. My fascination with him lingered even after I confessed the sin of it, and was shriven. I had confessed the sin only once, but the memory of it stayed with me, though Henry had not so much as looked at me in almost four weeks.

I had spent the time dancing with young men the queen chose for me, and improving my embroidery among her women, though I would never show as fair a hand at it as Marie Helene. I sat for long afternoons with Eleanor when she could spare the time away from her ladies and away from the court.

I would read to her, not from the Bible, but from old Roman texts that she drew out of her trunks, left over from her travels in the Holy Land with my father. We never spoke of my father, that old tie between us, but it gave me comfort to read those books aloud, as odd as they were, and to know that, once, my father had read them, too. They were pagan texts, every one of them, so I could not believe that he had ever liked them. I imagined that he had read them aloud, as I did now, for Eleanor’s sake.

On this afternoon, the queen was out riding. She let me stay behind, as she knew I hated hunting with falcons. She had been very kind to me in the last weeks, since the king’s interest in me had faded. She said nothing more of our conversation about Henry and his mistress. Whenever she saw Bijou, she greeted her kindly, as if my dog had no connection to the king at all.

When I confessed my interest in the king, the priest dismissed my fear of sin, though he had absolved me and given me penance for it. He said that it was natural I should feel awe in the royal presence, and that not all thoughts of admiration were impure. I tried to comfort myself with this, but I knew the priest was wrong. I was thinking of Henry as I sat in the simples garden, my embroidery forgotten on my lap, Bijou asleep at my feet.

“A hunt?” I asked. The sound of my voice woke my little dog. She leaped up against my knees and scrambled frantically to reach me. I hoisted Bijou onto my lap, where she began to gnaw on my embroidery frame.

I gave her a strip of leather that had once been my shoe, and put the embroidery out of her reach.

“The king’s hunt, my lady.”

“It seems rather late in the day to start a hunt, Marie Helene.”

“I know that, Your Highness, but nevertheless, you are sent for.”

I dreaded such hunts and avoided them when I could. I could still see the dove’s bloody, beating heart in Richard’s gloved hand as he reached up to offer it to his hawk.

I had never been called on to hunt in the king’s party. The thought of Henry sent a frisson of joy down my spine, but I knew that such joy was foolish.

“Do I have time to dress?”

I kept my voice even, as if I had no thought for Henry at all. Marie Helene met my eyes. I could not tell if she believed my indifference.

“No, my lady. You must go as you are.” Marie Helene took up my things and placed them in their velvet bag. Bijou scrambled from my embrace into my waiting woman’s arms.

I ran my hand over the red silk of my gown. “Well,” I said, “I hope I keep to my horse.”

“Be careful, my lady.”

She did not mean to warn me of my bad riding, but of other dangers. I chose to not acknowledge her fears, or my own desires.

“Do not fear for me. I will not fall.”

No other ladies waited for me in the stable, nor gentlemen, either. Henry was nowhere to be seen; only a groom stood by to help me onto my horse.

Sampson had been saddled for me. He seemed to remember me from the time before, for he whinnied when I came near. I rubbed his nose before the groom put me on his back. I struggled a moment with my skirts, for I was not used to riding. I had always traveled by litter before coming to this court.