“By the by, your son has decided he prefers his Anglo-Norman name, Francis, and has instructed us all to call him that, although he probably will make an exception for you if you prefer the French.” He chuckled.
I could not suppress my smile at that sally. Francis was truly fond of me, of that I had no doubt, and the mention of my son lightened my heart. “Have a care, my lord, in making free with my scented soaps and oils. You’ll have every woman in the Great Hall trailing you tonight if you are so liberal.”
“Good, if it will make you sick with jealousy,” he replied, sinking into the tub, oblivious of the waves of water spilling out onto the rushes. “The holy father was quite taken with Francis and all his talents.” William surveyed the ceiling thoughtfully, his head cushioned on the back edge of the wooden tub as mine was earlier. “Philippe is not the only one who thinks Francis is my natural-born son. The pope is curious, as well.”
“Ah, well, in a way, I myself think you are nearly his father.” I came to sit on the edge of the tub and, catching up my sleeve, soaped his shoulders with my right hand. “Henry sired him, I birthed him, but ’twas you who saw to his care and upbringing.”
“Only because you could not do it,” he said, catching the fingers of my good hand and bringing them gently to his lips. “Have you forgiven me for having kept news of his safety from you those many years?”
“My love, there is naught to forgive. I have only gratitude that you raised and guarded my son. All else was beyond our control.”
“Alaïs,” William said thoughtfully, “I have a serious question to ask. I have been giving this some thought.”
“My lord?” I asked, moving to a more comfortable wooden stool but still within his reach. We could have been any domestic peasant couple in a cottage at the end of the day, talking comfortably while the man washed the dust of his work away. I needed only his hose to darn to complete the picture.
“Do you ever wonder what Francis will say when he finds out what we have kept from him?” His voice was thoughtful, and I searched my soul for an answer.
“Do you fret over this? You have been his guardian for so many years. I cannot think he would be angry with you about aught.” I spoke slowly, thinking more on William than myself.
“Indeed, I am of the same mind.” William’s voice became more robust. “I harbor no fear that Francis will bear me ill will for my part, for he has a kind heart and has ever been well disposed toward me since he was a small lad.” William reached a long arm for a towel from the stool near the wooden tub. “He knows I care for him. And I want to reassure you that you should have the same confidence.”
“In truth, I do have a lurking fear…” It was so difficult to put into words, even to William who knew the secrets of my heart. “Perhaps that is why I am so eager to get past the telling, to say to him all the things I must say as a mother. And to help him understand…”
“Because you think he will blame you for not holding on to him when he was a babe?” William shook his head, water sprinting from his mane of hair. Then he wiped his face with a serviette that I handed to him. “You know better than that. He considers you a kindred soul, though he does not know how truly kindred you are! Do you recall when you first met Francis as a young man, when he was my clerk? You did not know yet who he was. We were all traveling together. One night in Chinon you and the young lad, unbeknownst to the other, escaped my men to have an adventure. I had to spend my time looking for the pair of you, and found you both in the same crowded square—watching the town players. Living for illusion, the pair of you.”
I had to smile at his feigned irritation. “Too bad, for the mighty Lord William, having to search for his family!” And I was rewarded for my impudence by a splash of water that dampened my gown and made me cry out with surprise.
“William! Will you never grow up entirely?”
“But now, do be serious,” he said, as if it were I creating the frivolity. He took my hands, offered to help him from the bath, but he did not move. “I want to tell you, my dearest heart, that when we can, when it is safe to tell Francis who he is, we will support him in his choice of action over his claim to the throne of England. But we shall also offer him the chance to do nothing but stay with us as our son. Because by that time, pope or no pope, we shall have spoken our vows as man and wife.”
Before I could give voice to the several responses crowding forward inside me, there were three loud knocks on my chamber door. William responded with a hearty, “Enter,” and the door flew open. The tall, comely youth stopped short on the threshold, his cheeks flushing at the sight of his master in the bath.
“Forgive me, Princesse Alaïs,” he said, with some confusion. “My Lord,” he added, beginning to back out. Behind him three round-eyed menservants, each carrying an armful of wools and silks of the deepest reds and blues, stopped short also and the young, newly made knight was in danger of tripping over them. For indeed it was my son, the young knight Francis.
“Come in, lad. Please,” I said, as I extended my hand to him, giving way to a broad smile from my heart.
“Put those clothes there, on the bed, and leave us!” I issued the order to the menservants in quite a different voice, gesturing with my gloved left hand, and then turned my attention back to the young man before me.
Francis went down on his knees but I raised him up immediately. “No, no, Sir Knight,” I said. “Come, give us a proper greeting.” His merry grin returned as I embraced him heartily, brushing each of his cheeks with my own.
“You look well, Princesse. I am happy to see you again.”
I held him at arm’s length, and saw with amusement that he was blushing. “And I am pleased to see you looking so hearty.” I nodded to him. “More than you know, Master Francis, as I understand you wish now to be called.” He bowed again, obviously pleased.
When he turned to address William I had an opportunity to observe the changes the last months had wrought in my son, for he had been away since Christmastide. He had spent the time well, growing broader shoulders. There was a look about his body now that was more manly, less the stripling youth he had been when they had set out the previous spring. His profile had changed, too, his bone structure stronger, his face wider as if even his features had decided to settle into adulthood. A scattering of youthful freckles was still visible, but they had grown faint under the tan he had acquired riding the roads of the south. And a full head of auburn hair, King Henry’s coloring, certes, still framed his dear face.
For just one moment, I smiled to myself to think that William and I should have discussed his safety as if he were a callow youth. He looked every inch a man and could no doubt well care for himself should the need arise.
I was charmed to hear him, with all dignity, addressing William as if he were sitting in the Templar grand master’s chair and not splashing about in my bath. “Lord William,” Francis was saying gravely, “I bring you news. Abbé Amaury and Pierre de Castelnau are asking for an audience with King Philippe immediately. I think you should come now. Such a meeting should not take place without you.”
“Do not fret, Francis. Papal envoys or not, Philippe will receive the monks when he pleases and not one minute before. And that will not be until the dinner hour tolls. I know how he manages things.” I smiled as I spoke, although the mention of our other newly arrived guests called to mind Philippe’s hostile response to them. I was not looking forward to sharing their table in the king’s presence.
“But they say they have an urgent letter from His Holiness, Pope Innocent.” Francis may have looked older, but he still had the insistence of youth. He swiveled his head to keep William in his sight as he spoke.
“I know, I know.” William began to rise from his bath, throwing water everywhere like a mythical sea serpent frolicking in the ocean. I tossed him another large towel without ceremony. Francis glanced at me, the corners of his mouth twitching with humor as if in tune with my thoughts. “But of course they have a letter from Hi
s Holiness. And I have one too, as fine as theirs. But all in good time. La princesse a raison, Francis. Philippe knows I am here, and the king will not formally receive the monks without my presence.” He winked at the youth. “The Templar seal still counts for something, even at the court of France. And if it did not, the king will yet operate in his own interest, which is to include me in the meeting. He has no intention of acceding to the demands of these monks, and he knows I’ll help him out of his difficulty.”
“So you and the king have already devised a strategy to deal with these messengers?” I dropped into a well-cushioned oak bench, and motioned for Francis to sit opposite me.
“After I met with Philippe and Raymond in Blois, I sent to the monks and asked that we gather north of Poitiers. I knew they were coming to Philippe’s court, and I wanted to discover their mission, how they planned to approach the king.” William perused the garments on the bed and, with his usual flawless taste, selected a deep, smoky blue wool tunic, gray hose, and an overcloak of the same lined in silver silk. Not being royal, he could not the wear the scarlet fabric made from kermes dye. But with such an attire, and his own regal bearing, he had no need of it to impress the court. “And take their measure, so to speak.” He struggled with the closings on his tunic and Francis leaped to aid him. My one good hand would have been of little assistance, I thought ruefully.
“And engage their trust?” I cocked my head to one side and he bent to stroke my cheek as he passed me by. “They must be dense as pigs not to see that motive.”
“Ah, but it’s no matter if they see it or not. They had no choice but to travel with me. After all I, too, am on the pope’s own business.” He picked up his sword, dropped on the floor in his earlier haste to bed me, and buckled it on, casting an amused glance in my direction. “And once we had joined, and conversed, I sent a courier on to Philippe with the knowledge I had gleaned, and some suggestions about how to handle these two minions of God who come seeking silver to make war.”
“What sort of man is this Arnaud Amaury?” I rose now, moving toward my large garderobe to choose a gown, and my question appeared casual. “He has certainly made no friend of my brother, with his constant messengers begging for arms and men. Philippe is not happy to have him here.”
William turned slowly toward me and caught my arm as I passed him. His gesture took me by surprise, as did his next words. “The abbot of Cîteaux? The venerable successor to the saintly Bernard? The former abbot of Fontfroide Abbey? Why, sweetheart, I think you will find he is the very model of the Prince of Darkness himself.”
I was arrested in mid-motion. My face turned toward him and I knew my astonishment was written there. It was the controlled violence in his voice that startled me.
“Do you say so?” I made an effort to keep my voice unconcerned. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Francis sitting upright, perfectly still, as one might watch a storm roll over a hill on the southern moors of Henry’s island. His face betrayed a surprise that told me he was startled by the vehemence of his master’s response.
William recovered his composure as quickly as he had lost it. He shrugged, donning his cloak. He spoke in measured tones as he fussed with the closing of it. “Perhaps I should not speak so of God’s representative, but there it is.” He paused for a moment, then continued.
“Amaury was a knight and fighter when he was young, quite a good one it is said. Now he is known as a warrior of words, a heretic-fighter in the south where the great debates have been raging between the bishops and those who defend the new religion. Amaury has burning religious fervor, some say a bit too much for a priest. He is capable of killing anybody to defend his idea of God. Harsh words. No compassion. No mercy. And a swift sword promised to those who disagree with his view. But I should not predispose you.” He finished with the clasp on his cloak, and brushed his hands together, like Pontius Pilate. “Meet him and judge for yourself. Then tell me what you think.”
“How could you predispose me when you express such neutral views on the man?” My tone was light, but I turned back to my gowns to hide the expression on my face. I did not want him to see that I had more than a casual interest in his words. “By all the saints, I care little to meet this person, abbot or not…Although, on the other side of the coin, perhaps I should want to meet someone who inspires a show of emotion from one usually so controlled.”
“You think it so?” William was suddenly at my side, his arm around me. “Come, give us a kiss, and I’ll show you my control.” And he planted his mouth on mine without waiting for my acquiescence, his arm stealing around me.
“William.” I pulled away, annoyed. He had never been so free in front of the youth before. “Francis is here.”
“Ah, Princesse, no more pretense. I have told our young Francis we will be married, as soon as this business in the south is finished. He has given us his blessing.” And the grand master of the Templars in all of England winked over my shoulder at the young knight as he released me. Francis had a droll expression on his face, as if he were caught enjoying a bawdy play in the town square. I thought again of Chinon and had to smile myself.
“Enough, from both of you,” I said, with all the firmness I could muster. “Out now, I say. My maids will help me prepare for the festivities. I’ll see you in the Great Hall.” And so saying, I threw open the oak doors. A page appeared and I motioned for my maids, who clustered at the end of the long corridor, where they dallied pleasantly with William’s men.
“Your Grace,” Francis suddenly said, stopping in front of me as William was hustling him out the door. “I beg leave to escort you to the banquet tonight. I would have you meet my friend Geoffrey of Exeter, who has been traveling with us. We were knighted together.”
“I would be delighted, Sir Francis. Give me only a short time to prepare myself and return then with young Sir Geoffrey.”
“Good plan,” William said, clapping his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “He shall enjoy a cup of ale in my chambers, tell three tall tales of his valour on the field to his friend, and return here in the space of an hour.”
Mignonne and two of the younger maids slipped into the room and crossed behind the two men, swinging their small hips. William glimpsed them over his shoulder and turned back to me smiling. Suddenly he performed an exaggerated, sweeping bow to me, assuming a propriety that was almost comical given the bantering that had preceded it. Francis, flashing me a grin, followed his master’s movements exactly. And I, shaking my head at their nonsense, was left to doff my gown and immerse myself once more in the bathwater, now tepid and somewhat clouded with sweet-smelling soap.
.5.
PARIS
The Great Hall
I chose the new white wool for the formal dinner, with the scarlet slashes in the long sleeves, and the tapered skirt with the elegant train. I counted myself lucky that my dressmaker had harried me into several new garments during the previous long winter. My interest was not usually lodged in paints and pots and gowns, but I was moved this evening to make my toilettage carefully, and not only for William.
I wanted to impress our guests while I was assessing them. They must see me as a person of power, not dismiss me as a decoration of this court, a useless royal, female bauble. I wanted them to consider what it might cost them to cross me. After I had taken their measure, I could better form my plan to block their every wish.
These thoughts raced through my mind as Mignonne finished braiding and wrapping my hair. She held the mirror up and rouged my cheeks and lips to my satisfaction, her own full lips dancing as she fought the urge to tease. I had not been so careful making my toilettage since William had last been to court and we both knew it.
“Do not dare to say what you are thinking.” I rose and turned toward her, tapping her shoulder with my mother’s pleated, hand-painted fan. Mignonne had been my maid for some years now, and there was much familiarity between us. “I have more in mind than just Lord William. I want to make an impression on the ki
ng’s important visitors, as well. They must see me as a princesse royale if I am to have any weight in the coming discussions.”
A smart knock on the door with a sword handle interrupted us. I threw a light fur over my shoulders against the damp autumn night air, and opened the door. There stood young Francis, splendid in a cape of deepest sea blue over a matching tunic. His hair was swept back and he had found the time to shave the stubble that earlier had marked him as a traveler. At his side was an equally dapper young knight cloaked in burgundy, the round-faced Geoffrey of Exeter.
“Francis!” I exclaimed. “You look every inch the knight you have become.” My remark was met with a broad grin. Both young men bowed gallantly.
“Your Grace, permit me to present to you my dearest friend, Geoffrey of Exeter. We were knighted together, and have pledged our lifelong friendship.” He looked at me earnestly. “Perhaps you remember Geoffrey from his stay here at Christmastide?”
“Indeed I do,” I said warmly. The young man began to kneel, but I reached down and placed my hand under his elbow to raise him.
“No need for such ceremony here,” I said. “I have heard you are Francis’s good friend. As his friend, I welcome you to Paris with all my heart.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the young man said gravely. “I am pleased to be here, and to be in Lord William’s train. He is a great man. I seek to be like him someday.”
“And so you shall, if you nurture your soul in valour as well as your body,” I said. I then took the arm Francis offered me, and walked with the two young men into the night air.
The castle was arranged so that the primary apartments all opened onto flagstone corridors, which in turn were rimmed by low walls, balustrades, and pillars, but mostly open to the outside. Only the servants’ quarters on the lowest level underground had no access to open corridors. The night air that brushed us briskly as we moved from my apartments to the central halls was most refreshing but by the time the three of us reached the Great Hall I was feeling a chill. Still, one benefit for me would be flushed cheeks and bright eyes that William might find attractive.
The Rebel Princess Page 6
