He had risen and was buckling on his sword as he spoke. “I know nothing of the whereabouts of such papers. If such correspondence exists, it was written when Becket was in exile, and Henry would have been furious if he had known. Imagine, his queen corresponding with his disgraced archbishop. I can understand why she wants the letters back.” He shook his head. “Eleanor is a complicated, gifted woman, but I must say she has brought most of her troubles in life on herself. So headstrong.”
“God’s sweet feet, you men are all alike. You don’t want strong women around. You’d all be happy to have puling, sniveling wives for queens, like milksops. As long as they are pretty.”
For the first time that afternoon, William laughed the laugh I’d heard at Canterbury, the laugh of a man certain of himself, caught totally by surprise. It was a huge guffaw, chased by chuckles that echoed till I had to smile myself, reluctant though I was. When he saw that, he came ’round the table and reached down to my right hand to pull me to my feet. I allowed it.
“That description doesn’t fit Eleanor, and, by God’s blood, it misses the mark on your own self as well.” His gaze swept over me in a familiar way and came to rest on my face. For the third time that day, he caused my breath to stop.
“Alaïs, I want you to come to dinner this evening.” He continued to hold my hand as he spoke. “I know you sent word to Roger that you were too tired to come, but it’s important that you do. I want you to talk and laugh and be your strong self in public, even if you excuse yourself early. You must make an appearance.”
I was shaking my head, but he pressed on, finally dropping my hand to raise his own.
“Hear me out. Richard Glanville will be here. He is John’s man to the bones, and I want to flaunt you in front of him. John needs to understand that you are under my protection. I don’t think that was clear to him before.”
“Under the protection of a bunch of monks?” Either my expression or my words made William laugh again, a short, terse bark this time.
“Well said. Yes. Believe me when I say that this group of monks can take care of you.” He gave me a long look that puzzled me. Then he turned away with that abrupt change in mood I was learning to expect.
“I’ll see you at dinner, although I will pay you no special attention. Tomorrow you leave for France. Be ready by the midmorn.” He was on his way to the door.
“What?” I stepped forward. “I thought I would rest here for some days.”
“No. You’re going to a demesne near the Vienne—”
“Another of your houses?” I did not take kindly to having decisions made for me.
“—where one of my friends has a large house,” he continued. “It’s a pastoral estate but most comfortable. You’ll be safe there for a time. Later, when things have been resolved, you may be able to return safely to Philippe’s court.”
“A sorry fate, for all that,” I muttered. William, with his hand already on the door latch, turned on hearing me.
“You’re not happy there,” he stated, more to himself than to me.
“Ah, well. Happiness is a state of mind. Mayhap I only imagine myself to be unhappy.”
He only said, in a cryptic way, “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then, with a mischievous nod, “Be certain to wash your face again before you come down. The tears do stain.” And before I could pitch the inkwell at him, he had closed the door behind him.
I threw myself onto the bed. A mixture of feelings overwhelmed me. A tremendous sense of sadness mingled with something else, something so deep I didn’t know what to name it. Perhaps it was only the release of feelings long pressed down like dried flower petals inside me.
At what point in the many scenes we had just played had William called me simply “Alaïs”? At what point had he used the familiar tu, erasing the barriers of time and station between us? And what possessed him to give me that final, impudent instruction?
Shaking my head, I rose again and went over to inspect the clothes the servants had carried in while I slept. I could disobey William, of course, and not attend the dinner. But I had a feeling even more would be made clear to me in the course of this evening. I recalled that William Marshal had arrived this afternoon, and I looked forward to seeing him. Also, I was seized with a sudden irresistible desire to meet Richard Glanville, King John’s right-hand man.
As to being flaunted, I must remember to tell William that I belonged to no man and therefore was not available for flaunting. Yes, I would do that—but probably not until he had given me back the translations of Eleanor’s letters.
.15.
The Dinner Party
They were all gathered in the great hall when I descended the grand staircase. I could see them through the wide entrance. There were far more than I had expected, above forty knights and a scattering of well-dressed ladies. By the quality and cut of their clothes, I could tell the knights that had ridden in with William and Chester from the shire’s gentry. The local squires, those county landowners who were rarely at court, wore good-enough wools. Their doublets and tunics, however, were of sober black and dark green, whereas I could spot William’s group by their elegance and flair. The wool of the knights’ garments was finer and the colors brighter. Some of them wore a similar gold chain with a heavy medallion, and they seemed, as a group, leaner and more seasoned than the county folk.
I was glad that I had chosen well from the gowns that had been brought to my chamber. The deep claret-colored cut-velvet gown was an improvement over the once-favored green wool that I had worn night and day since my abduction. I had been only too glad to shed that robe. In truth, I never wanted to lay eyes on it again.
Miraculously, the velvet fit as perfectly as if someone had delivered it from my own apartments in Paris. From the shoulders trailed a train of the same velvet trimmed in ermine. I had piled my hair high on my head with the help of the maidservant, and she had found pearls and gems to twine through it. I wore my hair uncovered, which was my right as a princesse royale. Around my neck I had arranged a slender rope of wrought silver strung with rubies, which had been delivered by a servant just before I left my room. Its provenance remained a mystery.
The great hall was brightly lit. At the far end was an open hearth, with a huge boar roasting on a spit turned by the servants. Although most of the food would be made in the kitchens elsewhere in the house and brought to the great hall, it was the mark of affluence still to have a portion of the food roasting in front of the guests. Especially when it was such a magnificent beast as this one.
Tables to accommodate the guests had been spread with fine linen, and the servants were already circulating, filling the wine goblets before the guests had even taken their seats.
Baron Roger came over to me as soon as he saw me in the doorway and led me through the milling throng to the high table. The head steward struck a gong next to the fireplace, and all the company drifted toward the tables.
I was pleased that dinner was called. I dreaded common talk with strangers. As a princess in my own court, I was usually able to avoid such shallow encounters, but here I was more vulnerable. As I moved behind Baron Roger, I became aware that Sir William was standing at the head of the table, deeply engaged in conversation with another knight, a short, heavy fellow. Baron Roger motioned to a seat that was to be mine, but Sir William stood in front of it. I waited.
“Ah, my lady.” Sir William broke off his conversation when he noticed me. “Permit me to say you look ravishing this evening. May I present to you Sir Richard Glanville, Knight Hospitaller and special envoy of King John.” I nodded coolly. Sir Richard had a broad, bony head and an expression of superiority, aided by his long nose and prim lips. After he had brushed my hand with those dry lips, I treated him to my most dazzling smile. William, observing, glowed with approval.
“Sir Richard, this is the Princesse Alaïs of France, our honored guest.” Glanville’s face reddened. So he knew my name. “I leave her in your keeping for the evening.”
“
Your Grace,” Sir Richard said, inclining his head toward the seats next to Lady Margaret. “I believe these are intended for us. Please.” He assisted me into a chair and then sat down, arranging his bulk with great care and satisfying himself that the serviette at his place was clean.
I greeted Baron Roger’s wife, who was seated to my left. I knew Margaret Howard’s family, a powerful northern clan, and had just begun to ask about her father’s health when Sir Richard claimed my attention. He did this most adroitly, taking the opportunity when the steward asked Lady Margaret a question.
“Your Grace is visiting England for”—his raspy voice lifted—“pleasure?”
I smiled like a snake. “I have business here.”
“Here? In Wiltshire?” He blinked.
“Yes. Wiltshire, of course. It’s beautiful country, n’est-ce pas?” The company was seated. The servants began to lay the first course, a tender kid on silver plate, before the guests. “And very important to the crown. Why, only yesterday King John himself was in Salisbury, so near to us.”
The face flushed again as he made a sort of grunt. Now the servants came between us, and I seized the chance to turn back to Lady Margaret.
“Are there children, Lady Margaret?”
“Oh, la, yes, Your Grace.” Her eyes twinkled with the intelligence women sometimes flash when they are asked about their special realm. “Four sons and two daughters. All grown now. Two of the boys in King John’s service and our eldest son, Roger, to be knighted soon.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You must be very proud,” I said. I didn’t offer that young Roger had my private sympathy.
As we talked, my attention was drawn to a spirited discussion halfway down our table. I recognized the two men involved. The larger, smooth-faced, round-jowled man in a dark wool tunic was, to my surprise, Father Alcuin, the librarian from Canterbury. He was engaged in a heated but good-natured debate with a familiar-looking young man who was none other than William’s clerk, Francis. I marked the expression on his pale, freckled, cherubic face, which was at once lively and thoughtful and somehow old beyond its years.
He was no longer dressed in the brown brother’s robe of the abbey but now wore a good woolen tunic, like the others. He was clothed in the sober colors of the Wiltshire men, wore no gold medallions, yet something about him, his bearing and natural grace perhaps, marked him as a knight and a part of William’s company.
A voice in my ear like a sword sawing against metal cut into my thoughts.
“Your Grace, I see you recognize Sir William’s young clerk.”
I was caught unawares and turned swiftly to Sir Richard. How dare this man observe me? My face must have registered my thought. “I mean no disrespect, my lady,” he added hastily. “I simply saw your glance. The young clerk was taking his orders in the foyer from Sir William when I entered the manor tonight.”
“I don’t know him,” I lied. “I’ve not seen him before. I only heard his laughter, and that drew my notice.”
“Your Grace, I have a question for you, just to satisfy my curiosity.” Sir Richard apparently had collected himself and thought of another way to hold my attention.
“Yes, Sir Richard?” I found that my appetite had fled, and I allowed the servant to take away the silver plate with my roast kid untouched.
His voice was artless, as if he asked about the weather. “How is it you knew that King John was in Wiltshire this fortnight?”
“Why, I saw him myself,” I said, putting on a cheerful countenance. “King John is my kinsman, you must know. It would be a natural thing that we should meet. And Queen Isabelle as well.”
His mouth dropped, but he recovered and made a smile out of the gesture.
“But now I hear he has moved north,” I continued, nodding to the servant who appeared over my shoulder with yet another dish. “Is that not so?”
Like a willing circus bear, the knight responded. “That is secret information, Your Grace. I’m sorry, but I cannot discuss the king’s whereabouts.”
“Nonsense. There’s no great secret about where King John goes or what he does.” I raised my voice slightly and gestured around the table with the partridge leg in my hand. “Why, the king held me prisoner at Sarum within this fortnight, and I’ll wager half the company here knows of it.”
Sir Richard began to choke on the food he was eating. I thought he would fall into a fit, so red did he become. I beckoned to the servants for more wine.
I noticed William, sitting on the other side of Sir Roger, looking at me with reproof.
This entire tableau was interrupted by a dramatic event. The doors of the hall swung open, and in strode a tall man in knightly garb. He was well known to the crowd, for the din abated as people turned to stare at him. He entered alone but with the presence of a man who needed no escort to demand respect. He, unlike most of the others, was wearing his sword. A low murmur seemed to follow him as he made his way toward our end of the great table.
I confess that my eyes are dimming, and it is often difficult for me to see faces at a distance, but I knew immediately who it was.
I rose in my chair as he came closer to me. By God’s hair, I thought happily, it was indeed William Marshal. Though he had aged, I knew his figure and face as well as I knew my own brother’s. And my heart was glad to see him.
He went straightaway to Baron Roger, bowed with perfunctory grace, and exchanged brief comments with Sir William. Then he moved toward me, and I met him halfway with my arms outstretched.
“Princesse,” he said formally. But he embraced me within his strong arms as if I were his own daughter.
“How are you, old friend?” I asked, feeling a mist in my eyes. “I saw your company ride in today. I wondered when you would join us.” He held me at arm’s length, and I could see that his noble face was grizzled with age. He wore a short beard now, and that changed his appearance. There were lines around his eyes and thinning hair where before there had been fullness. But still his vigor seemed to emanate from him like a halo in a saint’s picture.
Suddenly the choleric Sir Richard, who had also risen, was inserting himself between us. “Earl Marshal,” he said, bowing.
“Sir Richard,” William Marshal said, with a nod and frost on his voice. Then he turned with his arm around my shoulders and guided me slightly away with such grace that Sir Richard scarcely knew he had been slighted.
“Lady Alaïs, I did not intend to be late this evening. William of Caen told me when I arrived this afternoon that you would be here. He said you would be tired and might not stay long at dinner. Before you slip away this evening, I need to have a word with you alone.”
“Of course, Sir William. Or must I now call you Lord Earl?” I teased. He shook his head, but he was smiling. “I was so glad for you when I heard Richard had given you Pembroke’s title.”
“Such formality is not necessary between old friends.” His gaze shifted behind me to Sir Richard’s back. “Have a care what you say to that knight,” he said in a low voice. “I know John’s rash actions. Glanville is John’s eyes and ears, and he is sent here to sniff around. Be prudent.”
“I shall indeed,” I murmured.
“Immediately the party disperses, meet me in the back of the hall. There are several alcoves, and I believe we can talk undisturbed there. I have information you must know.”
I nodded and drifted back to my chair. I was curious about the urgency in the marshal’s voice. It was going to be twice as difficult now to sustain any conversation with Sir Richard.
After many more courses and toasts, Sir Roger and Lady Margaret rose and signaled the end of the dinner. I, too, stood and bade Sir Richard Godspeed. I heard with relief his plans to leave at dawn, delighted that I would not have to encounter him the next day, even by chance, in the hallways of the manor.
I gave my thanks to Lady Margaret and made my way to a place in the back of the great hall. There I found the marshal examining one of the hall’s huge tapestries, the one with
the unicorn at bay and the hounds raging at it, teeth bared and jaws dripping. He turned when he sensed my presence.
“This has always been my favorite of the unicorn scenes.”
I was surprised. “I thought you would have preferred some that were less bloody,” I said.
“This scene is a good reminder of the fortunes of war. If a man forgets what it feels like to be brought to bay by enemies, he is in danger from that point to the end of his life.”
We paced together to a small alcove and sat easily on the cushioned benches, half hidden by velvet hangings from the view of those who remained in the great hall still talking. He gazed across the crowd, as if looking for someone.
“I hope Lady Pembroke is well,” I said.
“Indeed she is. Only the recent birth of our daughter prevented her from accompanying me here.” He chuckled. “Imagine. A child again at my age.” Then he turned back to me. “But what of yourself, Alaïs? Are you well? I was concerned when I heard of John’s rash abduction of you. He shall hear from me about this, you may depend on it.”
“I survived the experience, with only my dignity damaged. But it was stupid of him. It was the act of a desperate man. Are you in his service now?” I remembered the last time I had seen William Marshal. It was ten years earlier, just after King Henry had died. Queen Eleanor would have no one but the marshal accompany her back to Fontrevault to bury the king. Then he came briefly to Rouen, where she had already interned me.
“Yes, I serve John,” he remarked, looking down briefly and then back to meet my eyes. “You know, Princess, I serve the house of Plantagenet, not the man. I was faithful to old King Henry, to the young king when I was with him, and then to Richard. John has asked me for help, and, even though he is”—here he paused and sighed—“not quite the man his father was, nor his elder brothers, he has a call on my loyalty.”
“John is a fool,” I said.
“Hush, Alaïs. Such talk is treason.” William Marshal glanced around. “And not only unwise but simplistic,” he added, bringing color to my own cheeks.
Canterbury Papers Page 18
