Gifts of the Queen (31 page)

When I was a child at Cambray, there was a stretch of beach between rocks and cliff at low tide with finer sand than any other part along our coast, always washed clean of weed and shells. One year, a young man of my father's guard began to ride across it. It was springtime of the year—he rode for wager, laughingly set his horse at a gallop close to the water's edge. I heard my brother shout a warning as he rode. That young knight had barely gone a score of strides when the horse was sunk to fetlocks; and where the hoofbeats had been scored, the surface closed behind him as a vise. Well, they saved the rider with ropes and nets, hauled him out, all laughter gone. His horse was lost and soon even the thrashing of its anguished feet, the mark of rope and wheels had sunk without a trace, only the unblemished sand. Here, I was the rider, heedless, careless had I been, and Eleanor, Queen of Flowers, and Geoffrey Plantagenet were like that sand, fair on the surface, unsullied, unmarred; beneath, who knows what depths and pits. And so I think was all at Poitiers; the more it showed its smiling face, the more was hid. Under its surface, then, not only the ruins of broken stones and memories, but things dark and treacherous. It was Sir Renier who told me what was to confirm those fears, and make what had passed before fade to nothingness.

I had not seen him among the queen's courtiers, and if I had, he might have spared me much anguish. I presume he had been in attendance on the king, and certainly that night he came in secret from the king's court at Poitiers with news for the queen. And perhaps he rode back and forth like this each night, bearing gossip and messages so she should keep abreast of all that the king did and said. In the middle hours of the night, then, came a scratching at my door. Half asleep, thinking it was morning and Walter summoning me, I ran to unlatch it. And in he came. Sir Renier I mean, in haste, as if fearful someone might see him. He snuffed out the taper flame, motioned me to silence, stood at the half-open door and listened for a long while. Nothing stirred along the passageway or by the stairs, although there were dark shadows caused by the fitful moonlight where a man could hide. And when he spoke, his voice came fitful too, in hurried gasps, as if he were out of breath, so unlike himself that, had not I seen his face before he doused the light. I'd not have thought he was who he claimed to be.

'Leave,' was all he said, no graceful compliment this time, no courtier's phrase. 'Today at Poitiers has Raoul outfaced King Henry, told him he's a fool, told him God knows what else, the devil to pay. And here is worse. God's wounds, why came you here at all? How came your husband to let you come?'

My silence must have revealed many things.

'Unknown to him? By the Living Cross, were you my wife, your back would feel my whip. Bad enough at Poitiers. But here, Isobelle de Boissert still has friends; they have noted your fall from grace and will make use of it.'

'They will not harm me or my lord,' I said, 'not even Raoul knows where I am.'

'He does now. Geoffrey Plantagenet told him so. And was bowled to the ground for saying so. A most unknightly blow.' He gnawed his lip. I had never heard him so agitated, heard him speak with less guard, saw him so shaken from his usual aplomb. 'Why put you the queen in such a rage? Why foolishly reveal your secrets to her? Get you home before greater wrong is done.'

I noted how he fingered his sword, ever and anon glanced out the door. A slight man is Sir Renier, now he seemed to swell, not with rage, but tension, anxiety. “Why gave you your enemies a hold over you? Why came Raoul to this viper's nest? By the Mass, a fool's work, both of you.'

He opened the door another crack. Still nothing, no sound, no movement. He gave me a shove. Luckily, I suppose, I was already dressed, an old gown on, high boots—there was no time for delay, and by his gestures, he clearly showed he meant me to follow him. He guided me down the stairs, soft-footed, hand on sword hilt (and as I have said I had never seen him go armed before), through a small side door leading to one of the inner cloisters. From there, we slipped through a long empty room, once a refectory perhaps, the window bars throwing dark lines on the cool tiled floors, the wooden chairs standing in stiff straight rows, a faint half-caught smell of wine and cooking oil. Then out through another yard, another wicker gate to cross, a barred gate next with the bolts flung wide (and it was only afterwards I realized what dangers he must have taken upon himself to have helped us in this way, what bribes given, what guards paid to turn blind eye, what risk encountered for our sakes). In the shadow of the park trees, Walter waited, and beyond him our three men with the horses already prepared. Sir Renier helped us mount, gave us more food from a sack beneath his cloak, every word, every movement suggesting haste. And, before he left, his one last whispered warning, his true message.

'I have just come from the queen,' he said. 'This forenoon, a group of de Boissert men rode north. They carry your ring.' He stifled my cry with his own hand, a spate of curses in his southern tongue spilling out. 'Why gave you them the chance to use it?' he burst out. 'Why boasted you of loyal friends? Isobelle has loyal ones as well. Alyse de Vergay rides north with them.'

He stepped back, hit the horse to make it run, released the reins. We rode at a gallop across the grass, the thick turf deadening the sound, the trees soon sheltering us from spying eyes. A harvest moon slipping behind clouds gave light enough for us to watch for pitfalls, and soon an open postern in the outer wall set us on the open road. But here again I must pause to marvel how a mind still numb with shock can interest itself in common things. I remember wondering at the care Sir Renier showed, for although Walter led us now along less frequented ways, it was Sir Renier who had advised him which to take, who arranged horses for our convenience, some signal given or sign exchanged that made those privileges of a royal courier available to us. I remember thinking there was no time to waste, no time to send explanation, nor plea for help to Raoul—I trusted Sir Renier would warn him. But as the long road stretched before us, that distance which had seemed a finger's span upon Raoul's chart suddenly translated into many wearisome miles; that journey which anticipation and happiness on coming here had made seem short gave me too much time to think. Since it was too late to change what had been, what was to come, you will know what a ride it was, running from catastrophe, trying to prevent a second one. Nor was I sure what Raoul had done, an angry husband confronting an angry king. We all felt the strain—Walter's young face was taut with it—and for the first time, I realized as well what a trap I had set him in; obeying me against his lord's commands. Our three French men stood us in good stead, they knew the route we took, could suggest short cuts. We hoped, you see, by riding fast and following these lesser roads, to get ahead of the de Boissert men, whatever their purpose, and warn Sieux. I presumed that Raoul would follow soon but not sure when, and even he could not hope to ride more fast then we, perhaps slower, having a larger troop. 
You'll not outride me.
Now he must hope for it. And remembering how Alyse de Vergay had ever grumbled at distances, needed men to lead her through difficult parts, I felt confident we would soon overtake her. But this, too, we misjudged. For, although Walter sent the French troopers ahead, turn and turn they took to search for news, nowhere was there sign of a large party riding north. Walter now began to worry that, in our haste, we might override them before we knew, or that they, hearing of us, would hide in wait to catch us. He had us therefore ride both day and night, for shorter stretches but faster, to enable our scouts to keep closer watch. But de Boissert's men, wherever or however they went, must have had horses waiting for them too, must have ridden as hard for a purpose of their own, and Alyse de Vergay must have kept up with them.

I cannot say I remember or wish to remember much else of that ride. There have to be thoughts, of course, or images to keep you awake. But occasionally, while sleeping in the saddle as I did, for seconds perhaps at a time, whole scenes came clearly to mind, so that on waking I would continue to speak of things that were so vivid as to seem real. Most of the time, I dreamed of Saint Purnace, what was attempted there and by whom, and why. And I dreamed, too, of the day my son was born, that little boy with the red-stockinged feet who played with his wolfhound and expected us.
I shall have sons,
the queen had cried. What of my son, who could have died? should have been my reply. Sometimes I tried to guess what Lord Raoul had done or said to King Henry to set those Angevin tempers ablaze. And sometimes I thought that I was in London when Lord Raoul had come riding in to Henry's court and Queen Eleanor had smiled at me. Since for misery I'll not grieve you with details more of that ride (save pray you never know it like, save tell you I relive it often enough to have done penance a thousand fold). I'll tell instead what Raoul
had
done, which, although many years were to pass before I heard the full truth of it, is a story that fits better here and should be told. And of all people, Lord Ademar told me it, his hard laugh gone, but not his watchful, hooded eyes. Nor his courteous voice, both of which suggested what I had thought, that as a peace-maker, he had tried to turn the queen's mood, without success.

Lord Ademar knew the queen well and, as I had guessed, was the leading noble at her court that day, or at least the one she wanted most to impress. He came from Toulouse, the furthest south of her lands (hence his Spanish way of speaking) and the most important. The Count of Toulouse was Raymond, whom the queen would have liked to have had under her spell, and Lord Ademar was his spokesman to the king. Now, Henry would have liked Count Raymond to have obeyed him and to have been present for the oath swearing at Poitiers. Toulouse is a large tract of land stretching from the western boundary with Spain to the Alps, controlling many trade routes west and south, almost separate from the rest of France, almost strong enough to be independent. Lord Ademar claimed, as had Sir Renier, that Henry was determined to bring all of Toulouse under his complete control, and every day he questioned Lord Ademar about the absence of his over-lord, questions that became embarrassing as Ademar exhausted all the excuses he could think of. But the Count of Toulouse was not the only one to defy Henry, although the other lords, those present at Poitiers I mean, tried in more subtle ways to challenge the king. Henry, as you remember, loved to hunt, his Norman passion with which he filled his days; and he often urged, nay, commanded, these southern lords to attend him. They, the night before, warm with wine and flushed with heat, for the season continued hot, they swore to obey, and at the evening feast raised their goblets in salute—the more that Henry, who was abstemious himself and seldom drank, watched their conviviality with jaundiced eye, especially when they drank at his expense. Come the dawn—for he rose at daybreak to ride all day, they lay abed, sent word that they were sick, blamed the weather, his good food and wine, his hospitality, for their indisposition. And since he could not, perforce, drag them all from bed, he was obliged to ride alone with his own knights.

Once he was gone, to break his neck for all they cared, in their own good time, they rode to visit Queen Eleanor as I had seen, to pay their respects to her and her son. They did this in private, of course, but as long as Henry had his spies in the queen's household, the lords' attendance there was known to him, did not endear them to him, and added to his grievance against her.

Well, then, that day we have been speaking of, Henry had returned to Poitiers after a full twelve hours of hunting in the scrub lands around the river Loire. He himself had scarcely left the saddle, had not paused for rest or food; his courtiers, who should have been used to him, were almost reeling for weariness. But the hunt had been successful, Henry himself had downed a stag with wide spreading antlers, and when he rode into the courtyard, he was in good mood. Soon dispelled.

'For,' said Lord Ademar, and I let him tell the rest in his own words, 'the yard was filled at that late hour with many of us nobles, returning from the queen, detained there by the events you have described. I was among them and I recognized the dark and angry look which crossed the king's face. "So, my lords," he says without ado, "I have found you chasing other game. Be careful it does not spring a trap on you." For once, he caught us off guard; we muttered among ourselves in our southern tongue which, it is true, we use to provoke the king because he knows it not, so all our jests and talk had to be translated for him. Henry was mounted on a fine horse, a gray which they say is bred in the western borders of England, rawboned and wild, hard to handle, being young. And on its back, this mighty king, lord I know not of how many lands, hunched forward more like huntsman than king, his clothes stained and bramble ripped, his face freckled with the sun. But where the sun had not reached at wrist and neck, the skin was white and fine as a child's. He has gray eyes, our king, and hot, and matted red hair, and a full and petulant mouth which he juts forward in a rage, as he did now, thinking again we would ignore him. We all stepped hastily back, myself among them, I confess, all those southern nobles whose names are, like themselves, rich, full-blooded; names to roll about the tongue like wine: Thouars, Chatellerault, Lusignan, hot-tongued, hot-tempered too, you met them; you should remember them; and Taillefer, Saintonge, and many other lords of note from the Auvergne and Gascony. But even they may have felt they had met their match in this king. They certainly had no desire to raise an issue with him at this time, nor bring a confrontation on their heads; they may have remembered nervously, as I know I did, what excess of enthusiasm they had let themselves show to the queen.

'At this crucial point, to our relief, although not to the king's, Henry's brother, Plantagenet, came sauntering into the yard. There are those who claimed afterwards that Geoffrey Plantagenet had been drinking too much red Bordeaux wine to know what he did or said, and it is true that ever since the king's arrival at Poitiers, Geoffrey had avoided him (discretion on Geoffrey's part I'd say, since the northern rebellion could not have endeared him to the king). Now Geoffrey came on boldly, the more noticeable that we other lords had edged away, and swaggered as if he meant to give offense. His new and costly clothes seemed especially luxurious contrasted with Henry's plain and dirty ones, and in his velvet cap, he wore a sprig of broom,
genet,
that yellow flower of the Angevins. I myself, I would not have flaunted it, not to face an older brother I had offended twice. Nor would I have made a remark so doubly phrased, although, if drunk, he may have meant a simple thing (but drunkenness can serve as excuse for letting out many harmful and dangerous thoughts).