Canterbury Papers (36 page)

“William Marshal knows better than that.” The flat of William's hand hit the table. “He must be losing his wits in his old age. He knows I would guard you from harm, no matter what the political intrigue. It's true that I am a Templar. Their grand master in England. But that has no bearing on my intentions toward you.”

I stood looking down at him, torn between my doubt and my need to believe. Suddenly I was distracted. I recalled where I had seen such a ring before. On the finger of my uncle at the inn at Havre.

“That is the very ring of the Templars, is it not?”

He looked startled. “How do you know that?”

I pressed forward. “And now do you answer my question, for this surely has to do with me. Do the Templars intend throwing John off the throne of England and replacing him with my son?”

William rose and faced me, forcing me to look up to him. “I am bound by blood oath to Henry to protect François. I would never allow him to be used as a pawn by the Templars or anyone else.” He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist, only the second time he had touched me in haste. “Do you understand me?”

Then he loosed his fingers, and I pulled my hand away.

“Then how did—”

“England must not have another civil war. The cost is too great. All sensible men know that. But it will have such a war if John doesn't stop raiding the treasuries of the great abbeys to pay for his ill-designed adventures in northern France.” He sat again, as if he had discovered a momentary lapse of manners in his lunge toward me.

“But how did John get information that my son was living?” I spoke so intensely that my teeth barely parted. “How could he have known? It must be from the Templars.”

Now it was William's turn to confront me once again. “The Templars need not resort to using threats against children to manage their diplomacy. How do
you
suppose John learned of your son?” I didn't answer. He asked again. “Have you learned nothing in the past weeks to answer that question?”

“Eleanor?” I questioned first, in disbelief. Then repeated with absolute certainty, “Of course, Eleanor!”

William's face lightened. “Yes! Eleanor. She began this current stir by getting wind of the Templars' refusal to lend John any more money until he stopped pressuring the abbeys. She wrote John before she went to Spain, reviving all those rumors about the bastard Henry supposedly had with some southern princess. She told him she had information that the boy might have lived, that the Templars knew about this child, and that John should beware antagonizing them, for they might use the child against him. Apparently the news had an effect opposite to that intended, of settling John down. Instead, John set out to find the boy himself and put an end to the threat. You must remember,” he added with his customary irony, “John frightens easily.”

“But why did she send me to Canterbury? So John could kidnap me?”

“You'll have to ask her that, if we ever get to see her in person. The answer may be less draconian than you think. It may just be that she truly wanted her Becket letters and—just as she told you—thought you were the one person who could safely retrieve them. She must have known where Becket hid them years ago. That was his special altar, and that's where Henry's rogue knights found him in prayer when they came to kill him. She may have honestly thought that if the letters came to light, they would cast a further shadow over John's throne. Or that if John got his hands on them, he might do something foolish that would harm his own cause even more.”

“Like revealing them to protect himself?”

“Exactly.” Amusement spread across his face. “Or at the very least, embarrassing her in her older years.”

I considered this information for a moment. “When did you find them?”

“About fifteen years ago. When we redid the masonry at the side altars after the great fire.” He grinned. “I always kept them myself, because I thought they might be useful someday. Charlotte knew I had them. So did a few others. She trusted me not to use them against the Plantagenet house. But she also knew I would not give them up without reason. They were one more check held against John's baser instincts.”

“Or Eleanor's,” I murmured. I looked at William as if seeing him for the first time. “Unlike John, you don't seem to have any fears, William of Caen.”

It seemed as though he would speak, but he only shook his head slowly. Then, after a minute, he said, looking over my left shoulder as if he could see the past woven into the tapestries that hung behind me, “For years I had nightmares so severe I woke screaming, in a cold sweat. I had them when I was a child—a burning cottage, a clash of steel, the pounding of hooves. They increased when I was in
Outremer
, killing Saracens.”

“And now?”

He looked at me. “They left me when you arrived at Canterbury.”

There arose a silence so large that it seemed to take up all the available air. I waited until I could successfully breathe again.

“Templars are celibate.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced heavenward, as if for aid. “That was the ideal of the founders. But things have changed in a hundred years. For some of us. We are now, after all, not defending citadels against infidels but managing the banking of Europe. Celibacy shrinks in importance.”

“Are you, then, after all, no different than the old king?” I asked softly, fearing the answer.

“I am only a man, as King Harry was only a man. But it is different between you and me. We are grown now, not children. And we are of equal power. With me, now, you have a choice.”

He reached across the table and this time took my hand gently in his. I felt my whole body stiffen. “Whatever your choice,
Princesse
, you cannot deny that the room is filled with angels at this moment.”

He was right. Something in my heart was cracking open, so loudly I thought surely the sound, would expand beyond bearing. I let go his hand and stood, then walked slowly around the table. He followed my every step, until I was close enough to touch him. But of course I did not touch him. He rose yet made no move toward me, as if to give me one last chance to withdraw. But there are some times in our lives when we know we are carried forward on a tide larger than anything reason can explain. My last coherent thought was this: Why should I not, for once, follow my own desires?

As I moved to him, he opened his arms. My body drifted into his until I could feel no separation at all. His arms wound around me, pressing me to him, and his cheek rested upon my hair, and I heard him murmur softly, “A room filled with angels and a queen.”

I made no move to stop him as he pulled the laces of my bodice and loosed my gown. Indeed, I helped him with my good hand, but still my fingers fumbled. His seemed quick and sure, and my gown slipped from me. When I stood in my chemise, he put me at arm's length. He seemed almost to drink me in, and I only knew that his body would welcome mine as mine would gladly host his. I stepped out of my chemise in an easy movement and began to undo his own shirt laces as he cast his doublet aside.

When we reached the bed, there seemed no more question of the past or the future. There was only the urgent present. Our first coupling was immediate, and when I felt him inside me, my body responded so quickly we rose to a climax within minutes. My breath mingled with his in perfect rhythm. Moments later I opened my eyes to find his open as well. I felt him still within me, and without pause we began again, more slowly and rhythmically. This time his hands moved over me, seeking those places that would make me moan with pleasure, and mine responded, wandering over the back of his body. We knew each other in a new way in those moments. And I heard him murmur,
“Caressa mia,”
over and over. Then we rested for some time, lying on our sides, talking of nothing but each other. And soon, in the manner of men, he led me back into our intimacy in new ways that pleased us both. And then it was my turn. My memory of the rest of the events of that night is clouded with both pleasure and release, for at last I had found my true wedding partner.

The storm outside that had built during the night did not abate until after dawn. Then a peacefulness descended. As I drifted off into sleep, I saw through the window the moon emerging from behind a cloud.

I
t seemed only minutes later that I felt someone shaking me. I tried to respond, but I kept sinking back into sleep, reaching for the warmth I had felt beside me through the night.

The bed, however, was growing colder and the shaking of my shoulder more insistent. I opened one eye to find William, fully dressed for travel, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Why are you out there and not in here with me, taking your rightful due from me—yet again?” I murmured, stretching out my arm and encircling his thigh.

“Come, my wanton
princesse.
You must rise. We have an appointment.”

“Appointment? I have nothing to do today.” I rolled over and stretched my entire body as far north and south as it would go. “I am recovering from a long, stormy night wherein my sleep was disturbed constantly. And if you were any kind of gentleman”—I lifted my head over the featherbedding and leered—“you would follow the man who used me so and chastise him for keeping me awake so rudely.”

“That man will never be caught. He has already been up for hours, written and sent off by courier six letters, seen that breakfast was laid for Your Grace, and given four sets of instructions on horses and our party for the day.” He was back in his battle-commander mode, I could see.

“I can't help it if you are cursed with a need for activity, like a Sufi dervish,” I replied, sitting up and wriggling under his arm, with some aid from him. “It's obvious that you have an imbalance of tempers. You must be choleric to be so active so early,” and I pulled his hand to my cheek.

He only laughed and ran his fingers down under my gown and over my breast, and I felt my blood run. But then he moved gently away and left the bed.

“This will not be our only night, I promise you. It is our beginning. But the day has arrived, and we must attend to it. Come, lazy Highness. Take a look. The sun shines on all our enterprises.”

He reached down and pulled me off the bed and toward the window with his hand around my waist, and, to tell the truth, I couldn't resist following. It occurred to me that I might regret making one so strong a familiar. But for now I enjoyed his lead.

He guided me to the window, where he threw open the shutters, making a great clatter. Outside, a recently drenched world seemed to sparkle in the welcoming sun. A riot of blooming flowers met my eyes. The royal purple of the bluet and the bright red coquelicot were growing wild, all over the border of the inn's courtyard. Casques de Jupiter grew beside the stables, I could see, and the bright yellow of gaillardes with their rust interior stood in clumps around the door to the inn, below my window.

I wondered how long it had been since I had noticed the brilliance of the color of flowers. How many spring seasons had passed since I had thought to count their names?

“You see, the world is busy. It has no time for slugabeds. Come, dress and breakfast with me.”

“I'll have it as I am,” I said, reaching for my robe to throw around me.

“As you will. But you may be embarrassed in front of the other knights and the servants,” he said with great cheer.

“We'll not eat in this chamber?”

“Ah, no. I want you to breakfast with our little company. I want to see you lay eyes on François now that you know.”

“Oh, God's breath.” I pulled back, startled. The night of lovemaking had thrown into the background all thought of the conversation about François. “I don't know … perhaps it's best if I wait…”

“Nonsense,” William said, in that priorish way he had. “Come, they are waiting. And after I want you to accompany me to the House of Lyons.”

“The financiers?”

“Yes. There are some transactions that require my approval.” He paused, then stood once again, towering over me. “Alaïs, it's best if you don't postpone an encounter with François. Trust me on this.” He regarded me with a grave expression, one that reminded me of him as I saw him at Canterbury. He must have seen something in my response that softened him. “But if you require time, know that he need not ride with us to the Lyons. We can make that journey alone, if you like.”

I was touched. In spite of my resistance, I understood the wisdom of seeing my son without delay, before I had thoughts of avoiding it altogether. I nodded and turned to dress. William kissed the top of my head, smoothed my hair, and then left the room with that catlike walk of his. A moment later a gentlewoman appeared to
help me with my toilette. Once again William had thought of everything, I realized, with mixed feelings.

T
he company looked up as I entered the breakfast room. They were still the same familiar faces, but now my gaze skimmed over Roland and the other young knight, whose name I kept forgetting, and came to rest on François. All of the young men were eating heartily, although as I entered, they scrambled to their feet. After they made cursory bows, I gestured for them to resume their seats. Their attention quickly returned to their meal.

I studied François from my place at the head of their small table. It was the same face I had watched for some days now, but I saw it newly. I looked for traces of Henry and found them shining through the now-obvious-to-me resemblance to Mathilda. How had I missed it? Although the face was diamond-shaped, the jaw had shadow lines of that definite square that all Henry's sons showed. That auburn hair was but a shade darker than the hair I remembered seeing on the king when I was a young girl. And those eyes, if one looked closely, although not Henry's icy, inscrutable gray, had the same steady gaze, which I saw now as he raised them to mine.