This seemed to satisfy him, or perhaps he was coming into the knowledge that I must tell the story my own way, for he waited, watching me intently.
“This girl was strong-willed, but she was really a pawn for her father and stepfather. She was told whom she would marry, where she would live, how she would learn.”
“Was she a captive, then?” He broke in again, almost in spite of himself, I could see.
“Not exactly, but because her family was important many decisions about her life were not her own. But to continue: She was in awe of her stepfather when she was young, for he was a powerful man, as powerful as her father in another realm. But she had a memory of him once, when she was a little girl, and he came upon her drawing. He noticed what she was doing, and he told her that, in a way, he envied her gift. He saw that she could draw images that were called up from inside, and he—a man of action—could see only what was before him. It was a brief exchange, but from that moment on, she had a warm feeling for him, almost of sympathy.”
I waited for a moment, for, in truth, I felt my own heart swelling with the memory of the events that had brought me to King Henry’s bed. After a moment, I continued.
“When I was older, my stepmother, Queen Eleanor, was sent away, and King Henry was lonely, as was I. Because we had shared a moment once, when he had revealed to me his vulnerability, we came to an uneasy joining at that time.” I suddenly saw Francis’s eyes widen, and realized that I had switched into saying “I” without thinking, and to say the king was Henry and the queen was Eleanor. So be it.
“I had a child. There were…circumstances at the time that prevented me from…taking the boy away. Then I was told the child had died, and thought so for many years.” My voice began to cloud over, as if a fog were descending inside me. But I pressed on, for now was the time. And I must be equal to the task.
“Years later, I discovered the lad still lived and had been well cared for by an old friend. And it was for the best of reasons, not the least of which was the safety of the child, that I had not been told the babe had survived. But when I knew, I moved heaven and earth to find the young man.”
Francis was staring at me, his mouth open with a quick intake of breath, but he said nothing.
“When I found my son, I saw he was a delight. Learned, bright, adventuresome, and brave. All that I hoped a son could be. And I no longer thought it was necessary to tell him I was his mother. Not then. Perhaps later.”
“And why now?” Francis’s voice was unsteady. I could not tell if it was anger or tenderness. “Why tell him now?”
I glanced at William, but I knew I could not lay all this at his door. “Because the times are turbulent, it seemed better to delay telling you. We…I thought that perhaps later, when things were more settled and he…you might have some ease in which to make your decisions…” My voice trailed off as I watched the young knight’s face darken.
“The princesse does not tell the entire story,” William interrupted. “I insisted she not tell you while you and I had our final mission for the pope. I thought it would distract us from this work I had promised to do. And I did not feel I could protect you if I were far away.”
“But what has changed now?” he asked, after clearing his throat.
“Your abduction changed everything for both of us. I saw the point of what the princesse was trying to tell me. Life is uncertain. I had no right to make her keep this news from you. It is too important.” William’s voice was quiet and I gave him a look of such thanks that his face relaxed from its tight expression.
“When you disappeared, and I thought you might die, I regretted that I had never told you the most important news of your life.” I picked up the story, dropping the pretense for good. “And told you the story well. I wanted you to know that I love you and I am proud of you. And other things. That you could be proud of your father. That the person who protected you still watches over you, even as you grew to knighthood. That royal blood from two kingdoms runs in your veins.”
There was a long silence. Francis threw his head back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he faced me again.
“I am that son.” He said it as a statement, not a question, but I answered anyway.
“Yes, you are that son.”
“And that story of Lord William finding me at a village outside of York? That was a fable?” Yes, I could hear the anger now, but I could assign no blame for that. We would just have to weather the storm. “Could no one have told me before this time, in all these years, who my parents were?”
“Why?” I asked, suddenly wondering if I had made a mistake in my son. Could he care so much that he was a bastard of a king? “What would have been different for you had you known?”
Francis rose and looked about, somewhat wildly. His glance landed on William who had remained leaning against the wall behind Francis’s chair, his arms folded.
“How could you not have told me all the while I grew up in your household? Why did you even take me in? Did they pay you? Has that been my life…My past hidden, dependent on the kindness of strangers!”
He backed away, and looked from one to the other of us.
“Francis,” William said, so sharply I winced. “You forget yourself. You have just been told your parentage, for now it is time. The princesse had the right to decide that, for you were her child. It is hers to tell.”
“But do you know, do either of you know, what it is like to grow up thinking one thing about your family, believing you came from a poor village, an orphan, and to suddenly discover that none of it was true…that you don’t know who you truly are?”
William moved to the young man so quickly I scarce saw his feet touch the floor. He grabbed his shoulders and shook him, as if he were a schoolboy. Suddenly the youth, who was near as tall as his master, threw his arms around the older man and began to sob. William held him closely for a long moment, then released him.
“You are yourself, lad,” William said. “All the rest matters not.”
After a long pause, William spoke again. “You have a kinship with the princesse that is so obvious I sometimes wonder why others don’t see it,” he said, and young Francis gathered himself and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, a boyish gesture that nearly undid me. He looked into William’s face and the mixture of emotions, which I could see from my chair, made my own heart ache. “Both of you are headstrong and rebellious. You should have seen it yourself that night you escaped into Chinon, against my orders. I found you both in the town square, where you could have been harmed. But neither of you had a thought for the practical things.”
Francis smiled gamely as he turned to me. “I do recall that night. And the wonderful conversations we had as we continued our journey into France, where you came to visit Queen Eleanor.”
“Yes, I remember. I was then so impressed with all you knew, of philosophy and poetics, with your curiosity and your liveliness.” I paused, and then took a chance. “I cannot tell you how proud I am to be your mother, young Francis.”
“And your mother loves you above all things,” William said gravely. “She risked her life to save yours. You would not be alive without her, not then and not now.”
The youth came quickly and gracefully and fell on his knee in front of my chair. “Forgive my outburst, Your Grace. It is so startling to have one’s life, all the things one has come to believe about oneself, overturned. I lost myself for a moment.”
“My son, you will never lose yourself. You are Francis, no matter who your parents, nor what they did.” I placed a hand on his unruly auburn mane, and caressed his head with a feeling of great love and relief.
“But how did I come to Lord William’s household?” the youth asked, insistently but this time without hostility.
“Lad, that is a tale of its own and I will tell it myself,” William interjected, pulling up a small stool for himself and one for Francis. “It is simple. King Henry, for he indeed was your father as you now know, fear
ed for your safety, and the safety of your mother. There were vultures at the courts of both France and England who would have taken you and used you for their own ends. So the king asked me to take you away and see to your upbringing. And he kept that news from your mother, for he knew she would never rest until she had you, if she thought you lived.” He clapped his hand on Francis’s shoulder.
“Raising you like my own son was a labor of love for me, my young knight. I had loved your mother, although she knew it not in those days, ever since she was my childhood playmate.” William paused, his glance meeting mine. “It was my way of serving her as well as my king.”
“Did you love my father?” He turned to me directly. The question was not unexpected, but still caught me with my guard down. I could only answer truthfully.
“With all my heart, at the time.”
“It matters not that I am a bastard,” he said, with gravitas. “But how my father was to you, that is important. I would hate him until the day I died if I thought he had mistreated you.”
I saw before me the young man who had entered the room earlier, and knew that his words were a kind of benediction for me, both a forgiveness and the statement of a proud son.
“And besides,” he continued, “Lord William is my guardian and always has been. He has been all that a father could be to me.”
“I know that,” I was beginning to say, when William interrupted.
“King Henry, your father, also loved your mother for her gifts and her active nature, so like your own, Francis. I know. I was there. I saw it all.” And then his voice became brisk again. “Since I have been all that a father could be, you will be pleased to know that I am about to marry your mother.”
A smile spread across the young man’s face, erasing any clouds that had gathered during our conversation.
“Splendid,” he cried as both men rose, Francis knocking over the three-legged stool near my bed. Francis clapped his guardian on the back in return. In truth, he was so joyful I thought he might clap me on the back as well, but instead he reached for my hand, and bent low over it, first brushing his lips and then holding my hand against his dear cheek.
And when William edged him aside so he could raise me up and embrace me, we three were joined.
It was William, ever practical, who broke our touch with a brisk statement. “Alaïs, we need to make a plan for your safety, now…”
Francis took the opportunity to move to the window, and stood looking at the very clouds I had watched earlier, lost in his own thoughts. William began restlessly walking to and fro, but never out of my eyesight as I lay back against the pillows of my chair. As he was beginning the litany of actions we three must undertake, the door flew open and the Countess of Foix stepped inside the door, highly agitated.
“Princesse, Lord William, my husband’s sister has just arrived and when she heard you were here, she demanded an immediate audience.” Whereupon she stepped into the room and behind her appeared the mysterious Lady Esclarmonde, framed in the doorway. She was dressed in traveling clothes laden with grime, her boots dusty, her formerly lustrous brown hair matted and hanging in clumps. She had a small, leather travel sac slung over her shoulder. I could not have been more surprised if it had been Abbot Amaury himself.
I saw William turning abruptly, angered at the interruption. I saw Francis spin from the window, an expression of disbelief coming over his features. I sank back into my chair and prepared to watch the scene.
.28.
The Chamber of the Princesse at Foix
Francis, thank God in heaven that you are safe!” The intense exclamation from the young woman was a total surprise to all of us. She stood, cheeks flushed, hovering on the threshold, as if once she had breached the privacy of our council she did not dare go further.
But then she did. After her slight hesitation, she ran to Francis and sank on her knees before him. William and I stared in astonishment.
“Can you forgive me for putting your life in danger?” she asked. Francis looked as startled as we did. But he rose to the occasion in a knightly way, gently taking the young woman’s elbows and raising her to face him.
“What are you talking about, Lady?” he asked, true confusion filling his voice. “I have no knowledge of your efforts to put my life in danger.” Perhaps he did not, but once my initial amazement subsided I began to have a glimmer.
“I had no suspicion when Constance proposed a flirtation with you that it would end in your abduction,” she said. At least she had the character to look Francis in the face as she confessed.
“Constance of Toulouse proposed a flirtation with me?” Francis’s eyebrows rose and I could hear a sliver of sadness fill his voice. He looked crestfallen. Her interest in him had all been part of a game.
“I am so sorry for my part in this mischief,” she sniffled, as she finally turned from Francis to face me.
“It was Constance behind the entire plan, n’est-ce pas?” I asked, as the young woman paused.
“Yes, she was at the center of the intrigue in Paris,” she sighed. “And certain mistakes were made. May I sit now, please?” With the sun full on her face, I could see the weariness and dust lining it. But she had still a pert, cheerful look and the aura of youth surrounded her.
William dragged a chair from the corner, muttering: “I am happy to have you sit, Lady Esclarmonde, if you will only clear up some of the mysteries regarding the activities of Constance of Toulouse.”
“This is the story,” she began. “Countess Constance knew Abbé Amaury was coming to see King Philippe to beg for money and men to fight in the south. She has a network of spies that is quite large. She advised my brother, the Count of Foix, to send me north to Paris. I was to engage the king’s attention and use whatever influence I had to keep the king from committing arms and silver to Amaury’s plan.” Esclarmonde sat down, casting a glance at Francis as she did so. “I must say, I was mildly successful in that endeavor.”
“Hence your performance at the royal reception the day Amaury made his formal request,” I noted, and she nodded in response.
“Yes, the king persuaded me ahead of time to play such a part. He said it would help people accept his decision if I pleaded in front of his courtiers.” She smiled ruefully. “I was well prepared, you can be assured. All the while, Count Raymond was sending couriers to his mother, Constance, for reports on the political climate of Philippe’s court.”
“Those were the secret meetings at Créteil my brother asked me to investigate.” I turned to William. “Remember how concerned he was that one of his varlets was murdered when he sent men to follow Constance?”
“Constance did not intend for anyone to get hurt. Raymond’s men were overzealous in trying to protect the meetings from the knowledge of the king,” Esclarmonde said.
“Instead, they simply caught his attention where otherwise he might not have bothered about her affairs.” I managed a wan smile. “You see how the best laid plans go awry. So continue, Lady Esclarmonde.”
The young woman took a deep breath. “It seems that Raymond does not fully trust his mother, for he never told her that he had possession of the golden chalice, or that he had given it to Philippe to keep safe at St. Denis, far from the eyes of the Cathars who claimed it as theirs.”
“And when she saw the cup at Mass, she recognized it and wanted to retrieve it, to restore it to the cathedral at Toulouse.” I filled in the story. “And she concocted a scheme to steal it from the abbey.”
“She hinted to me that one of the close councelors of the king helped her by having his men steal it. But she would not say what she gave in return.”
“I suspect that she knew about Chastellain’s treason, funneling information from the king’s council to John’s captains in the west,” William remarked as he leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Perhaps arranging the theft was the price of her silence.”
“Or else she made a lucky guess, and he gave in to her demands on the chance that she would
betray him,” I interjected.
“Or, for Chastellain, it could have been just plain greed for the gold of the chalice,” Francis offered, and we all nodded.
“Whatever it was, it seems he was the instrument by which the chalice was stolen. But in addition to Chastellain, Constance had the problem of Amaury,” Esclarmonde said. “Constance told me Chastellain confided their plans to Amaury. The abbot approached her, and told her he knew all.”
“When I stumbled upon them in a tête-à-tête the last night I was in Paris, she must have been busy seducing him with stories of the jewels in the chalice that could be pried loose. She knew he wanted the cup for its treasure, and so she told him that young Francis would be her messenger to take the cup to the south.” I recalled the image of Amaury and my aunt outlined against the night sky. “She thought, and rightly so, that his interest would shift to Francis and he would leave her alone.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t understand why she would do that.” Now it was Esclarmonde’s turn to look puzzled in my direction. “There was no need to involve Francis. That was not part of the plan.”
“Oh, but it was,” I said, stretching my arms as they had grown weary. The sharp pain in my side recalled to me my condition, and I dropped my hands into my lap. “She wanted Amaury to think she was on his side. And she didn’t want him to know she was keeping the chalice. If he knew she had it, he would find a way to wrest it from her, either by coercion or force. She also knew he needed gold for his wars, so all she had to do was mention the chalice’s supposed treasure clue and Francis in the same breath, and he was off to find it, leaving her with only Chastellain to deal with.”
I continued with what I had gleaned from Francis when I rescued him. “And I am sorry to say she was successful. The abbot took Francis. He hid him in the ancient tower near the building site of Notre Dame. He stayed on a day or two at my brother’s court to avoid raising suspicion, then left with his prisoner. By the time he found out Francis did not have the cup, he decided to keep him anyway, in case he needed to press Lord William to get tough with Count Raymond.”
The Rebel Princess Page 33
