The Rebel Princess (4 page)

“You did not say!” I burst out. “Why did you not tell me William would be meeting you? I would have come!”

“I did not wish to raise your hopes. Until the very last, he was not certain he could be in Blois in time for the conference.” The king paused and cast a look upward at me. “It was William’s request that I meet with Raymond in Blois. And his direction that I not tell you the purpose of my journey. You must ask him why.” He spoke with finality, as if disposing of a troublesome diplomatic situation by delegating responsibility to someone else, which of course he was.

When he turned to make his way down the remaining steps, I was grateful that my brother could not see the dismay that spread over my face at his words and guess at my deep consternation. It was not William’s habit to keep secrets from me, and that alone was disquieting. It seemed our relationship was changing, that the distance between us in miles was reflected in our spirits. How would this affect my son, who was so attached to William?

We fell silent for a few moments, though the echo of our voices continued to bounce off the rocks of the tower stairwell. Each of us was occupied with our own thoughts.

At last we reached the bottom of the winding stairs, and the broad white-stone expanse that led to the oak doors of the Great Hall. The porticos were empty now, except for the occasional page leaning over the balustrade to watch the melee in the courtyard below. To one side we could see what appeared to be the entire palace population milling about in the courtyard below us, noisy with the preparations and excitement of welcoming the grand train of visitors.

We stood in front of two arched openings in the wall facing the west, and I saw that the sun was racing toward the horizon. The busy courtyard below would soon lie in shadows, perhaps even before William’s party arrived. Philippe put his hands on my shoulders and
turned me to him.

“It was William who told me about the treachery in my own court. When we met at Blois, we had private conversation, as well. He had information from the Templar network that John knows every move my armies make in advance. John’s captain recently set up an ambush west of the Vexin that lost me threescore men, key archers from the Berry region.” Philippe ran his hand through his black hair, a habit of distress since he was a child. “The devil of it is, I am not certain who is involved in leaking this information, nor how widespread this treason is among my courtiers.”

Before I could reply, my brother moved closer to me. He looked around before speaking. “Have you thought further on our conversation of mid-week? About Constance? What is your plan?”

I looked past his shoulder, speaking in a low voice to match his. “I am waiting for the right time to speak with her. I have not seen her in these days, and I did not want to seek her out.” I could feel his breath falling on my cheek in measured waves as he leaned closer, now his voice nearly a whisper.

“There will no doubt be opportunity enough in the next days. Two state dinners, a tourney, important guests.” He gripped my shoulder. “She has to appear sometime!”

It was not a request, it was a command. “Yes, you are right,” I said. “These days will provide the opportunity.” Then, just as suddenly, his mood changed.

As he released my shoulder, he gently tapped my chin with his knuckle, in a teasing gesture only a brother would make. “Meanwhile, you will want to prepare yourself for William. If we tarry here in the corridor our guests are in danger of descending upon us as we are. They are nearly at our gates as we stand here chattering.”

After a swift touch of his cheek to both of mine, a gesture he rarely made, we turned in opposite directions. In truth I was eager to ready myself for William’s arrival, feeling suddenly disheveled and un-
washed. But I was not ten steps away when Philippe called out to me. I retraced my path.

“Sister,” he said, his voice dropping as he looked around for listening ears. “Study our monastic guests well tonight. I shall be keenly interested in your observations.”

I nodded, puzzled. What was I to watch for? But he was already off and I was left frowning. Then I thought, with some humor, that my brother was only instructing me to do what I had planned already. He had no idea how interested I was in our monastic guests.

I paused, with my hand on the balustrade, and looked out over the stone to the courtyard below. Suddenly, the import of this event, the arrival of my beloved William and my son Francis, came home to me. At Christmastide William had agreed that I could at last inform Francis of his lineage: that he was my own son, and that his father had been the great Henry, King of England. The first Plantagenet king. William had insisted I hold off the telling because of the unstable political situation, but promised the time would be right when next he came. Then Francis would know the entire story and we would be mother and son to all at last.

The shouts of welcome in the courtyard below grew more raucous as the first horsemen rode through the open gates. Suddenly my feet grew wings and I could feel my heart lightening, despite the somber conversations with my brother and Joanna’s cryptic note. William, home at last! And Francis with him.

P
ARIS

I
arrived breathless at my chambers to find my maids gone, lured by the excitement in the courtyard. Fortunately they had heated the water for my bath in the large wooden tub near the fire. Glad was I to have trained them always to help me bathe before any public court appearance. I slipped into the still-warm water with gratitude.

The softness of my own apartments welcomed me. Here the tapestries were of animals and forests, but with references to peace and tranquility, not the hunting motifs my brother adored. The quiet blues and greens of the Toulouse tapestry-makers were soothing as I settled in the bath and contemplated the birds and flowers in the wall hanging before me. I could hear the fire crackling in the hearth as I laid my head on the cushion at the rim of the wooden tub, grateful for the moment of warmth and serenity. My irritation that William had not come
to me for these long months was receding. I remembered only that I loved him once, and loved him still.

I was sinking into a reverie of William and me lying together in a sun-washed grain field outside of Poitiers when I heard a commotion in the hallway. Alarmed, since my wing of the castle was out of the way of common traffic, I reached for the robe that had carelessly been flung over a stool near the bath. Before I could do more, the door burst inward and William himself stood framed in the opening.

“Woman, where do you dally?” came the bellow of an army captain. “Is this the welcome I get after being away for three entire seasons?”

“William!” I shrieked. “The door!” Several curious male servants crowded behind him, but they quickly fell back just before he kicked the heavy oak shut with his heel. “Have you brought Francis back to me?” I called out as he came toward me.

“You know I have, love. I made that promise.”

I shot from the water without another thought and threw myself into his arms, whereupon he shouted with feigned annoyance, “Wife, you are soaking wet and stark naked. Is that the proper way to greet a dusty, tired, ravenous knight, who has been away chasing dragons for months?” He swept me up and carried me to the bed, providing his own laughing answer. “Yes, it is the proper way, and you, as only you would, knew that truth.” Tossing me on the bed, he stripped off his own doublet and hose with expert speed. Soon he was on me, and dust and water, fatigue and desire, mingled as we had our fill of one another like wild animals caged too long. All my choler against him for his long absence disappeared in the magic of his presence and his touch.

Afterward we lay facing each other, covered against the chilling evening air. I traced the deep lines that ran down each side of his face, from inner eye to the edges of his smile, thinking them the very illustration of his intense zest for life. Then he followed the outline of my
cheek with the back of his finger and said: “Sweeting, I missed this face every hour that I have been away. These green eyes, like cat’s eyes,” and he touched gently the outer corners of each eye with his finger, “this full mouth,” and he bent to kiss it softly, “and the billows of this dark hair which I dreamed of winding around my hands.”

“And I, too, recalled your face and drew it with my charcoal more times than I can count.” I stroked William’s dark, iron-laced hair that swept back from his brow, well behaved even now, after all his exertions. It never fell in an undisciplined way over his forehead as did Philippe’s. Now his cool, piercing eyes seemed to search out my soul and I felt that, indeed, he looked there for the mirror of his own.

“When I am in the south, everywhere I see men and women with your bronzed skin, and they make me ache for the sight of you.”

“Ah, so you like those southern women!” I laughed.

He drew me to him gently, his hand behind my head. “Only your beauty moves me now, my love, none other,” he said, loosening my hair and ruffling it as if I were a child. “But because King Louis took a bride from Hispania, and they had a daughter with bronze skin like her mother, when I am in the south I am ever reminded of you.”

We both were silent for a moment. I thought on the dark-skinned princess, the mother I never knew. How strange that I carried her with me in my coloring, my black hair, perhaps my very soul.

He lifted my withered left hand and kissed it, a veneration as if it were the relic bone of some saint. It never failed to touch me, this warrior’s gentling of my hand that had no feeling of its own. Only with William could I let it be as it was, feeling no shame or anger when he touched it, though it lay in his palm more like a claw than a hand.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said in a quiet voice.

“I could wish for no other surprise than yourself and my son,” I said.

“No, no, you will not say so when you hear.” Now he pushed himself into a seated position, looking down at me with a warm smile.
“Francis has been knighted. By no less a personage than your brother, King Philippe, when we met with Raymond in Blois not a month past.”

I scrambled to sit up next to him, surprised and delighted. “William, why did you not tell me immediately? How wonderful. The king did not say a word to me about Francis.”

William shrugged. “Why would he? He knows of no connection between you and the lad. To Philippe, Francis is simply my former clerk, my squire. Because I made that vow to you at Christmastide to keep him safe, I had Francis always at my side.” He chuckled for a moment. “Philippe must think Francis is my natural son, the way I never let him out of my sight.”

I clasped my hands around my knees and shifted to watch his expression. The torches on the wall behind the bed illuminated my own features but cast his somewhat in the shadow. “William, I am so proud of Francis. Now that you have returned, we can tell him he is my son. I can scarce wait to see how he accepts the news. I am so fond of him. And I would love to have my brother know this fine young man for one of his own family!”

His face turned slightly away. I regarded him as he sat upright against the pillows. I could not read his feelings, but the brief hesitation before he spoke told me everything. My joy dimmed, like a candle flickering in a draft.

“Princesse,” he began, and his use of my title brought on a feeling of foreboding. This was to be an official speech, not an exchange between lovers. “There have been some new developments since last I saw you. I do not believe it safe yet to tell Francis of his heritage.”

“But you promised at Twelfth Night, before you left…” I could hear the whining child begging to surface in my voice. I pressed it down.

“I know, I know,” he said, casting aside the linen sheets and furs and making ready to leave the bed, which movement also conveniently allowed him to turn his back to me. But I caught his arm and pulled
it with all my strength. He was forced to turn and face me, half out of the bed though he was.

“Hold, Lord William,” I said strongly, mimicking his formality by using his title. “Stay and explain what has caused you to change your course of action. I shall not be put off on the matter, sir.”

“All right.” He sighed mightily, resettling himself with an air of resignation. Now I edged around in front of him, sitting with my legs crossed like some young page. “While in Rome, I received a number of messages concerning the future of the English-French conflicts over land in the west. These came from various sources. But in at least three cases, I was told directly that a son and heir to King Henry had been found, that the news was spreading. At last, a challenger to King John has been identified. No one seems to know who this person is, but the rumors of his existence have spread as far as the court of the Holy Roman Emperor.”

The beat in my chest had quickened so that I was certain William could hear it, and I put a hand up to still the sound. I was no longer playing the coy mistress. “My love, who could know? It has been such a carefully kept secret all these years. Only you and I have the history.”

Now William looked at me full in the face and his mien was grave. “It is said the rumors are coming out of the court at Paris.”

“But who, here…?” My thoughts were racing and the panic must have shown in my expression. He reached out and took my hands in his.

“We do not yet know. I have men in three countries working on this gossip, to track the source. We will eventually find the men who started this. But the mere fact that such notions are in play means danger to Francis.” He tightened his grip on me and his voice became urgent. “It may be only a matter of time before someone from the past, someone from Henry’s court or someone who knew you when you were young, puts two and two together. They may remember that
years ago you bore a babe at King Henry’s court. And recall the gossip of the time.”

“To make Francis a party to the secret could add to his danger.” I spoke reluctantly, by way of talking to myself as much as to reassure William.

“You can see what a burden it would place on him.” He fell back against the pillows once again and studied the dance of shadows on the ceiling. “But sweeting, we cannot let this news overshadow our time together. As long as Francis is with me, he is safe. And if he is ignorant of his heritage, he is unlikely to place himself in any danger, albeit unwittingly.”

“And how can you keep him safe? And when will I be able to tell him I am his mother? And when will this wretched diplomatic business end and the pope give us our dispensation to marry?” The news had unsettled me more than I could say. Once again, I must put my own desires aside for politics. Only this time, politics meant the safety of my son. Suddenly I recalled the visitation of that morning and the premonition of danger to my son. “And when shall I know Francis is safe?”

“Alaïs, you never change. You are shooting questions at me like arrows. Cannot you restrain yourself for just a moment?” William propped himself on one elbow, arching his brow.

“And cannot you stop reminding me of my shortcomings?” I threw a pillow at him, trying to appear lighthearted. I must think on this matter later, when I was alone. For the time being, I would set it aside. To see my son would have to be the assurance of his safety for the present. “But where is François? I want to see him now.”

“And so you shall, momentarily.” He caught the pillow expertly, brightening at the sign of my returning good humor. “He is seeing to our lodgings here in the castle. He has that bright young English knight with him, the one he brought to court here last winter.”

“The young man from Exeter—I think he is called Geoffrey. I
remember him. The one with the large, dark eyes and the easy smile. He has a babe’s open face, so at odds with a new knighthood.”

“You have a good memory, lass. The two young men are alike, strong and courageous. They have become inseparable in our travels, and they have such ingenuity that I believe together they will be able to arrange all matters here in your brother’s palace to their satisfaction. And no doubt to my own, as well.” William chuckled, tousled my hair, and then added, “I thought to encourage the friendship. If young Geoffrey is with Francis night and day, there is less chance of any mishap, intended or otherwise.”

“An intended mishap?” I echoed. I had thought of the possibility of my son injured in war, or a tourney, as such things happen in our time. The thought of other malicious events, less random, that could occur, was a new one. “Who would…?”

“These are dangerous times, my love. Even though Francis’s true identity remains yet unknown, he still belongs to my household. Not everyone favors my efforts to make peace in the south. I have received veiled and anonymous threats myself.” William stretched upward, then casually put his hands behind his head, elbows out. He spoke calmly, but his words created a flutter in my heart. “Even the two monks who rode in with me, who think they are appointed by God and not the pope, could turn on me, wish me or mine harm.”

“Ah, yes. The papal envoys. Philippe told me about them.” I thought again of Joanna’s letter. I had not yet decided what I would tell William about her request, but prudence whispered that I should hold back for the time being. At least until I had met these monks.

“With the pope’s known protection, your household should be as safe as the court of the king of France,” I countered, keeping the conversation in its channel.

William dropped his arms and folded them in front of his chest, his features assuming an ironic expression. “As safe as the court of your brother? Well, it may be so. But how safe is that? I told Philippe
at Blois that there are foreign agents at his court. Some of your brother’s own advisors may be corrupted. He cannot be certain of his own
sûreté
. Think you Francis would be safe where the king of France is not?”

I recalled Philippe’s comments of treachery in his court and fell silent for a time. Finally I asked: “Where, then, would Francis be safe?”

“Within my sight, sweetheart, as you also would be safest by my side. Or should I say, instead, under me.” William caught me and pulled me to him. I was off balance and helpless to resist. He moved onto me with such a swift motion it took my breath away. But it was only to run his hands down my body once, before he freed me. “But we must collect ourselves. I instructed Francis to give me an hour with you, and then to come with the servants who are bringing my fresh clothes.”

“Oh, you are maddening.” I scrambled from his grasp and quit the bed. “You arrive unannounced, interrupt my bath, and now you’ve taken over my chamber for your
toilettage
.” I threw back the doors to the armoire and began to riffle through my robes. Where was the Lincoln-green wool, William’s favorite? “Next you’ll be taking over the bathwater itself.”

“An excellent idea,” William said. He rolled over and leaped off the bed in one motion, deftly catching his footing as his feet hit the floor. “I had intended that all along.” He stepped into the tub. I watched his tall, broad-boned body and marveled that—at his age—he still looked as fit as young Francis when last I saw him. “This bath is not very hospitable, sweetheart.
Au contraire,
it is now quite chilly.”

“And whose fault is that, Sir Lover?” I asked, and received a hearty laugh for my saucy comment. “As for me, I’d like to have my maidservants in to do up my hair, but I suppose it would give them scandal to see you lolling in my tub.” My hair was disheveled, but, truth to tell, I was expert at catching it with my good hand in a band of ribbons I had made especially for the purpose. I pulled a loose robe
over my head before I busied myself with this task, but could not forbear at last to express my pique at his long absence.