The Rebel Princess

by Judith Koll Healey

  “Yes, Duke Robert, did you like the theatricals?” William’s crooked smile had something of the elf about it as he took the hammered-silver goblets from the tray and handed one to me.

  “Everything came out well in the end. Philippe always manages it somehow.” Duke Robert shook his leonine head. We all turned in Philippe’s direction, but he was still deep in conversation with the noblewoman Esclarmonde. I wondered if he were planning to bed her. And then it occurred to me that he may already have done so. I recalled with a pang the picture of Francis in deep conversation with the lovely girl just before the drama of Philippe’s audience. I breathed a prayer that my son would not have his heart lanced in his first love, especially not by the hand of his own uncle!

  “We cannot have outside interference in the south, not just yet. We must take any measures to avoid that.” William was speaking to Robert with vehemence, gesturing with his free hand. “King Pedro is sitting in Aragon like an eager hawk, waiting for some movement on the part of the north to set his armies forward. He would be happy to gather his formidable troops and be in the langue d’oc country within days if there is any concerted move by Philippe into the area. The slightest excuse will do. The spoils for Aragon in such an invasion must be well nigh irresistible. Then we would see battles joined that would make mothers weep.” He paused, seeming to gather himself. “No, Philippe is taking the right path. His counselors argue otherwise, but Philippe is determined to stay out of a conflict in the south. He is wisely choosing his own way this time.”

  “His counselors?” I interjected. “You mean Etienne Chastellain and his little band of puppets have encouraged Philippe to go to war?”

  William nodded. “So I hear.”

  Duke Robert threw his head back and gulped his wine. He passed the back of his hand across his mouth and shook it out, as if the act could erase the idea of Chastellain and, indeed, the entire privy council. “This group of advisers has not given the king prudent advice for some time. I don’t know why Philippe tolerates them.”

  “What?” I said to them both, with some mischief in mind. “The counsel of Etienne Chastellain and his colleagues is not to your liking, gentle nobles?”

  “You know I have never been fond of that man. I think his advice to the king is always shaped to accomplish some end that furthers the career of the chief minister himself,” Duke Robert snapped. “He surrounds himself with lackeys trained in Rome who parrot Chastellain as if he were the pope himself.”

  “And I”—William cast a considered glance in the direction of the minister and his colleagues—“do not trust the man, either. He cares too much for his own power. I also believe Chastellain is playing a game right now with regard to the affairs in the south, but I don’t know quite what it is, nor how it benefits him.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Why do you say that?” I turned to him, intrigued.

  “His response to all of what we just heard is too smooth, too restrained.” William shook his head. “I would have expected him to offer some public counsel to the king just now, to support yours, Alaïs. Or to argue against it. But he said nothing. Just watched the interplay with that false smile. It’s troubling. It makes me think he might have some other, private plan to interfere. Hidden from all of us and thus doubly dangerous.”

  I glanced again at the king, and noted that he was now engaged with the Count of Troyes. The groups around the king had reconfigured, and Francis had managed to obtain the side of the fair Esclarmonde who was now in the center of a group of women. I may have been wrong about my brother. His connection with the young woman of the south could be nothing more than that she served his political ends. Perhaps I should meet her and judge for myself.

  On impulse I excused myself to my uncle and William, and made my way to the group chatting around Esclarmonde.

  “Your Grace,” she said, dropping a deep courtesy to me, as did the other women. Francis bowed as if we were strangers, which amused me.

  “My dear Lady Esclarmonde,” I said, raising her up immediately. “I have been wanting to make your acquaintance since last even, when I saw you in the suite of my aunt Constance. You did very well today. I admired your courage in the audience with the king. You spoke out for your beliefs.”

  “Indeed I did,” she said, looking at me without wavering. “And everything I said was for one end only: to protect my homeland from invaders and those who would do us harm.” She cast her look downward for a moment, then met my glance again. “I meant no disrespect to the knights and monks who would persuade the king otherwise. But for us it is a matter of life and death.”

  “I hear good reports of your life in the south, of the sweet air in the mountains and the love of beauty in dress and song. I would enjoy visiting you some time in the future.”

  She grinned as she gave me a rejoinder, a sunny, artless look coming over her face. “If you did come, I know you would be welcomed, Your Grace. Especially in my brother’s court at Foix, but also in the surrounding towns. We are blessed with strong women, and you would find shelter and hospitality in Laurac or Lavaur, our neighbors as well. They are households run by friends of my brother’s dear wife, Philippa. Please do visit us sometime.”

  I returned her smile and gave her my hand. As I made my way back to William, I mused. So that self-possessed young woman had engaged the interest of my son. This could very well be a friendship worth watching.

  William had scarce time to inquire what I had to say to the Lady Esclarmonde, when the heralds appeared and let fly their high, joyful notes, announcing the king’s departure for the tourney field across the Seine, and the beginning of the court’s progress. The three of us moved toward the door behind the king’s retinue.

  “Speaking of mothers’ tears,” my uncle said, “I wonder how the lists have formed.” We were talking as we wound down the grand stone staircase. “Do we look forward to good sport this day?”

  “I think we shall see some valor, Duke Robert. My own clerk, who once fancied himself an actor, is now taking to the field to prove his mettle in arms.”

  “Oh, William, not Francis!”

  He caught my elbow and pressed it hard. He wanted no clues that might lead anyone to suspect that my interest in Francis was special. But I was as timorous as any mother at the thought that my young lad would enter the lists and possibly be hurt—or worse—by the end of the day.

  “Alaïs has developed a great fondness for my young knight,” William explained. But Duke Robert, who was anyway hard of hearing, continued to descend the broad stone steps ahead of us. He was completely oblivious to both my exclamation and William’s comment. “Fear not, Princesse,” William continued in a lower voice. “Francis has been well prepared. I have seen to it. Much of his training for the tourney has been at my own hand! And his friend Geoffrey has enlisted also. It should be good sport.”

  Still, I was not happy. So caught up had I been in the drama of the morning that I had forgotten the tournament to come. These displays of manly courage, often at the expense of broken bones, held little charm for me. I had agreed to attend today only because Philippe had requested it, and because William was here. But my heart was unquiet to hear that my son would be among those at risk.

  At the bottom of the castle steps horses had been assembled to take us across the Seine to the fields of the west bank, where the tents had been raised for the knights. From a distance the red and yellow flags of the various nobles’ houses appeared to be so many butterfly wings pinned to the white pavilion peaks. Our horses pawed the ground impatiently, but we were forced to wait for the king, who had stepped aside on the balcony at the top of the stone stairway, and was engaged in an animated conversation with the Count of Champagne. Finally he turned and bounded down the remaining steps with his athletic stride. The crowd, assembled to see us off, cheered their king. The air of anticipation in our entourage was palpable.

  We rode swiftly, for the audience in the Great Hall had cost the tou
rnament precious time. Though the October breezes were still warm under the noon sun, we knew that the games must be finished in a few hours, for the sun’s slide at the end of the day was precipitous at this time of year. And there must also be enough time left in this busy day for the grand victory banquet.

  I noticed ahead of us in the train the two Cistercians, accompanied by their flags and their many retainers. Whilst we had been refreshed in my brother’s privy chambers, they had used the time to change out of their austere white wool monk’s habits and into cloaks and tunics of blue and green that made them indistinguishable from the rest of the court.

  “Note well my erstwhile travel companions ahead. I see they have decked themselves out for the games. One might almost suspect they enjoy such frivolities.” William’s smile was grim. “You know Amaury was a soldier before he became abbot of Cîteaux.”

  “So you have said. It would seem, however, he has just exchanged one bloody career for another.”

  William turned to me, clearly startled. “Do you know something you have not said to me about this affair?” he asked rather roughly. “Have you some premonition about how this will all end?”

  “I don’t know. But something about those men, about Amaury in particular, disturbs me. When I know more, I will tell you.” I was dissembling, for I still held the secret of Joanna’s letter.

  “Perhaps you ought to draw him,” William said thoughtfully. He knew my hunches were often better revealed through my art, though I might not know what would come when I picked up my charcoal. “When you see him in your mind’s eye, you may yet discover something we have overlooked.”

  “It may be so,” I agreed. But privately I was not at all certain I wanted to know more about this importunate churchman.

  .9.

  In the Pavilion

  When we reached the field, William took hold of the reins of my horse, for the crowd was a milling squabble of animals, knights, squires and nobles, pages and stableboys looking to earn a coin. The courtiers who had been so civil at the audience in the Great Hall were now acting like a horde of Huns. All was confusion, with the horses kicking up great clouds of dust from the dry land. I pulled my veil over my face to avoid choking. Pages were running everywhere with pails of water from the river to dampen the ground. Gradually the dust settled and the passage to the royal quarters became bearable, although we were still buffeted by the churning crowds. I rode my favorite palfrey, kept for me in Philippe’s stables, while William rode a much larger destrier and so had an advantage in this whirling melee. He led the way, carving a path for us through the crowds.

  The standard of the royal house fluttered over one group of pavilions, set up in the meadow adjacent to the tourney field. The smaller tent next to Philippe’s was mine. Queen Agnes used to have her own quarters at these events, but Ingeborg never came and now the servants did not bother to set up a shelter for her. Thus there were only three in the royal group: Philippe’s, mine, and that of our uncle Charles. Constance could have had her own retreat also, but she refused to attend these festivals.

  William led my horse to a stop and slipped to the ground. He waved the groom aside and helped me dismount himself. As we made our way inside the tent he held my elbow, as if somehow I might fly away. It amused me, this need he had to touch me whenever we were together. I wondered if that need would remain once we were man and wife, and he—retired at last from the Temple order and its demands—stayed at home by my side.

  When we entered my pavilion it was as if we were suddenly absorbed into a separate world from the noisy, dusty one we had just ridden through. Heavy Smyrna carpets had been spread and reclining seats set up for our rest. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, cheering the interior. I chose a favorite couch and made my way there, slipping my cloak from my shoulders. William caught the garment before a servant could spring to my side, and handed it to the young man. He then pulled a deeply colored burgundy wool shawl from another chair and tossed it over my lap and legs when I was settled. I smiled my thanks for the added warmth.

  He joined me in an adjacent couch, so that we sat side by side, our legs stretched out comfortably in front of us. I was glad for the steaming cups of mulled wine the servants brought, for my bones were chilled. Although the fog had lifted and the sun had finally graced us with its light, there had been precious little warmth from it on the ride across the Seine.

  “Well, sweetheart, the first part of the day has been adventuresome. Here’s a toast to the second part, with the hope that it will be less exciting.”

  “William.” I leaned my head back against his arm outstretched along the back of the couch. “Is there truly a need for me to witness this joust? Could I not just stay behind here in the pavilion?”

  “I fear not, love. The sister of the king of France would be sore missed, especially after your role today in the public audience. Besides, did you not say that Philippe expressly asked that you attend today?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know why.” I ran my finger around the rim of the cup. A thrust of strong wind shook the tent, and I could hear the standard overhead flapping on its pole.

  “Perhaps it has to do with your role as his adviser. I believe he wants the court to see his confidence in you.”

  “But why?”

  William shrugged. “Philippe keeps his own counsel, as you may have noticed. He confides in me, sometimes in his uncle, less and less I believe in his privy council, but many things he does not share. I don’t blame…ah, there you are.” William leaped to his feet at the sudden entrance of young Francis and his companion, the sweet-faced Geoffrey. “I was afraid you were lost on the way. What delayed you? Could you not find one of the three royal tents?” he joked.

  The two youths were splendid in their flashing tournament garb, robust and healthy and looking well nigh indestructible. Their chain-mail shirts somehow made them appear older than they had in the palace reception rooms, as if the very act of dressing for combat added years.

  “Princesse.” Both youths dropped to their knees, but I motioned them to stand.

  “Please, young knights. Do not stand on ceremony with me when we are not in court.” I looked at Francis, and could not keep the pride from my voice or face, but I addressed them both. “You look wondrously ready for this adventure. How long before the king takes his place, do you know?”

  “We were told that we had only a short time to make our courtesies to you, Your Grace.” Francis grinned as he bobbed his head.

  “Lord William said we must see you before we take to our horses. He said it would bring good luck.” Geoffrey clapped his companion on the shoulder as he spoke.

  “And are you both ready for this test?” I asked, amused at their excitement.

  “We’ve practiced so long,” Geoffrey said. “I’ve only been knighted for half a year, and already I’ve been in the lists in three tourneys.” He stopped for a moment. “Or rather, two before this one. This is my third tourney,” he confessed. “But I intend to bring honor to Lord William’s household!”

  “I am certain he is already proud of you,” I said, willing all my good spirit onto these two earnest young men.

  The flap to the tent door opened again just then, letting in a shaft of light. Then a shadow fell across the room. It was only a figure blocking the slanting autumn sun, but a chilled breath sped across my heart when I saw who entered.

  “Your Grace.” Etienne Chastellain, resplendent in a fox-lined cloak of deepest green, bowed to me. I nodded curtly, making no move to welcome him. He turned immediately to the two youths standing awkwardly to the side, their faces registering some surprise to have the king’s chief minister appear so casually.

  “Young knights, they are calling the lists even now. You’d best be on your way.” His voice was commanding and I bristled like a forest animal at his impudence.

  “You came to fetch the two young knights?” My voice dripped honey. “How considerate of you.”

  “I came to have a word with yo
u in private, Princesse,” he retorted smoothly.

  “Lord William,” I heard Francis say, “come, put your name to ours on the list as our sponsor.”

  “I don’t think…” William looked quickly from me to Chastellain, a frown gathering. There was a roar from the direction of the field.

  “Yes, William. Do go with the young knights,” I urged. “And please tell Philippe I will be in place shortly. I hear a commotion from the direction of his tent and I fear he is making his way onto the field now.” I knew from the sound of the crowd the king had stopped on the field to receive the welcome of his people on his way to the royal box.

  Casting a glance in my direction, William hustled the two young knights from the room, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll send one of your grooms to accompany you.”

  “Now, Sir Etienne, what is your business with me that is so private?” As I spoke I occupied myself with arranging the folds of the wool shawl William had thrown over my lap when we first arrived.

  “Your Grace,” Chastellain said again as he sighed and pulled a small stool forward next to my couch. He perched unsteadily, his bulk being unsuited to the small seat. He was now on a level with me, his eyes boring into mine. I did not recall giving him leave to sit in my presence, but I decided to overlook that breach on his part. He made me uneasy, and I wanted to hear what he had to say and dispatch him as quickly as possible. In the back of my mind lurked the ominous shadow of our encounter the previous night. What did he know about Francis? Could he know that he was my son? That his father had been king of England? My heart beat so loudly I thought sure he must hear it.

  “Continue, please.” We sat eyeing each other like stray tomcats.

  He glanced sideways and began to fiddle with his chain of office. Another small noise, almost a grunt, preceded his next remark, as if he were shifting the burden of his thoughts to me.