Dangerous Women

by Unknown

  Alais snuggled in beside her. “If we’re to be friends, we have to stay close together. Where are we going next?”

  Nora pulled the cover around her, the thickness of cloth between her and Alais. “I hope to Poitiers, with Mama. I hope I will go there, the happiest court in the whole world.” In a flash of temper she blurted out, “Any place would be better than Fontrevault. My knees are so sore.”

  Alais laughed. “A convent? They put me in convents. They even made me wear nun clothes.”

  Nora said, “Oh, I hate that! They’re so scratchy.”

  “And they smell.”

  “Nuns smell,” Nora said. She remembered something her mother said. “Like old eggs.”

  Alais giggled. “You’re funny, Nora. I like you a lot.”

  “Well, you have to like my mother too, if you want to go to Poitiers.”

  Again, Alais’ hand came up and touched Nora, stroking her. “I will. I promise.”

  Nora cradled her head on her arm, pleased, and drowsy. Maybe Alais was not so bad after all. She was a helpless maiden, and Nora could defend her, like a real knight. Her eyelids drooped; for an instant, before she fell asleep, she felt the horse under her again, galloping.

  Nora had saved bread crumbs from her breakfast; she was scattering them on the windowsill when the nurse called. She kept on scattering. The little birds were hungry in the winter. The nurse grabbed her by the arm and towed her away.

  “Come here when I call you!” The nurse briskly stuffed her headfirst into a gown. Nora struggled up through the mass of cloth until she got her head out. “Now sit down so I can brush your hair.”

  Nora sat; she looked toward the window again, and the nurse pinched her arm. “Sit still!”

  She bit her lips together, angry and sad. She wished the nurse off to Germany. Hunched on the stool, she tried to see the window through the corner of her eye.

  The brush dragged through her hair. “How do you get your hair so snarled?”

  “Ooow!” Nora twisted away from the pull of the brush, and the nurse wrestled her back onto the stool.

  “Sit! This child is a devil.” The brush smacked her hard on the shoulder. “Wait until we get you back to the convent, little devil.”

  Nora stiffened all over. On the next stool, Alais turned suddenly toward her, wide-eyed. Nora slid off the stool.

  “I’m going to find my Mama!” She started toward the door. The nurse snatched at her and she sidestepped out of reach and moved faster.

  “Come back here!”

  “I’m going to find my Mama,” Nora said, and gave the nurse a hard look, and pulled the door open.

  “Wait for me,” said Alais.

  The servingwomen came after them; Nora went on down the stairs, hurrying, just out of reach. She hoped her Mama was down in the hall. On the stairs, she slipped by some servants coming up from below and they got in the nurses’ way and held them back. Alais was right behind her, wild-eyed.

  “Is this all right? Nora?”

  “Come on.” Gratefully she saw that the hall was full of people; that meant her mother was there, and she went in past men in long stately robes, standing around waiting, and pushed in past them all the way up to the front.

  There her mother sat, and Richard also, standing beside her; the Queen was reading a letter. A strange man stood humbly before her, his hands clasped, while she read. Nora went by him.

  “Mama.”

  Eleanor lifted her head, her brows arched. “What are you doing here?” She looked past Nora and Alais, into the crowd, brought her gaze back to Nora, and said, “Come sit down and wait; I’m busy.” She went back to the letter in her hand. Richard gave Nora a quick, cheerful grin. She went on past him, behind her Mama’s chair, and turned toward the room. The nurses were squeezing in past the crowd of courtiers, but they could not reach her now. Alais leaned against her, pale, her eyes blinking.

  In front of them, her back to them, Eleanor in her heavy chair laid the letter aside. “I’ll give it thought.”

  “Your Grace.” The humble man bowed and backed away. Another, in a red coat, stepped forward, a letter in his hand. Reaching for it, the Queen glanced at Richard beside her.

  “Why did your father want to see you last night?”

  Alais whispered, “What are you going to do?” Nora bumped her with her elbow; she wanted to listen to her brother.

  Richard was saying, “He asked me where Boy was.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He was drunk.”

  The Queen was reading the new letter. She turned toward the table on her other hand, picked up a quill, and dipped it into the pot of ink. “You should sign this also, since you are Duke now.”

  At that, Richard puffed up, making himself bigger, and his shoulders straightened. The Queen turned toward Nora.

  “What is this now?”

  “Mama.” Nora went up closer to the Queen. “Where are we going? After here.”

  Her mother’s green eyes regarded her; a little smile curved her lips. “Well, to Poitiers, I thought.”

  “I want to go to Poitiers.”

  “Well, of course,” her Mama said.

  “And Alais too?”

  The Queen’s eyes shifted toward Alais, back by the wall. The smile flattened out. “Yes, of course. Good day, Princess Alais.”

  “Good day, your Grace.” Alais dipped into a little bow. “Thank you, your Grace.” She turned a bright happy look at Nora, who cast her a broad look of triumph. She looked up at her mother, glad of her, who could do anything.

  “You said you’d protect us, remember?”

  The Queen’s smile widened, and her head tipped slightly to one side. “Yes, of course. I’m your mother.”

  “And Alais too?”

  Now the Queen actually laughed. “Nora, you will be dangerous when you’re older. Yes, Alais too, of course.”

  On the other side of the chair, Richard straightened from writing, and Eleanor took the letter from him and the quill also. Nora lingered where she was, in the middle of everything, wanting her mother to notice her again. Richard said, “If I’m really Duke, do I give orders?”

  The Queen’s smile returned; she looked at him the way she looked at no one else. “Of course. Since you are Duke now.” She seemed to be about to laugh again; Nora wondered what her Mama thought was funny. Eleanor laid the letter on the table and the quill jigged busily across it.

  “I want to be knighted,” her brother said. “And I want a new sword.”

  “As you will, your Grace,” her mother said, still with that little laugh in her voice, and gave him a slow nod of her head, like bowing. She handed the letter back to the man in the red coat. “You may begin this at once.”

  “God’s blessing on your Grace. Thank you.” The man bobbed up and down like a duck. Someone else was coming forward, another paper in his hand. Nora bounced on her toes, not wanting to go; the nurses were still waiting, standing grimly to the side, their eyes fixed on the girls as if a stare could pull them within reach. She wished her mother would look at her, talk to her again. Then, at the back of the hall, a hard, loud voice rose.

  “Way for the King of England!”

  Eleanor sat straight up, and Richard swung back to his place by her side. The whole room was suddenly moving, shifting, men shuffling out of the way, flexing and bending, and up through the suddenly empty space came Nora’s Papa. Nora went quickly back behind the Queen’s chair to Alais, standing there by the wall.

  Only the Queen stayed in her chair, the smile gone now. Everybody else was bent down over his shoes. The King strode up before Eleanor, and behind him the hall quickly emptied. Even the nurses went out. Two of her father’s men stood on either side of the door, like guards.

  “My lord,” the Queen said, “you should send ahead; we would be more ready for you.”

  Nora’s Papa stood looking down at her. He wore the same clothes he had the day before. His big hands rested on his belt. His voice grated, like walking on gravel. “I
thought I might see more if I came unannounced. Where are the boys?” His gaze flicked toward Richard. “The other boys.”

  The Queen shrugged. “Will you sit, my lord?” A servant hurried up with a chair for him. “Bring my lord the King a cup of wine.”

  The King flung himself into the chair. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” His head turned; he had seen Nora, just behind the Queen, and his eyes prodded at her. Nora twitched, uncomfortable.

  “My lord,” Eleanor said, “I am uncertain what you mean.”

  “You’re such a bad liar, Eleanor.” The King twisted in the chair, caught Nora by the hand, and dragged her up between their two chairs, in front of them both. “This little girl, now, she spoke very well yesterday, when the rest of you ran off. I think she tells the truth.”

  Standing in front of them, Nora slid her hands behind her back. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed once. Her mother smiled at her. “Nora has a mind. Greet your father, dear.”

  Nora said, “God be with you, Papa.”

  He stared at her. Around the black centers, his eyes were blue like plates of sky. One hand rose and picked delicately at the front of her dress. Inside the case of cloth, her body shrank away from his touch. He smoothed the front of her dress. Her mother was twisted in her chair to watch. Behind her, Richard stood, his face gripped in a frown.

  “So. Just out of the convent, are you? Like it there?”

  She wondered what she was supposed to say. Instead, she said the truth. “No, Papa.”

  He laughed. The black holes got bigger and then smaller. “What, you don’t want to be a nun?”

  “No, Papa, I want—” To her surprise, the story had changed. She found a sudden, eager courage. “I want to be a hero.”

  Eleanor gave a little chuckle, and the King snorted. “Well, God gave you the wrong stature.” His gaze went beyond her. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, my lord,” Richard said in a cool voice.

  The King laughed again, so that his teeth showed. He smelled sour, like old beer and dirty clothes. His eyes watched Nora, but he spoke to her mother.

  “I want to see my sons.”

  “They are alarmed,” the Queen said, “because of what happened with Becket.”

  “I’ll deal with Becket. Keep out of that.” The servant came with the cup of wine and he took it. Nora shifted her feet, wanting to get away from them, the edges of their words like knives in the air.

  “Yes, well, how you deal with Becket is getting us all into some strange places,” her mother said.

  “God’s death!” He lifted the cup and drained it. “I never knew he had such a hunger for martyrdom. You saw him. He looks like an old man already. This is a caution against virtue, if it turns you into such a stork.”

  Her mother looked off across the room. “No, you are right. It does no service to your justice when half the men in the kingdom can go around you.”

  He twisted toward her, his face clenched. “Nobody goes around me.”

  “Well,” she said, and faced him, her mouth smiling, but not in a good way. “It seems they do.”

  “Mama,” Nora said, remembering how to do this. “With your leave—”

  “Stay,” her father said, and, reaching out, took her arm and dragged her forward, into his lap.

  “Nora,” her mother said. Beyond her, Richard took a step forward, his eyes wide. Nora squirmed, trying to get upright on her father’s knees; his arms surrounded her like a cage. The look on her mother’s face scared her. She tried to wiggle free, and his arms closed around her.

  “Mama—”

  The Queen said, her voice suddenly harsh, “Let go of her, sir.”

  “What?” the King said, with a little laugh. “Aren’t you my sweetheart, Nora?” He planted a kiss on Nora’s cheek. His arms draped around Nora; one hand stroked her arm. “I want my sons. Get my sons back here, woman.” Abruptly, he was thrusting Nora away, off his lap, back onto her feet, and he stood up. He crooked his finger at Richard. “Attend me.” His feet scraped loud on the floor. Everybody was staring at him, mute. Heavily, he went out the door, Richard on his heels.

  Nora rubbed her cheek, still damp where her father’s mouth had pressed; her gaze went to her mother. The Queen reached out her arms and Nora went to her and the Queen held her tight. She said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” Her voice was ragged. She let Nora go and clapped her hands. “Now we’ll have some music.”

  Feathers of steam rose from the tray of almond buns on the long wooden table. Nora crept down the kitchen steps, staying close by the wall, and swiftly ducked down under the table’s edge. Deeper in the kitchen, someone was singing, and someone else laughed; nobody had noticed her. She reached up over the side of the table and gathered handfuls of buns, dumping them into the fold of her skirt and, when her skirt was full, swiftly turned and scurried back up the steps and out the door.

  Just beyond the threshold, Alais hopped up and down with delight, her eyes sparkling, her hands clasped together. Nora handed her a bun. “Quick!” She started toward the garden gate.

  “Hey! You girls!”

  Alais shrieked and ran. Nora wheeled, knowing that voice, and looked up into Richard’s merry eyes.

  “Share those?”

  They went into the garden and sat on a bench by the wall, and ate the buns. Richard licked the sweet dust from his fingers.

  “Nora, I’m going away.”

  “Away,” she said, startled. “Where?”

  “Mama wants me to go find Boy and Geoffrey. I think she’s just getting me away from Papa. Then I’m going to look for some knights to follow me. I’m duke now, I need an army.” He hugged her, laid his cheek against her hair. “I’ll be back.”

  “You’re so lucky,” she burst out. “To be duke. I’m nobody! Why am I a girl?”

  He laughed, his arm warm around her, his cheek against her hair. “You won’t always be a little girl. You’ll marry someday, and then you’ll be a queen, like Mama, or at least a princess. I heard them say they want you to marry somebody in Castile.”

  “Castile. Where’s that?” A twinge of alarm went through her. She looked up into his face. She thought that nobody was as handsome as Richard.

  “Somewhere in the Spanish Marches.” He reached for the last of the buns, and she caught his hand and held on. His fingers were all sticky.

  “I don’t want to go away,” she said. “I’ll miss you. I won’t know anybody.”

  “You won’t go for a while. Castile—that means castles. They fight the Moors down there. You’ll be a Crusader.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “In Jerusalem?” In the convent, they had always been praying for the Crusade. Jerusalem was on the other side of the world, and she had never heard it called Castile.

  “No, there’s a Crusade in Spain too. El Cid, you know, and Roland. Like them.”

  “Roland,” she said, with a leap of excitement. There was a song about Roland, full of thrilling passages. She tilted her face toward him again. “Will I have a sword?”

  “Maybe.” He kissed her hair again. “Women don’t usually need swords. I have to go. I just wanted to say good-bye. You’re the oldest one left at home now, so take care of Johanna.”

  “And Alais,” she said.

  “Oh, Alais,” he said. He took her hand. “Nora, listen, something is going on between Mama and Papa, I don’t know what, but something. Be brave, Nora. Brave and good.” His arm tightened a moment and then he stood and walked away.

  “When will we be in Poitiers?” Alais said happily. She sat on a chest in the back of the wagon and spread her skirts out.

  Nora shrugged. The carts went very slowly and would make the journey much longer. She wished they would let her ride a horse. Her nurse climbed in over the wagon’s front, turned, and lifted Johanna after her. The drover led the team up, the reins bunched in his hands, turned the horses’ rumps to the cart, and backed them into the shafts. Maybe he would let her hold the reins. Sh
e hung over the edge of the wagon, looking around at the courtyard, full of other wagons, people packing up her mother’s goods, a line of saddled horses waiting.

  The nurse said, “Lady Nora, sit down.”

  Nora kept her back to her, to show she didn’t hear. Her mother had come out of the hall door, and at the sight of her everybody else in the whole courtyard turned toward her as if she were the sun; everybody warmed in that light. Nora called, “Mama!” and waved, and her mother waved back.

  “Lady Nora! Sit!”

  She leaned on the side of the wagon. Beside her, Alais giggled and poked her with her elbow. A groom was bringing the Queen’s horse; she waved away someone waiting to help her and mounted by herself. Nora watched how she did that, how she kept her skirts over her legs but got her legs across the saddle anyway. Her Mama rode like a man. She would ride like that. Then, from the gate, a yell went up.

  “The King!”

  Alais on the chest twisted around to look. Nora straightened. Her father on his big black horse was riding in the gate, a line of knights behind him, mailed and armed. She looked for Richard, but he wasn’t with them. Most of the knights had to stay outside the wall because there was no room in the yard.

  Eleanor reined her horse around, coming up beside the wagon, close enough that Nora could have reached out and touched her. The horse sidestepped, tossing its head up. His face dark, the King forced his way through the crowd toward her.

  She said, “My lord, what is this?”

  He threw one wide look all around the courtyard. His face was blurry with beard and his eyes were rimmed in red. Nora sat quickly down on the chest. Her father spurred his horse up head to tail with her mother’s.

  “Where are my sons?”

  “My lord, I have no notion, really.”

  He stared at her, furious. “Then I’ll take hostages.” He twisted in his saddle, looking back toward his men. “Get these girls!”

  Nora shot to her feet again. “No,” the Queen said, forcing her way between him and the wagon, almost nose to nose with him, her fist clenched. “Keep your hands off my daughters.” Alais reached out and gripped Nora’s skirt in her fist.

  He thrust his face at her. “Try to stop me, Eleanor!”