Canterbury Papers

by Judith Koll Healey

  The moonlight traveled across the table while we sat there, as if it were alive and part of our conversation. It filled the space as we breathed and was oddly comforting.

  “Did you love him?” he repeated after a time.

  “Yes, I loved him mightily.” I sighed, as if giving up a burden. There did not seem any need to pretend any longer. “I loved the king. He was a man with passion. He had feelings. He showed them in a world where everyone from the queen on down took such care not to show feelings. Even though he had been like my father, I loved him from the time I was a child. And when I was no longer a child, and he wanted me, I loved him like a woman. Only it couldn’t last.”

  “And what did you expect to happen then?”

  “I didn’t have any expectations. I went from day to day without much thought. After the queen had been imprisoned, her children scattered. The sons disappeared, and the daughters were sent to other courts, to marriages Henry had hastily arranged for them. Even my sister, Marguerite, found a way to join her husband, who was inventing ever new ways to annoy his father in Normandy. I had no one except the king to hold on to. But I still hoped all would be well when Eleanor was released. I thought I could count on her.”

  “As long as she didn’t know about Henry and you.”

  “As long as she didn’t know about the child.”

  “So you were relieved when the child died?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said harshly. “I nearly went mad. It was my babe.”

  He sipped the wine, saying nothing. I hadn’t touched mine.

  “What if the child had lived?”

  “I was prepared to go away with it. I suggested the plan before ever the child was born. At first Henry seemed to agree. He said the child would not be safe with the intrigues at court, but perhaps I could live in Scotland. He talked from time to time of a castle just over the border, out of reach of Eleanor and of my own jealous family. Henry’s relations with William the Lion were always strong. With the king of Scotland’s protection, the child and I would be safe.” Finally I lifted the goblet to my parched lips. “But it was always a dream. I knew it would never come to pass.”

  “It certainly would have been awkward for you and the child if you had stayed and Henry had released Eleanor from Sarum to come again to live at court,” William stated, with that gift for irony that occasionally laced his words and made them like spears. “What would you and Henry have done then?”

  “But she didn’t come out of Sarum, did she?” I said. “So there was no need to create a plan or an explanation. And why was it just now that you asked twice if I loved the king?”

  He shook his head and stood so abruptly that his chair teetered backward. He steadied it with his foot. “Enough for one night. I have things to think on myself. I suggest we talk tomorrow, when we are fresh. For now, sleep beckons.” He leaned over and scooped up the letters, stuffing them back into the leather pouch.

  “Are you keeping those?” I protested.

  “For your own well-being, Princesse.”

  “But they are mine.”

  “And so I shall return them to you in good time.” He swung the leather strap over his shoulder. “These are not the original letters. I have those. It will do no one any good to have copies floating about.” He eyed me as he moved toward the door. I rose and followed. “A word of warning, Princesse. Do not be so trusting. Everyone does not wish you well.”

  “A cryptic statement, Sir William. Please embroider it.”

  “Only take care. Watch about you. Trust few.”

  After I opened the door, unable to keep from frowning at what he had said, I extended my good hand to him. He bent over it, like the practiced courtier he was. His lips were warm, and they lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. When he rose, his eyes met mine, again with that unsettling directness. I saw with surprise the slight scar on his cheekbone, just under his left eye, the scar from Henry’s ring. How strange that such a small detail can raise subtle fingers of feeling. It was the first time that I saw this brisk, strange, guarded man as vulnerable as I myself.

  “So what happens next?” The words were mine; the voice seemed to belong to someone else.

  “Well, we have two choices. For one, we could do as you did after your child died, simply live from now on day to day without much thought or hope.”

  “And the other?”

  “I have information that Eleanor is back from Spain. I reckoned perhaps you and I could pay her a visit. Mayhap we can ask her about these mysteries. However did she find out about the child? And were these letters you found at Old Sarum copies or were they the undelivered originals? And why did she send you, of all people, to retrieve her ancient letters to Becket from their hiding place in Canterbury?”

  “Eleanor back from Spain,” I echoed. “Yes, I would like very much to see her. I have many questions of my own to ask.”

  “Indeed.” He rested his hand on the doorframe, propping his body against it. “I might even be persuaded to give her the letters she wrote to Becket so long ago, the letters that she hoped you could bring her from Canterbury.”

  “You have those letters?” My voice jumped.

  “Did I neglect to tell you that?” He was brazen. “I found them years ago. They have been safe with me. I thought they might be useful one day.”

  I stared at him, speechless.

  He ducked his head, comically, as in mock fear that I might strike him, a look of pure mischief on his face. And before I could say more, he slipped through the door. I sat down, my own head spinning.

  I reflected on the many surprises of Prior/Sir William and tried my best to work up anger over his deception to me on the Canterbury letters. But somehow it seemed not important enough. Instead I nursed the peculiar, new, warm feeling within me that our conversation had produced. Was the cause of this tingling the final unburdening for me, of the long-stilled love I had once felt for the father of my child? Or was it something much more in the present, concerned with the man who had just departed but whose sharp, male scent yet hung on the night air in my room?

  Sleep teased me with a dance but did not settle on me until light oozed through the crack between the shutters, which I had closed against the chill night wind. And with the dim light came the rain.

  .20.

  Storms over France

  When I descended the staircase the next morning, I was thoroughly out of sorts. The servant’s knock on the door had come just after I had fallen into a deep sleep, or so it seemed. I mumbled from under the bedcovers, but the voice on the other side of the door responded sharply. I realized that it was William and rolled out of bed, but by the time I opened the door, he was nowhere in sight. The voice had been peremptory. He obviously wanted me to make ready with speed for the day’s journey. He must have his martial-commander mask on this morning, I thought grimly, preparing myself for a long, tiring ride.

  The weather matched my mood. Gone was the sun of the past few days. As I reached the lower stairs, I could feel the sharp air and see, through the open door, the mists and fog rolling in.

  William stood at the bottom of the stairs, true to form, busily directing servants and knights. There seemed to be an increase in the number of men rushing in and out of the receiving hall. Of course, I thought, he must have brought his own party with him when he arrived yesterday. Slipping out for my adventures last evening and returning late, I would not have seen them.

  He cast an impersonal glance my way, and the incipient smile faded on my lips. Gone was any sign of the familiar, almost teasing quality of his exit from my room last evening. Gone also the air of intimacy that overhung our entire conversation as we sat at the old wooden table in my chamber. Now he was someone else, our leader, the head of these men, arranger of safe houses, a mysterious knight/ monk. Today he was in total control and out of my realm entirely. He merely gave me a curt nod and a few words.

  “Break your fast now, please, Princesse. We leave within the hour.” His ton
e was brusque. Without waiting for any response from me, he turned to a small circle of four knights and began speaking.

  I wandered into the dining hall and experienced a household in chaos. Servants ran to and fro, packing dishes, putting linens in chests. I sat at the only place with a serviette, and someone suddenly materialized with bread and a cup of mulled wine. A few minutes later, some apples and a bowl of cooked grain, accompanied by warm almond milk in a pitcher, appeared at my elbow.

  I ate in silence, which was in truth the only option open to me, since even the squires rushing through the room did not pause to speak to me. When I returned to my room, I saw that the servants had packed my few belongings in saddlebags that had appeared from nowhere. The room was newly made up and looked for all the world as if no one had slept in it for months.

  I glanced around for the drawings I had made in my stay here and spied them next to the saddlebags, rolled carefully so as not to break the stiff vellum, and wrapped in a leather thong. Someone had taken care with my belongings, no doubt at William’s direction. He seemed always to get things done right. It was almost tiresome.

  The door to my chamber was standing open as I surveyed my baggage. Petronella appeared in the doorframe and lowered her head as she curtsied. When she rose, to no surprise of mine, she still gazed at the floor.

  I spoke first, as I suspected she would not have the courage to start after her betrayal of my whereabouts the previous night.

  “So it is Petronella, is it?” I put my hands on my hips like any common fishwife ready to deliver a round scolding. “Come back to the scene of your crime, have you?” The young woman looked up as I spoke, her features assuming a quizzical expression.

  “I only tried to serve milady,” she said, all innocence.

  “It’s true you served me right well with clothes, yester e’en, but it appears you did not do as well with my confidence. I instructed you to tell no one I was going into the village, but lo, Master William knew right where to find me when he had a mind to do it. Now, who do you suppose provided the confidential information that allowed him to find me so quick?”

  “Your pardon, Your Grace. In truth, I did tell Sir William where you had gone. But you did not forbid me to tell Sir William that you had ridden into town.” Although the young woman had not moved from the spot where she’d made her first curtsy, she tossed her head pertly and twirled her hand with each point, so that I thought for a minute she might break into a dance. “You only said not to tell the knights below.” She pursed her lips as if to take further thought on the matter.

  “And anyways”—now she raised a forefinger to make a point—“I only told Sir William because he asked me if I knew where you were. I was bound in honor not to lie to him. Sir William is in the house in place of my master, Sir Armand Montjoie. I am bound to obey my master, as my husband. So I am bound to obey him who comes in my master’s place.” Having delivered herself of this questionable piece of logic, Petronella seemed to take heart, for she looked at me right boldly with her round saucer eyes. I was surprised to see no pleading in them. The independence I so admired earlier now annoyed me no end. After all, I was a princesse royale. And who was this peasant to talk of honor? Monks running around commanding armies, peasants thinking they had honor to protect. The entire world was in disarray.

  Then I saw the humor in her and, indeed, in my very own self for being so serious about such a small matter. “Well, well. I suppose you did what you thought right. There was no great harm done. And I thank you for the clothes and for the potion you brought for my maladie.”

  I had intended to dismiss her by my tone and started to turn away, but she continued to stand just inside the doorway. Suddenly I had an inspiration.

  “Petronella, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

  “How, mistress?” She eyed me carefully, as if I might be a dangerous spider.

  “Sir William has some letters of mine. We were discussing them last evening, and he went off with them by mistake. They are in a leather pouch wound with a black thong, among his things. You might fetch them for me if you would.” I hesitated. “No need to trouble Sir William. He’s down in the courtyard organizing our journey. But I’m certain his things have not been taken down yet.”

  I rummaged in my pocket and brought out a silver coin, which I offered her. When she demurred, I said, “It’s all right. I just want to read the letters once again. Sir William and I are traveling together, and I will return them while on the journey.”

  She, frowning slightly, reached out to take the silver.

  “I’ll wait here,” I said. William’s rooms were close to mine, and it took Petronella only a few minutes to retrieve my letters. When she came, she carried something else.

  “Princesse,” she said as she handed me the letters, “you will need an extra cloak for your trip to the south. This is a false spring we have had these few days. It may be very cold still, even in the Limousin.” She held out the cloak, which I saw was a very fine one made of Brabant wool.

  “But we’re not going—” I stopped. Was I truly about to discuss my travel plans with a servant? That mandrake root John’s men forced on me must have affected my mind.

  “Thanks to you, then, Mistress Petronella.” I took the cloak she offered and put it on. In truth, I had felt a chill from the moment I had seen the rising mists through the windows. Perhaps I should lay aside my testiness and simply be grateful. I inclined my head, and at last she seemed content to go, but only after one more elaborate curtsy.

  When I joined William on the circle in front of the manor, I was pleased to see that the spotted palfrey I had ridden from Wiltshire had been made ready for me. Blankets were strapped, and even as I prepared to mount, I saw my bags placed on another horse. A servant came to place his hand for my mounting, and I swung easily up.

  “Where is the rest of the party?” I asked, edging my horse near to William. Although there were many men milling about in the courtyard, I saw that only William was mounted.

  “We travel lightly this time,” he said, waving impatiently at a small party cantering around the corner of the mews toward us. I could make out the auburn hair of my young friend François, Roland’s dark head, and another young man whose face I did not recall seeing previously.

  “Where is Tom?” I asked, suddenly realizing I had not seen him since our arrival at the Montjoie mansion. “What’s happened to Tom of Caedwyd?”

  “Tom is gone,” William responded, reining in his fiery horse with some effort. The horse was clearly in a hurry to be on its way, but William was a match for it.

  “Without my leave?” I reached over and placed my hand on his bridle, to get his attention. It was a risky gesture, part presumptuous and part proprietary. We were quite close now, our horses dancing lightly in an effort not to collide. “He is loaned to my service, after all.” William’s head snapped my way, but he made no effort to remove my hand from his bridle. He eyes narrowed somewhat.

  “Princesse, I sent Tom to Fontrevault.” He spoke in a low voice, with some urgency, which struck me as odd. “I’m sorry I could not ask your permission first. He was the only man I could send, the only one I could be certain would get through. He will catch up with us after tomorrow, and he will be sore tired and in need of sleep by then, I’ll wager.”

  “Why did you send him to Fontrevault?” My suspicions were rising. Recalling Petronella’s words, I feared I already knew his answer. “We’re not going to the abbey after all, are we?”

  “Not today. By your leave, Princesse, we are going south to Poitou. John has men surrounding Fontrevault. He knows that you will travel there to see Eleanor, if you think she is at the abbey. He lies in wait for you.”

  “But…”

  Now William did remove my hand from his reins and placed it gently back on my own horse. “However, he will be surprised. The queen isn’t at the abbey as he thinks. She is in the ducal palace in Poitiers. Tom will bring us information there about the numbe
r of men at Fontrevault and whether John himself is among them. We ride south to see Eleanor. If we can make our destination this evening, and there is a hot dinner waiting, perhaps I will have time to explain all.”

  “But why does John want to capture me again? He had me once. He knows I know nothing.”

  “It’s not you he’s after. You just happen to be included in the party.” William wheeled away from me with those words, and Roland, as if on cue, rode up beside me. I found the young clerk François on my other side, and they set me a good pace. I couldn’t have lagged behind if I had desired it.

  .21.

  Against All Odds

  It was long past sundown when we rode into Poitiers. Spring had come to the south. I could hear the birds coo-cooing in the trees and the heavy, seductive smell of blossoms was everywhere. Poitiers, where I had spent the brief years that bridged childhood and womanhood. Poitiers, where I had been close to Eleanor and closer still to Richard. And where Henry had been, mercifully, absent.

  We had changed horses three times, stopped for bread and cheese and a flagon of ale at a rude country inn, and then, riding pell-mell onward, achieved our destination after nightfall. It was not the four-hour ride to Fontrevault I had intended to make when I rose that morning!

  Although my backside was sore, I discovered, when I finally dismounted in the courtyard of some inn William had chosen just inside the city walls, that my hip no longer pained me as it had at the beginning of my long journey to Canterbury. God’s throat! Was I recovering my bodily youth in all this mindless dashing about?

  I was bone tired; there was no question of that. But not so tired that I had any intention of sleeping before William gave up his secrets. There was something yet to be discovered, some piece of information he had almost let go of the previous evening, in our intense conversation. I intended to discover it.