The Rebel Princess

by Judith Koll Healey

  “Your Grace, it pains me to have to ask you this, but I require your help at this time.”

  “On what matter?” I still regarded him steadily.

  “This morning…uh…you heard the request of the two Cistercians, their plea for the king’s assistance in overcoming the heresy of the south.” Chastellain’s demeanor and voice underwent a change as he spoke, softening like the tone of a young man courting in the spring. He leaned toward me and I could smell wine on his warm breath.

  “Please, Etienne, get to the point.” I deliberately used his first name, denying him the respect his chain of office demanded. If he didn’t make haste I’d address him in the familiar tu, like a servant!

  “Your Grace, I am trying to say what I must with as much finesse as possible. But as you will.” He straightened his back and faced me directly, once more the man of business. “I require your aid, as I have said. This morning it was clear how much your brother trusts you. Before the entire court he asked you to judge, as a veritable Sybil, on the matter of giving arms and aid to the Cistercians.”

  “I am aware of the events of the morning.” My impatience was evident but I cared not. “Certes, you did not come here to test the reliability of my memory!”

  “No, Your Grace, but there have been some later developments that I thought might cause you to reverse your position.”

  “How could there have been time?” I was incredulous. “We only left the assembly rooms an hour past.”

  “Events are moving swiftly,” Etienne said pompously. “The long and short of it is that I am here to ask you to intervene with the king in these matters.”

  “In what way?” If he knew me at all, he must have an idea how dangerous this conversation was to him. What he was asking bordered on treason.

  “Nothing improper, Your Grace,” he said, holding up his hands as if to ward off my recriminations. “In point of fact, His Majesty this morning did not say he would forbid his liege men to fight with the monks at some time in the future.”

  “Go on.” I drew the words out, clipping the ends of them as if with a knife.

  “Hmm, yes. But here is a problem.” He was fiddling with his chain of office now, twisting it in his fingers. “The need is urgent. If the king delays in sending aid it may be too late.”

  “You heard the king this morning. He is not in the habit of changing his opinion, once given in a public audience.”

  “Ah, but he could change it if you asked. Just this once. And he would not have to go with his own army. He could allow Nevers and Burgundy to take their men and go, just as de Donzy requested. Such an action need not affect the royal treasury. It would even offer the king an alternative to fighting one of his own vassals, Count Raymond.” Chastellain paused. “I thought…I’ve noticed your high regard for young Francis of Lord William’s household, and I thought perhaps, to ensure his ongoing safety with the help of my men, um…you might be willing…”

  His words sent a cold shaft through my heart. I threw back the shawl and rose abruptly, nearly knocking the prime minister off the three-legged stool in the process and putting a sudden end to his vile speech.

  “Sir Chastellain, I have tarried too long in this conversation. The king will be wondering where I am. I hear by the noise of the crowd that the first knights are ready for the contest. You heard the king’s decision at the morning audience. France will not countenance war in the south, no matter what the wishes of Rome or their legates. I would not presume to intercede with the king when he has made his decision so clear.” I paused, then continued with clear enunciation. “The king wants neither his armies nor his liege men involved in this matter. Not now.”

  Chastellain rose also. He was so short that his eyes were still level with mine. He came closer to me but I edged sideways. I turned and picked up my cloak, busying myself as I pulled it about my shoulders.

  “Your Grace, the Count de Nevers is intent on going to the south.” Chastellain was speaking quickly now, aware that the time to make his case was nearly finished. “He rode with me to the tourney here today. He feels it is a matter of his immortal soul, that he must make reparation for the sin he committed when he made war on his wife’s father. He begs you to intercede so that the king will allow him and the Duke Eudes to take their men and go with the monks to fight this heresy.”

  These words came tumbling out of the chief minister’s mouth while I occupied myself with fastening the jeweled clasp of my cloak. I allowed a pause, long enough to be uncomfortable, before I looked up from my task.

  “Yes, I understand the Count de Nevers has much to atone for. I wish him well in his quest to do so. But my brother has good reasons for not wanting the knights of France involved in a war. You heard him this morning. I will not importune him further on the subject.” I turned to go.

  “Your Grace, this is not wise…” Chastellain began, and I whirled on him, this time deliberately stepping quite close. Now it was he who was forced back a step.

  “Sir Chastellain, by no means! Do not dare to tell me what is wise for me and what is not. And never, ever again bring a private request to me to intercede with the king, nor bring mention of the Lord William’s household into our conversation.” I narrowed my eyes with unmistakable hostility. “Do we understand each other, sir?”

  The little man had no alternative but to nod, once, reluctantly.

  I turned and went swiftly from the pavilion. Outside, as William had promised, a groom held my restive palfrey. Another appeared and cupped his hands for my foot. I could scarce see for the tears of anger blurring my vision. I rode off without a backward glance.

  .10.

  On the Field

  I cantered along the turf past the nobles’ boxes, paying little heed to their turning heads and dropped jaws. The king’s pennant flew from the largest of these units, in the center of the long row. The masses of townspeople and guilders were on the opposite side, in makeshift bleachers. On one end was a huge open space, where the peasants from the country could stand and watch the jousts. The participating knights would ride in from the opposite end, where the marshals and heralds were already milling about in their midst.

  I rode boldly in front of the crowd. The man assigned to ride with me had been left quite behind as I sped onward alone. Any woman without escort in public was an unusual sight, and to see a royal female without a knight at her side must be astonishing to the king’s subjects. My performance would provide grist for gossip in the taverns that night! When I reached the royal box, the king’s grooms leaped forward to help me dismount.

  William and Philippe were standing in the back of the box, talking intently. A footman recognized and assisted me, clearing the way through the crowd. William looked up as I entered and broke off his conversation with my brother. He hastened to my side.

  “Alaïs?” He could see my distress. “What has happened?”

  I had conquered my urge to cry like a rageful child and composed myself. But I still did not trust that my voice would not tremble. I shook my head.

  He tried for a light tone: “The two bright red spots on your cheeks give you away.” I was in no mood for teasing so I merely shrugged.

  “What did Chastellain want in his private interview?” he persisted, now more seriously, sotto voce.

  I finally spoke. “He pressed me to intercede with the king on behalf of the monks’ suit.”

  “He dared that?” There was true surprise in his voice. “What reply did you make?”

  “I said on no account would I do so. And William…” I was about to tell him of Chastellain’s final comment, the veiled threat about Francis, but at that moment the king looked up and beckoned us to our seats.

  William nodded, and handed me into my chair, which once again was beside my brother. The king stood at the front of his box, waving to the crowds, the townspeople and serfs from the surrounding villages freed for the day and festive as happy pigeons around grain. Philippe adored appearing before his people. He was a natural-born
monarch. I found such crowds and displays stifling, but then again, I was not a ruler in search of the love of my subjects. Meanwhile, the marshals were having hard work of it to clear the field of stragglers so the games could begin.

  Philippe acknowledged my presence with a brief nod just before he sat down.

  “What are the rules of the day?” I asked, forcing a casual lilt. “It will be arms of courtesy, will it not?” Fresh from the interview with Chastellain, I feared for the safety of Francis. Harm could come from any quarter.

  “The heralds are just now starting the announcements.” The noise lessened as the horns sounded. “Yes, arms of courtesy. I’ve put a ban on tourneys with unblocked lances again,” Philippe said. “Too many young men are dying on the fields of France for sport.” He was watching the field intently, as the knights assembled for the first round of charges.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Because of the blunted lances no one would be gravely injured, although a knight could sustain broken bones if he were unseated too industriously by a challenger.

  After a shrill blast of trumpets the lead herald rode forward to proclaim the rules for the tourney. Five challengers were to be selected by lot from the lists, and any knight from those assembled could then propose himself to fight against these knights. After five lances were broken, the king would declare the winner of that joust.

  The heralds completed their task, and were showered with gold and silver, as was the custom. I looked around the cheering crowd and beyond, to the brilliantly colored trees that surrounded the field and the deep blue sky above. The fog of early morning had burned off, and left us with a sparkling late-autumn day. Even I, loath as I was to be here to witness these war games, admitted that the day lacked nothing to be perfect for open-field festivities. Why God should bless the lashing and grunting of a tournament with such beauty of nature was beyond me.

  “You know, if they didn’t organize war games, the knights and younger sons would be fighting among themselves in every field and byway. The overall consequences would likely be even more dire. This way, at least, they are supervised.” William’s voice was in my ear. Once again he had read my thoughts. I was about to give him a rejoinder that sometimes youths died on the tourney field, and what, pray, could be more dire than that, when suddenly Francis pulled up before me, riding a magnificent warhorse. I recognized it as William’s own.

  “Princesse Alaïs.” The young knight smiled and lowered his lance until it was level, the tip quite close to my breast. His strong young shoulders were visible under the chain metal tunic as he struggled to hold the impatient charger. “Will you give me the honor of wearing your colors in the lists?”

  I found myself blushing, to William’s apparent delight, as I unraveled my favorite green silk foulard from my neck and wound it on the end of the lowered lance. “My compliments, Sir Francis,” I said, acknowledging his knighthood. “And I wish you fortune’s favor for the day.”

  He laughed then, and rode gaily off. William pressed my hand briefly. I couldn’t look at him, but neither could I stop the smile that would rise to my lips.

  “He’s a brave lad,” I said, my voice full of the feeling for which I could not find words.

  “Yes, he is indeed. And so also is his friend Geoffrey, who has joined the lists with him.”

  “Both are gallant young men,” I murmured absently, watching the field.

  Now the heralds rode forth to read out the names of those who were on the lists. My heart fluttered when I heard Francis’s name, along with the Count of Nevers and three others unfamiliar to me.

  Philippe stood and raised his royal arm, bringing it down like a broadsword. “Let the games begin,” he shouted, and the heralds repeated the order down the line, as they galloped off the field.

  My motherly qualms subsided as I watched Francis time after time take on the challengers and unhorse or disarm every one. I was of a mind for a brief period that he would be victor of the day, although he was surely the youngest knight on the field. But close on the end he faded with fatigue and finally was bested by another, losing his seat on the remarkable warhorse. He retired from the field to an uproar of support from the sidelines, a cry from those who saw how young he was, and how valiantly he had fought through the hours. And though he lost the lance, I saw him scramble to retrieve my favor from the field, where it had fallen in his mishap. He scooped it up and stuffed it back into his doublet as he was helped across the mangled turf.

  As the afternoon sun lowered in the sky, the rays seemed to increase in intensity, casting long spikes of light across the field. The crowd became ever more jolly, as if anticipating the happy conclusion of the day, the awards to be given out, and the alehouses to which they would repair later to replay the events. The cheery noise had the opposite effect on my spirit. I felt a premonition. Something was not quite right.

  To my surprise, I looked up to see the two monks approaching the king. Amaury, who always seemed to thrust himself into the lead position, bowed low. “Your Majesty, my compliments for a fine exhibition here.”

  The king took his eyes from the field momentarily, frowning at the interruption. The monk continued quickly: “My colleague and I request permission to withdraw at this point. We have not yet said our daily office, and must attend to our prayers if we are to make a showing at your feast.”

  Philippe waved his hand negligently. “I understand, Abbé. You have our permission to withdraw.” I suspected the king’s friendly tone was an attempt to smooth over any ruffled feelings that were retained as a result of his refusal to fall in with the monks’ request at his audience that morning. “But I fully expect to see you both this night. After all, the festivities are in your honor.”

  The monks bowed again, and made their way down onto the field. I followed their progress as they signaled for horses. Amaury mounted expertly, Pierre with more effort. Then they rode quickly from my sight. Something about their early exit bothered me, but my gaze was drawn back to the action on the field.

  The next round was about to begin, and I was met with a jarring sight. As a seasoned knight made ready at one end of the field, a familiar figure took his place opposite, at the other.

  I exclaimed loudly, “Oh, no. This cannot be.”

  “Alaïs, what causes you distress?” William, whose gaze had been fastened on the field, was immediately solicitous. “Are you ill?”

  “No, pas du tout,” I exclaimed, unable to take my gaze from the field. “It’s the boy. Francis’s friend Geoffrey. He is so young, and he faces Hervé de Donzy, Count of Nevers! The count is much older and more experienced. And he is known for his brutality on the field.”

  “But, Princesse, you know the lists are settled by chance. They cannot be altered at this time.” William looked around. “Speak softly. Do not draw attention.”

  “Why, you are afraid I will create a womanish scene!” I turned to him with vehemence. “But what of this young man’s fate? He is younger than Francis by at least five summers. And look at de Donzy.” William’s glance turned just in time to see the frontispiece of the helmet clamp down over the scowl of the older knight. “Can you imagine how angry the count is after this morning? His plea was dismissed by Philippe. He was refused in front of the entire court while he was on his knees!” And then I was struck by another thought. “Perhaps the Count of Nevers knows I refused Chastellain’s request. He may hold a grudge against me, and his anger may fuel violence here.”

  William shook his head. “There is nothing to be done.”

  I could not keep the pleading note from my voice. “You have the ear of the king. Can you not stop this?”

  “Alaïs, Geoff is a knight who entered the lists here. He wants to prove himself. He will be fine. They are fighting with blunted lances.” William sought to soothe me, but I had a sudden terrible feeling that the sunny afternoon was about to turn dark. I saw young Geoffrey as a mirror of my own son, and a son without a mother here to protect him.

  “I will ask P
hilippe to stop the joust.” I said this with determination, and half rose. But William placed his hand on my arm.

  “You cannot do that without humiliating this young man,” he countered quickly, his voice stern. And I knew what he said to be true. The youth would not thank me for interceding for him, even if Philippe were willing to call a halt to the games. And there was no certainty the king would honor my request. I turned back to the field to watch.

  The first pass was in progress. As usual, it seemed primarily a test of mettle between the combatants. Did one knight flinch? Did the other give way? Was there a weak spot to be pressed in later passes?

  The townspeople and peasants cheered, as much to encourage the knights to greater boldness as a response to their mild actions. The knights reached the end of the pole and pulled in their horses, circling them around to begin again. At the sound of the horn they commenced riding. The second pass was more lively, with each knight making a serious attempt to unhorse the other, the long bar between them. The third held even greater action, with a valiant attempt by Geoffrey, giving a thrust that nearly unseated de Donzy. Then there was a long pause as the two knights readied for the final test. It seemed de Donzy had asked the marshal for consideration so he could slip from his post and tighten the straps. His horse pawed the ground as he remounted and settled himself. Eventually the baton fell, the horn rang out, and the final run began.

  The two men rode hard, the hooves pounding on the ruined field. The figures blurred slightly before my eyes, merging for a moment into one. Every part of my body gripped inward. I knew with certainty the awful outcome before the happening.

  The crowd must have sensed what I already knew, for a strange silence gradually descended upon all, like a calm that precedes a storm. I averted my eyes. Then I heard a crash followed by a roar. I looked up quickly, but I was blinded by the sun’s rays bouncing off the helmet that lay in the middle of the field.