Rose

by Traci E Hall

  “You do not interfere,” Mamie objected in a harsh whisper. “You advise. It is your right as co-ruler of France, Duchess of Aquitaine.”

  “My advice is not always welcome.” Eleanor’s mouth tightened. “There is a special part in all of this for Louis, too, if he will listen to my uncle.” She leaned against Mamie, a hand on Mamie’s forearm. “Hush. We will speak of it more later.”

  Mamie’s nape tingled. What part might the king gain to make it worth his while?

  They said nothing as they neared the room. Two blue-and-red-liveried servants stood outside the giant twin doors. Urns held ivy, which grew up the sides and over the top, green and lush. The beige marble floors were polished to a shine, and the walls, painted with murals and trimmed with mosaics, added color to the spacious hall.

  The servants opened one door, allowing them inside.

  Mamie’s breath caught as she took in the stunning view. The farthest wall was open and stepped down to a balcony, giving a glimpse of the ocean as well as the Orontes and marketplace below. Colliding smells of grilled meat and sea breezes wafted up toward the palace. Villas clung to the side of the mountain, the people so far away looking as small as ants.

  Turquoise sky, green sea, white clouds, and golden sand. “This is breathtaking,” she said, a hand to her heart.

  “You see now why this is my favorite room?” Constance stood, a hand to her lower back. “And it is big enough for Bohemond to run around.”

  Mamie looked toward a chaise and two upholstered chairs big enough for three people. A young boy, about four, with Raymond’s dark hair and Constance’s smile, waved as he knocked over a tower of wooden blocks with a carved elephant.

  “Good morning, mon chou,” Eleanor said. “Aren’t you a handsome boy?” Eleanor walked toward Constance, kissing her cheeks in greeting. “You look flushed, Constance.”

  “This is the way of it for me.” She patted her flat stomach. “Nausea and aches, but once I start to show, the pain goes away.” She shrugged and turned a look of tenderness toward Bohemond. “It is worth it, as you know. You have a daughter, is that right, Eleanor?”

  “Oui.” Eleanor dabbed at the corner of an eye. “I miss her, but she was much too young to come on this long pilgrimage. A baby.”

  Mamie turned away, flooded with envy. Why were other women blessed with babes, even ones they did not want? Sarah’s disgust at what she considered her body’s betrayal wore at Mamie, and Sarah knew it. It was the reason for their fighting, the reason Mamie had tried so hard to bury her pain by taking many lovers. The illusion of intimacy helped for a time but did not last long.

  Watching Constance dote on Bohemond, caressing his head, moving a toy out of his path as he ran so he would not trip, made the ache inside her bittersweet instead of just bitter.

  Though Mamie understood the ways of the court and why Eleanor handed her daughter off to the nurse once she was born, she personally could not have done it. No matter the custom. Other women broke tradition, and she would have done the same. It was different being queen.

  “Please,” Constance said, “come sit. I have wine and pomegranate juice. I cannot get enough of the stuff.”

  “With me, it was jellied eels.” Eleanor made a face. “I cannot stomach one now.”

  Mamie acknowledged a feeling of inadequacy as they told their stories. The princess shared that Lady Hortencia had a daughter, an angel of two years old, who slept in the nursery, though she would be joining them shortly.

  Mamie wanted her own story. She wanted to know the feel of her womb quickening, her back aching, her ankles swelling. Women used lavender and wheat germ oil to lighten the marks on their skin, but Mamie would bare those marks with pride.

  She was not like other women, it seemed. Her heart longed for what her body could not give.

  Eleanor sat next to Constance on the long chaise, so Mamie took one of the big chairs. Soft and welcoming, she determined to put a happier thought in her mind. Seeing Dominus, perhaps? But, no, he was still untouchable.

  Bohemond ran his elephant over the top of her shoe. The trunk got stuck on a lace, untying it. He looked at her with wide eyes, uncertain what she would do.

  “Bo!” Princess Constance chastised.

  “It is nothing,” Mamie said. “I put my foot in the way of the elephant stampede. It was my fault it got trampled.”

  Bo grinned and crawled into Mamie’s lap. “I am Bohemond, Prince of Antioch.”

  Charming. “I am Lady Mamille of Rou.”

  He gave her a peck on the cheek, then scrambled down again to his elephant and the ongoing destruction of his block tower.

  “He likes you,” Constance said. “Do you have children?”

  The innocent question was a stab to her heart, leaving her speechless.

  Eleanor intervened. “Mamie has not yet been blessed with children. She’s a widow, but her time for apron strings will come.” She poured a glass of wine for Mamie and one for herself. “You can have the pomegranate juice, Constance,” she declared. “This wine is delicious. Do you make it here?”

  “No, it is one of the wonderful things that comes with being on the trade route. What you are drinking is Egyptian.”

  “Egyptian?” Eleanor savored the flavor after another sip. “I had no idea they made wine.”

  The heavy sound of the door being opened caught Mamie’s attention, and she turned, expecting Fay. It was Lady Hortencia, who came laden with a basket looped over an arm. A servant trailed her with another one. “The baby is awake. At last. Am I late? I have gifts. Since we could not go to the market, I brought some of the market to us. Hello, hello.”

  Bohemond gave a shy wave, and Mamie admitted to being smitten with the boy. It would be best to leave Antioch soon. She had loved and left enough children over the years to fill a river with her tears.

  “What do you have?” Mamie asked, getting up from the chair.

  “Samples of cloth to make a quilt. Many hands make light work, and we can give the quilt to Eleanor as a reminder of her stay here.”

  “What a lovely sentiment,” Eleanor answered with true grace, considering how she felt about sewing in general.

  “Idle hands.” Hortencia laughed self-consciously. “I must have something to do in addition to what else I am doing or I go a little mad. If you feel like taking a square, go ahead. If not, I will not be offended.”

  Mamie liked the woman and appreciated the goodwill behind the project. “I know how to edge a square.”

  “My thanks. I chose the Aquitainian colors of red, white, and gold.”

  “Perfect.” Eleanor smiled, keeping her seat on the chaise next to Constance. Neither woman asked to help, but the four ladies and Bohemond soon chatted like fast friends.

  Fay entered next, eagerly accepting cloth and thread, sitting on the floor at Eleanor’s feet. Bohemond climbed over her, and she tickled him until he giggled.

  They discussed fashions, lotions, cosmetics, and finally Eleanor’s favorite subject, love. “The ideal can be made real if both parties are open and honest.”

  “Honest? A man is as honest when it comes to love as he has to be and no more,” Hortencia quipped.

  Fay looked up, her gray eyes sparkling with mischief. “A smart woman might take a few lessons from him and find her own happiness.”

  Hortencia’s cheeks turned pink. “Well said. And often thought of,” she added with a snicker.

  “Love and respect are a woman’s due as well as a man’s.”

  “You have this love with your husband, Louis?” Constance asked, her gaze sharp. Mamie wondered at the tone.

  Eleanor lifted her shoulder. “It is different with kings and queens. As you know, Constance, we are wed where it is political, and the heart must follow.”

  “I love Raymond,” Constance said, perspiration dotting her forehead. “He is a good husband, a good ruler.”

  “Tyche was at your shoulder, since you were a child of ten when wed,” Fay joked. Mamie appreciated he
r attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Raymond has always had a head for politics,” Eleanor said. “He was raised in England’s court and learned much as a favorite of King Henry.”

  “Oui, he speaks highly of his time there.” Constance looked up. “Bo, come away from the window, mon cher.”

  “But I dropped my elephant on the balcony, Maman,” he said.

  “I will get it.” Mamie rose, wishing they would talk of something else, like hawking or hunting. Even herb growing would be a safer subject than love and kings.

  “Out there.” Bo pointed.

  Mamie smiled and took his hand, stepping over the low ledge separating the room from the balcony. The outer wall was not high and could be dangerous if one were to fall over the edge and down the steep mountain.

  The elephant lay outside near a small table and a bench.

  “Here you are, mon champion, one elephant rescued.”

  “Thank you, Lady Mamie. Would you like a reward? My papa says a reward is for doing something brave.”

  Mamie pretended to think. “Well, I would like a reward, then. How about a kiss?” She gave him her cheek.

  He gave her a quick peck, then held her face between his hands. “I would have asked for sweets.”

  Mamie smiled. “Next time, I will too.”

  “Are you brave?” He peered into her eyes.

  “I think so.” This charming child disarmed her.

  “I am brave too.”

  “Bo?” Constance called. “Come here now, and stop pestering Lady Mamille.”

  Bo released her hand. “Sorry.”

  “You are not bothering me at all, but go to your mother. I will be inside in a moment.” She watched him run inside, then sat on the bench. Her eyes welled with tears, and she let them fall down her cheeks as she cursed God.

  The balcony trembled, and a bulky male form landed next to her from the roof. She put her hand to her hip for her sword and stepped back.

  “Damning our Lord and Savior? That will surely keep you from the gates of heaven.”

  “Dominus?” Mamie covered her racing heart. “What are you doing here? What happened to your hair?”

  Dominus stood on the thin balcony. He’d felt safer on the roof. His early years climbing masts in the stormy ocean taught him where to put his weight for perfect balance. Climbing around in a monk’s robes added another challenge entirely.

  “It is only hair.” He rubbed his bald pate, the smooth flesh odd against his fingers.

  “You look so, er”—she covered her mouth with a hand—“priestly?”

  Not what he was hoping for. “Commander Bartholomew insisted.” He pitched his voice low. “Speaking of whom, he is on his way here now. With Raymond and Louis.”

  “I take from your leap off the roof that you are not here as an invited guest?” Mamie’s eyes filled with mirth. He’d noticed Mamie’s tears and had an idea what they were about. He did not share her concern over not having children. His brothers had populated their village and keep, then had the gall to die. Laughter in her gaze was much better, even if he was the cause.

  “No,” he said, making a courtly bow. “I am forbidden from fraternizing with the enemy. Namely, women.”

  “Still supposed to be in your room?” Her commiserating nod made him laugh.

  “If I behave, I may get out this afternoon for prayer services.”

  “Lucky man. All I have to do is let them know you are here,” she said, pointing to the open door. “And you will be in trouble, I think. What is to stop me?”

  “Please do not.”

  “Does your pathetic attempt at spying have anything to do with the bishop?”

  “My attempt?” Dominus bit his tongue rather than defend his actions. “You should go inside. Pretend you did not see me.”

  She stood, shaking her head, her green eyes bright. “You and I need to have a conversation lasting more than a heartbeat. I will keep your secret. But you cannot stay here. I protect the queen, and until I know what you really want? I will not put her in danger.”

  “I would not harm her,” Dominus said, daring to touch Mamie’s shoulder. “My duty is to observe.”

  She did not budge. “Go.”

  “To listen.”

  “Get off this balcony,” Mamie said, leaving no quarter. “Let us meet at the bathhouse later this afternoon, and I will share what I can. If I can.”

  Resigned to an uncomfortable hour or so, he agreed, sidling toward the chink in the stone wall. He stuck a foot in the bottom and reached up for another space near the top. “I will do my best to meet you, but it is not easy,” he said, hoping to play upon her sympathy. “It is imperative that I not get caught.”

  “So don’t.”

  He could not decipher the expression she gave him before she went back inside the room. He’d promised to get off the balcony. That left him the roof. He clambered all the way to the top, finding a space near the bench and the open door. The tiles were hot, so he used his brown robe as a blanket and lay down, sticking his head over the edge of the roof to see inside the chamber.

  So long as he didn’t mind seeing everything upside down, he would be fine. A large room. He noticed they stayed clustered to the left side with couches and tables and a trunk of toys. Colorful murals and pots of ivy grew on trellises near the interior doors leading to the rest of the palace. Louis, Odo, Raymond, and Bartholomew all entered at once.

  A servant dragged over two more stuffed chairs and stools. They greeted one another with kisses and hugs, then Louis sat next to Eleanor, and Raymond in between Eleanor and Constance. Bo sat on the very end of the chaise, wanting to take his part. Little rascal looked like a cherub, but was probably up to no good.

  He could hear well, too, in thanks to the vaulted ceilings. He settled in. All of his praying had taught him patience, if nothing else.

  Commander Bartholomew took a seat on one of the stools, as did Odo, leaving the more comfortable seats for the ladies, who had gotten off the floor with their sewing. Fay sliced the thread with a dagger, then slid it into a three-inch sheath at her waist. He realized Mamie wore a similar tool.

  Each of the women in the queen’s retinue was alert. They were graceful and well-spoken, but their pretty hands were not far from a weapon.

  Being on the caravan with them, he’d admired their dexterity while fighting. Battle was an ugly thing, better suited to a man’s heart than a woman’s, though he acknowledged they could do it, and well.

  Raymond said something, causing the others to laugh, while Louis and Odo barely smiled.

  “More of your knights arrived yesterday, marching from Laodicea. Once they are all accounted for, I am sure you will be ready to get back on the horse again, eh?”

  Charming and jovial, Raymond exuded confidence most people lacked. He and his niece Eleanor had it in abundance. Mamie, so vibrant, sat next to Constance, Fay, Hortencia, Odo, and Bartholomew. He took another look, surprised at the barely concealed glare Bartholomew gave the queen. He’d grown used to that look coming from Thierry, who did not veil his intolerance of the queen’s feminine and, to his mind, foolish ways.

  “Do not expect a large army to arrive,” Louis said, his voice harsher than normal. A pious man, he had difficulty doing battle and suffered mightily over each death he caused.

  “We lost many men,” Odo said.

  “I would hear of your last days, my friends,” Raymond invited. “After Emperor Manuel’s cruel betrayal and abuse, I had prayed for an easier passage for you here.”

  “We were told the ship’s journey would take three days,” Louis said. “Not three weeks.”

  Dominus’s belly clenched when he remembered.

  “If we had left at once, before winter set in,” Eleanor said with forced calmness, “things might have gone according to schedule. But we waited. Haggling for a better price.” She glared at Odo, and Dominus assumed he was the one who’d come up with the plan to barter.

  “My men were attacked by the Tu
rks.” Louis reined in his bitter words. “Laodicea was a trap, the city dealing with the Greeks rather than us, as promised. My knights had to choose to live by whatever means they could. I have heard that some became Muslims to survive the winter and eat something besides horseflesh.”

  Dominus bowed his head. The king’s anger, softly spoken, resounded around the room. Raymond lost his smile, and Constance patted Bo on the back as the boy put the toy elephant’s ear in his mouth.

  “No, Raymond,” Louis said. “I am not looking forward to going into battle again. My men and I are weary. I long for the peace of Jerusalem. This pilgrimage has not been filled with glory, just betrayal and death. I fear I have somehow offended God, when all I wanted was to raise him high. Why else would we have stumbled so?”

  Raymond jumped up from the chaise, startling Lady Hortencia, while Mamie and Fay each stilled, waiting, watching.

  “There is still time to turn this around, Louis. We can take Edessa—win back the city that was taken by Nur ad-Din. Give your men a taste of victory.”

  Eleanor was nodding, Dominus saw, along with Constance and Bartholomew. Odo and Thierry each looked ready to spit fire. Mamie and Fay remained neutral, while Lady Hortencia bowed her head and kept sewing.

  “My men need absolution. The only way they will get that is by reaching Jerusalem.” King Louis wore an obstinate expression better suited to young Bo.

  “Pah,” Raymond said. “The pope, the bishop, hell, even Patriarch Aimery can absolve you of sins. We can do it right before we head to war with the Turks, so your men’s souls will be saved before we reach Edessa.”

  Louis stood, facing Raymond. “I have discussed this with the patriarch and my advisors. I have decided that I will not go to Edessa.”

  “Louis?” Eleanor asked, face drawn.

  The two men—one a slight blondish king, the other a tall muscular dark-haired prince—stared at one another. Neither blinked. Dominus admired the king’s fortitude in the face of what was a very unpopular decision.

  Bo started to cry, and Raymond backed up a step. “I am sorry,” he said, his jaw tight. “My enthusiasm for what might be makes me overzealous.”