Chapter 13 ALAIS: A CROWN OF FLOWERS

Windsor Castle June 1172 “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. I was still struggling when the king came from nowhere, as he always seemed to do, and took hold of my foot. I froze in place, sure that if I moved, I would fall from Sampson’s back and disgrace myself. “Alais, you are not seated properly.” Without waiting for my answer, the king pulled me down off the horse, so that I stood next to him on the straw. I stared up at him, taking in the smell of sandalwood for the first time in weeks. I welcomed the scent, as well as the touch of his hands. I lowered my eyes so that Henry would not see my face. Henry’s hands stayed on my waist. I felt the warmth of his palms through the layers of my clothes. My tongue fastened itself to the roof of my mouth, dry as dust. I looked down at his hands to keep from looking into his eyes. The king held me, and the groom turned the other way. I could not catch my breath; Henry was too near. Just as I thought I must say something or step away, Henry lifted me onto the horse’s back, checking the girth himself. His hand lingered on my foot as he placed it into the stirrup. He was wearing a new tunic; the blue offset the gray of his eyes. I still did not speak, though I savored the sight of him. Once Richard returned, who knew when I might see the king alone again? I would take pleasure in each moment, then put them aside, never to be spoken of. I sat my horse in silence and kept my tongue between my teeth. “Well, then,” he said, in a voice too loud and hearty for indoors. “Shall we go?” Henry did not move, but seemed to wait to hear me speak. I answered him with difficulty, loosening my tongue against my will and better judgment. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “You might call me Henry,” he said. Though this was what I called him in my thoughts, it was not worth my life to show such familiarity openly. He did not wait for my answer, but climbed onto his own horse, leading mine out of the stable. It was good that Sampson knew his business, for any skills I had learned my first time on horseback were gone. I did nothing but keep my seat as we rode out into the courtyard and over the drawbridge. I kept the reins firm in my hands, but Sampson ignored me and simply followed the king. We did not ride hard, though I knew that the king was fond of a good ride. I had been told that we were going on a hunt, but there were no other ladies present and only two men-at-arms. The king brought no hawk; I was grateful not to have to see such a bird again. We rode until we came to the river, where ash and myrtle trees met with willows at the water’s edge. There was tall grass by the river, dotted with purple irises and daisies. Sampson stopped when the king’s horse did, and stood still while the men came down off their mounts. I waited, paralyzed. Henry did not cross the expanse of green at once. As he met my eyes, I was struck by the warmth between us that seemed to rise from nowhere, and come from nothing. I tried to bring to mind Richard’s face. All I could recall was the red of his hair where it gleamed on his shoulders in the sunlight. I remembered the rose he had given me, the rose without a thorn. The flower was long since dead, but I had pressed its petals and saved them in a little drawstring bag. The fragments of the flower he had given me still held their scent. Henry came to my side, squinting up at me. The sun was high; it was just past noon, and I had not eaten since breakfast. When my stomach growled, I closed my eyes and prayed for death. The king only laughed. “It’s a good thing I thought to bring some dried meat, Princess. We can’t have you hungry this long before supper in the hall.” Henry drew me down from Sampson’s back. He did not keep his hands on me this time, but let me go almost as soon as my feet touched the ground. When he turned to look in his saddlebags, I caressed Sampson’s nose and thanked him for being so careful with me. The great horse lapped at my hair, but did not chew it. “Is there anything for Sampson, my lord?” I asked. Henry handed me a crab apple, which Sampson ate in one bite. He gave me some venison wrapped in lettuce, and I tore the lettuce off and ate the meat as soon as the king gave me leave. I stood close by Sampson, as if he might protect me from my own thoughts. Even next to the sun-warmed horse’s hide, I could still smell the sandalwood on Henry’s skin. Henry watched as I ate, and I thought I would choke. I ate each bite carefully, chewing slowly, so that I would not disgrace myself. I felt his eyes on my lips and on my throat. I was not embarrassed now, but warm. I opened my palm, and Sampson ate the lettuce right out of my hand, his lips tickling, making me laugh. I caught Henry’s eye, and he laughed with me. “Will you walk a little way with me, my lady?” I took the hand he extended. He had taken his gloves off, and I felt the heat of his palm on mine. I did not flinch or shrink from his touch. If I had any sense, I would have been afraid. But for two men-at-arms, we were virtually alone. I was many things, but I was no coward. Henry smiled when I did not back down, or pull away. He raised my hand to his lips. “You will make fine sons, Alais.”“God willing, my lord.” He looked at me a long time before he spoke again, the sunlight playing in the red gold of his hair. “Yes, Alais. God willing.” We walked down to the shore of the river. The king threw his cloak down for me to sit on. The sun was warm, the grass cool against my hands. He stood looking down at me before sitting a few feet away. “My lord, you will ruin your clothes.” “I have more.” I did not speak again, but leaned back on my hands, sunlight on my face. The grass smelled sweet, and the purple irises by the water’s edge glistened in the light. It was a stolen moment. I knew that it was nothing, and could lead nowhere, but I decided to put Richard from my thoughts, and Eleanor. I would take them up once more, the people I loved above all others. But for this afternoon, I would sit alone, and enjoy the king. “This is an enchanted place, my lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” Henry smiled, pleased that I did not dissemble. He heard no false tones of court speech in my voice; as always, I was myself with him. “And the little dog,” he said. “How is she faring?” I smiled at the thought of what little Bijou might be tearing up even as the king and I sat there. Marie Helene would keep her out of my silks, but that was as far as my assurance went. “She is delightful. Thank you again, Your Grace. She has brought me nothing but joy.” “It has been only a month, Princess. Do not count your chickens.” I laughed at the king’s use of such earthy language, knowing that if he had ever seen a chicken up close, it had been on a plate. “What have you named her, then?” “Bijou.” Henry colored with pleasure. When he brought me the dog, he had called me his jewel. I reached for a flower, and started to twist it around my fingers. The king, too, took hold of a daisy, and started plaiting a chain. “I did not think kings knew how to make wreaths from flowers,” I said. “Every May Day of my childhood, I made one of these for my mother.” He wove another flower into the thin wreath in his hands, and I watched him do it with practiced grace. “Did you love your mother?” I asked. After the question escaped my lips, I bit my tongue. The legendary Plantagenet temper did not show itself, however. His hands simply stopped moving. I saw that Henry was no longer with me. He had gone back down the corridor of years, and was looking once more on his mother’s face. “She was as beautiful as a spring rain after a winter of nothing but snow,” he said. “She was a hard woman, and fierce, but I loved her always, until the day she died.” He seemed sad to think of her. I knew better than to touch him, though in that moment I wished I might. “I never knew my mother. She died the day I was born.” “I remember.” Our eyes held above the wreath in his hand. The only sound was the river moving beside us, and the sound of the wind in the grass. “Your Majesty,” I said. “Why did you take my father’s queen?” I wondered where my caution had gone, the good prudence, the silent wariness that my nurse had worked so hard to instill in me when I was very small. I thought Eleanor would have slapped me for a fool had she been there, though she had never raised her hand to me in my life. To take such a risk and for nothing, went against all she had ever taught me. The wreath of daisies and irises fell from his hands, and he did not reach over to pick it up again. There was no anger in Henry’s face, only a question, one that I could not hear or understand. “I did not choose her,” the king said. “She chose me. You will understand the difference someday, Alais.” I did not answer him. I had known him long enough to see that no one’s choice would have overridden his own. I thought of the fertile lands of the Aquitaine, and wondered if that was why he had chosen her; I had seen them together at court. There was only a fragment of their old love left between them. Henry took my chin in his hand so that I could not look away. His eyes were a light gray, and the lashes that fringed them were peppered with ginger and gold. “We will not speak of Eleanor again,” he said. His eyes settled on my lips, caught as if against his will. I opened my mouth to agree, to say anything that would break the spell that had fallen between us. I could no longer hear the horses or the men-at-arms where they sat away from us, playing cards beneath a tree. I could hear only the sound of the river, the sound of water on rocks, a soft, clean sound that made me want to turn to it and away from him. But I did not turn away and I did not speak, for Henry’s lips were on mine, the first kiss I ever received from a man. I jumped under his hands, but he gentled me as he would a fractious horse. He did not come any closer or touch me in any way except to hold me still between his hands, and to kiss me. His lips were like fire on mine. When I drew back, my lips still burned where his had touched them. I looked at him, at the fire in his eyes, and wondered if I was damned already I had seen lust directed at the women of the court all my life, both in France and in England. I had never before felt it directed full force on me. It took my breath away, that a man and a king could want me with such unswerving desire. It was electric, that first false sense of power. Henry did not touch me again. He only offered me his hand and helped me rise from his cloak. He did not say a word. He raised me once more onto Sampson’s back, then gestured to me. I leaned down, thinking that he meant to kiss me again. He placed the wreath of flowers on my hair, fragrant with the smell of broken stems and the scent of the jasmine nestled by the irises at the river’s edge. I straightened the wreath on my head, feeling the soft petals of the irises and daisies under my fingertips. Henry smiled, and spoke the last words that he would say to me that day. He whispered low, there by the river’s edge, so that even his men-at-arms could not hear. “Someday I will place a different crown on your head.” I clutched my horse’s reins. Henry’s eyes never left mine. I heard his words for the offer they were, a siren’s song, the suggestion, however unlikely, that he might one day set Eleanor aside, as she had once set aside my father, and marry me. Guilt and horror mingled to gnaw at me. I said a silent Act of Contrition before my horse even began to move. I had sinned once more, against the queen and my betrothed. Though I rejected the idea that Henry had planted in my head, the seed took root that day. I remembered it later, when I was alone. As my horse followed Henry’s mount back to the keep, Henry’s scent was still with me, and the touch of his soft lips on mine. I could taste him still, even as we rode away. Marie Helene saw that I was disturbed when she helped me dress for dinner. The dark guilt Henry had planted within me had not gone, though it was no longer in the forefront of my thought. Still, the shadow of it lingered, even as I tried to keep my mind from it. I did not speak as she bathed me. Only when I was dressed once more in my dark blue gown did I reach out, and take her hand. I knew what I must do, the only act that would settle the question, the only act that would assuage the guilt I felt for even listening to Henry’s idle offer. “I must write to the king,” I said. “My lady?” I lowered my voice, so that the walls might not hear. “I must write to the king, my father.” She did not answer, but her face grew pale. Her blond hair was soft against her cheek, her blue eyes staring back at me. I knew she would not betray me. “I must ask him to call for my wedding date to be set.” “My lady, when you rode out with the king ... did you fall into sin?” I remembered that before she was my lady, she had been the queen’s. I smiled, though I did not feel it. “Of course not. All is well. May God bless His Majesty.” I said this last loud enough for any spy to hear. “No.” I lowered my voice once more. “But I would be married. I do not want to wait any longer.” “And your father will help you?” Marie Helene asked. “Yes,” I said. “As will the queen.” I looked into her eyes; I could see that Marie Helene, too, would stand with me. “But I must ask my father first.” I went to my table, and Marie Helene drew out my parchment and ink. Eleanor had given me such things so that I might write to Richard, and practice my Latin. I drew a chair close to the table, wishing I had my writing table from the abbey. Marie Helene placed the lamp at my elbow, for the sun had set, and the shadows in my room grew long. “The French ambassador is still at court,” Marie Helene said, her voice low, her breath warm against my ear. “I will deliver your letter to him tonight.” From the gravity of her eyes, and the calm purpose behind her gaze, I knew that she understood. To seek help from my father in secret, behind the back of the king, was treason. From the moment I set foot in England, I belonged not to my father’s house but to my husband’s. Though I owed my allegiance to Henry and to Eleanor, I would write to my father. As soon as possible, I had to place myself in an honorable marriage, away from the king, for my own sake as well as Richard’s. I would hear no more secret offers. Marriage to Richard would protect me from them. I wrote a short letter, wishing my father well, and asking blessings on his health, and that of Philippe Auguste. In addition to this, I asked only that my marriage date be set, that my father use his influence with King Henry to see that it was done. I signed this letter and sealed it, using a ring Eleanor had given me just the day before. The ring was gold, and set with the fleur-de-lys of my own crest. Eleanor would help me marry, just as my father would, though I could never tell her why. I saw the question in Marie Helene’s eyes. She served me well, and deserved an answer. “I must marry, before the summer is gone.” “Did the king ... ?” The horror on her face brought the depth of my sin home to me as nothing else could. My shame rose up from the floor to clutch at me, and I fought it down. I had listened to the king when he made his offer; I had not turned away. I had done wrong, but I would be shriven. I would confess my sin, and see to it that I did not fall into sin again. “No,” I said. “Nothing as bad as that.” She crossed herself, but did not look comforted. She took up my hand where it lay next to my letter on the table. She knelt beside me, offering me fealty, as I once knelt to my father, so long ago. “I will help you, my lady.” I kissed her, tears rising in my eyes. I blinked them away. Eleanor taught me well: tears fed no gardens; the salt blighted the flowers of my cheeks, and left my eyes an ugly red. Marie Helene rose with me as I stood to go. She took the sealed letter, and slipped it into her velvet alms purse. She gripped my hand. As we turned to leave for the great hall, Eleanor swept into my room, her women trailing behind her. “Alais, why do you look so grim? Did you not have a nice afternoon, riding with the king?” Her eyes glittered. I felt them accusing me, as if she could see into my heart, as if she knew my guilt already I swore then that she would never know. Such pain would never come to her by me. I knelt to her, as Marie Helene had just knelt to me. I did not lower my head in supplication, but met her eyes. I raised my voice to be sure all her women heard me. “Your Majesty, I am yours, now and always. May God be my witness.” I saw that she wanted to ask me why I had to call on God, for had I not always been hers? But Eleanor was politic, and felt the eyes of our audience as heavy as I did. I thought for one horrible moment that the mother I loved would keep me kneeling, that she would turn from me, without giving me leave to rise. She had heard of our ride, perhaps even of the kiss Henry had given me. I saw in her eyes that she knew nothing of the offer he made me, and I thanked God. I held her gaze; I did not flinch or look away. Admiration for my courage dawned on her face. Eleanor extended one long, elegant hand. Her jewels were like cold fire on my skin as I gripped her fingers. I did not need her help, but she drew me to my feet. “Come down to the hall, Alais. The table would not be merry without you.” I went into her arms, heedless of the women standing by I could feel her shock as my arms reached around her and drew her to me. For one long moment I clung to her in silence. In the next, Eleanor murmured into my hair. “Come away now, Alais. We cannot keep the king waiting.” I heard her true words, I love you, beneath this. My eyes filled once more, but I blinked my tears away. Eleanor took my hand, and we walked down to the great hall together.