Chapter 14 ELEANOR: A LETTER

 Windsor Castle June 1172 My ladies were dancing for me in my solar, one playing the tabor and another, the lute, when Amaria signaled for my attention. She went to my prie-dieu and knelt instead of genuflecting. After she blessed herself with holy water, she stayed kneeling. This signal meant that the news she brought was dire indeed. I waited until the song was finished. Angeline and Mathilde, Margaret, and Joan all bowed before me, flushed with laughter. I applauded them, standing, and they bowed lower, sensible of the honor I did them, not knowing that I had a different motive. When they had taken their fill of my praise, I raised one hand. “Ladies, I must ask you to leave me alone. I feel the need to pray for my son’s safe return.” The whole court knew that Richard had been invested as duke in Aquitaine, and that he was expected to return to Henry’s court on the morrow. Alais was waiting for him. Even when sitting in my rooms, she always dressed her hair with the gold filet I had given her to match her ring. The filet was decorated with fleurs-de-Iys cast in electrum. It looked well on her dark curls. Though she loved my son, in the hall at each evening meal, I saw that her eyes tended toward the king. My women bowed and left me, save Amaria, who made my prie-dieu ready for my devotions. I knelt as my women left, drawing the door closed behind them. Amaria knelt beside me. We prayed together for two long minutes, long enough for anyone standing by my door to withdraw. Only then did Amaria reach into her gown and draw out a letter. “Clarissa sends this, my lady, with her compliments.” “How charming of her. She has no need to send me missives.” I knew the letter in my hand was not meant for me. I did not turn it over and look at the seal. I found, as I knelt in the sunshine as I had seen Alais do, that I did not want to know whose letter it was. Not yet. “As you know, Your Majesty, while she is at court, Clarissa makes it her business to be your eyes and ears at Windsor.” “Yes.” The news must be bad indeed, if my dour Amaria was loath to tell me. “Clarissa had the good fortune to spend the night with the French ambassador.” I knew then whose letter I held, but I did not allow myself to think on it. “Good fortune for him,” I said. “Louis’ courtiers were never much for love play.” Amaria laughed, as she knew I meant her to. “No, madam. So I have always heard.” She kept her hands clasped together, in case anyone was to peek in and see us there. “The French ambassador handed that letter to Clarissa as soon as he saw her. He asked her to give it to Your Majesty.” “He gave it to her before he had her?” “Yes, my lady.” “We must pay him, then.” I rose from my cushion, and turned the letter over in my hand. The letter’s seal was the fleur-de-lys from the ring I had given Alais only two days before. She was writing to her father, in secret. My mind felt like one large bruise as I looked down at that seal. I thought of Alais as a little girl, how she had loved her father when she first came to me. No doubt she loved him still. Her love, once given, was never taken back. Or so I had always assumed. “Pay him in ducats,” I said, “so that the money cannot be traced back to me.” “Yes, Your Majesty.” Amaria stood by, waiting for my next command. She would not send the money herself, but would have one of Henry’s men do it. A young and foolish boy, one who would think nothing of doing a service for the queen’s majesty. One who himself would never speak of it, and thus make himself useful to me again in the future. There were many such men in Henry’s train, more even than he knew of. Amaria left me then. She had been in my service many years, and knew without my telling her when I wanted to be alone. She drew the hidden door to my bedchamber closed behind her. She would not go far, but would wait on me, in case I had need of her. She had seen the seal, too. I sat in my chair, the bright summer sunshine falling across my hands, making the emeralds of my rings catch fire. Louis gave them to me the day I returned to him from Raymond, when we left the Levant together, to make a fresh start once more in France. I broke the seal, and read the letter. It was very short, and said almost nothing. Even the request it made was nicely phrased, and calm, almost blase in its demand. The fact that it had been written at all spoke volumes to me. Alais was desperate indeed, if she would turn to Louis herself, without consulting me. If Henry saw this letter, or even knew of its existence, he would lock the French princess away in a nunnery until all forgot that she breathed somewhere upon the earth. I could almost hear Henry’s rage, as it had so often been turned on me, or on my son. I thought of Richard; if Alais was banished from court for the rest of her life, it would break his heart. Henry brooked no treachery, not from anyone, not even from me. Richard knew this. Henry would never harm Alais, would never raise a hand to a hair on her head, but neither would he allow himself to be deceived. I smiled as I read the letter over once more. Its calm, cool clarity spoke to me, and sounded more like my own writings than the church-bred missives I had seen her write to the abbess of the Sisters of St. Agnes. I would have expected that pious tone to enter into her letter to her father, but after asking God for a blessing on him and her brother, she did nothing of the kind. And yet her style was not hurried or desperate. She called for her marriage as she might call for a basket of figs, as if it were a small thing, something her father might send by messenger, as if her marriage was only her due. Which, indeed, it was. I should be horrified that Alais had moved against Henry, that she had taken such a foolish risk, not knowing that my spies, and Henry’s spies, were everywhere. I thanked a god I did not know that her letter had fallen into my hands, that Clarissa had chosen last night to sleep with the ambassador, that after all these years there were still some people at Louis’ court loyal to me. Of course, my generosity was legendary in diplomatic circles. I made it my business to know what Henry paid for knowledge, and doubled his price. People found it expedient to do business with the king, but they were always sure to deal first with me. Pride rose in me as I read Alais’ letter over once more. She had stepped forward and taken her life into her own hands. I would have preferred that she come to me; in the days ahead, she very well might beg my assistance in bringing her marriage about. But her first instinct had been to strike out on her own. Her letter had failed, but she had written it, showing courage and a cunning I was proud she possessed. I laughed, but the bruise over my heart did not fade. I was proud of her. I loved her. But not long ago, she first would have come to me. I crossed the room to my bronze brazier, Alais’ letter to Louis in my hand. If I loved her with my whole heart, as I had always told myself I did, I would cast that letter into the fire. But I had been a duchess in my own right since the age of fifteen. I had worn two crowns in my lifetime not because of my beauty, not because of my fire, but because always, no matter what the circumstance, I faced life as it was. Information did not get burned. Information got hidden away, unless and until, someday, I might have need of it. I slipped the letter into my gown and rang the bell for Amaria. She stepped into my solar almost at once. As she looked at me, I could tell that she saw nothing of my emotions on my face. I raised one hand, and said nothing, but she knew me well. She called my women back in once more, but this time they sat at their embroidery frames. The tapestry for the cathedral in Poitiers was finished, and now they worked on cushions for my bed. I would give away my old ones, once these new ones were done. I had thought to give them to Alais, but now I knew that I would not. I would have new cushions made for her, for Alais and Richard were to marry. I would give them my support, whether or not Alais asked for it. I thought of Henry, of the light in his face when he smiled down at Alais while they were dancing. I thought of that expensive dog, and of how Henry had taken a new mistress in the last week, one with long curling hair, one with a sweet smile that made even me think of Alais. She wanted Richard; whatever her true feelings for Henry were, Alais would wed my son. Perhaps I had taught her well enough. Perhaps she understood, as I had always meant her to, that she must value herself above all others, that she must take care and make her way in the world on her own. Treaties came and went, wars were fought and won, but always, a woman must look to herself. As I sat among my ladies, Bertrand came to sing to us. I listened to my minstrel, all the while wishing he were Richard. Alais joined us, the woman beside me giving place to her. Alais took my hand in hers and kissed it, as if she had never betrayed me and mine, as if she had never written that letter, or taken her ease with my husband down by the riverside. Her afternoon with Henry had cost me something, and I knew it. I knew every blade of grass they had sat on, every flower that had gone into the wreath he made for her. I measured her with my eyes, and she sat serene under my scrutiny. Though I was proud of her courage, something was tarnished between us. I decided then that I would shield her from it. For as long as I could, I would protect the princess, even from this.