Canterbury Papers (33 page)

I ate in silence, which was in truth the only option open to me, since even the squires rushing through the room did not pause to speak to me. When I returned to my room, I saw that the servants had packed my few belongings in saddlebags that had appeared from nowhere. The room was newly made up and looked for all the world as if no one had slept in it for months.

I glanced around for the drawings I had made in my stay here and spied them next to the saddlebags, rolled carefully so as not to break the stiff vellum, and wrapped in a leather thong. Someone had taken care with my belongings, no doubt at William's direction. He seemed always to get things done right. It was almost tiresome.

The door to my chamber was standing open as I surveyed my baggage. Petronella appeared in the doorframe and lowered her head as she curtsied. When she rose, to no surprise of mine, she still gazed at the floor.

I spoke first, as I suspected she would not have the courage to start after her betrayal of my whereabouts the previous night.

“So it is Petronella, is it?” I put my hands on my hips like any common fishwife ready to deliver a round scolding. “Come back to the scene of your crime, have you?” The young woman looked up as I spoke, her features assuming a quizzical expression.

“I only tried to serve milady,” she said, all innocence.

“It's true you served me right well with clothes, yester e'en, but it appears you did not do as well with my confidence. I instructed you to tell no one I was going into the village, but lo, Master William knew right where to find me when he had a mind to do it. Now, who do you suppose provided the confidential information that allowed him to find me so quick?”

“Your pardon, Your Grace. In truth, I did tell Sir William where you had gone. But you did not forbid me to tell Sir William that you had ridden into town.” Although the young woman had not moved from the spot where she'd made her first curtsy, she tossed her head pertly and twirled her hand with each point, so that I thought for a minute she might break into a dance. “You only said not to tell the knights below.” She pursed her lips as if to take further thought on the matter.

“And anyways”—now she raised a forefinger to make a point—“I only told Sir William because he asked me if I knew where you were. I was bound in honor not to lie to him. Sir William is in the house in place of my master, Sir Armand Montjoie. I am bound to obey my master, as my husband. So I am bound to obey him who comes in my master's place.” Having delivered herself of this questionable piece of logic, Petronella seemed to take heart, for she looked at me right boldly with her round saucer eyes. I was surprised to see no pleading in them. The independence I so admired earlier now annoyed me no end. After all, I was a
princesse royale.
And who was this peasant to talk of honor? Monks running around commanding armies, peasants thinking they had honor to protect. The entire world was in disarray.

Then I saw the humor in her and, indeed, in my very own self for being so serious about such a small matter. “Well, well. I suppose you did what you thought right. There was no great harm done. And I thank you for the clothes and for the potion you brought for my
maladie.”

I had intended to dismiss her by my tone and started to turn away, but she continued to stand just inside the doorway. Suddenly I had an inspiration.

“Petronella, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

“How, mistress?” She eyed me carefully, as if I might be a dangerous spider.

“Sir William has some letters of mine. We were discussing them last evening, and he went off with them by mistake. They are in a leather pouch wound with a black thong, among his things. You might fetch them for me if you would.” I hesitated. “No need to trouble Sir William. He's down in the courtyard organizing our journey. But I'm certain his things have not been taken down yet.”

I rummaged in my pocket and brought out a silver coin, which I offered her. When she demurred, I said, “It's all right. I just want to read the letters once again. Sir William and I are traveling together, and I will return them while on the journey.”

She, frowning slightly, reached out to take the silver.

“I'll wait here,” I said. William's rooms were close to mine, and it took Petronella only a few minutes to retrieve my letters. When she came, she carried something else.

“
Princesse
,” she said as she handed me the letters, “you will need an extra cloak for your trip to the south. This is a false spring we have had these few days. It may be very cold still, even in the Limousin.” She held out the cloak, which I saw was a very fine one made of Brabant wool.

“But we're not going—” I stopped. Was I truly about to discuss my travel plans with a servant? That mandrake root John's men forced on me must have affected my mind.

“Thanks to you, then, Mistress Petronella.” I took the cloak she offered and put it on. In truth, I had felt a chill from the moment I had seen the rising mists through the windows. Perhaps I should lay aside my testiness and simply be grateful. I inclined my head, and at last she seemed content to go, but only after one more elaborate curtsy.

When I joined William on the circle in front of the manor, I was pleased to see that the spotted palfrey I had ridden from Wiltshire had been made ready for me. Blankets were strapped, and even as I prepared to mount, I saw my bags placed on another horse. A servant came to place his hand for my mounting, and I swung easily up.

“Where is the rest of the party?” I asked, edging my horse near to William. Although there were many men milling about in the courtyard, I saw that only William was mounted.

“We travel lightly this time,” he said, waving impatiently at a small party cantering around the corner of the mews toward us. I could make out the auburn hair of my young friend François, Roland's dark head, and another young man whose face I did not recall seeing previously.

“Where is Tom?” I asked, suddenly realizing I had not seen him since our arrival at the Montjoie mansion. “What's happened to Tom of Caedwyd?”

“Tom is gone,” William responded, reining in his fiery horse with some effort. The horse was clearly in a hurry to be on its way, but William was a match for it.

“Without my leave?” I reached over and placed my hand on his bridle, to get his attention. It was a risky gesture, part presumptuous and part proprietary. We were quite close now, our horses dancing lightly in an effort not to collide. “He is loaned to my service, after all.” William's head snapped my way, but he made no effort to remove my hand from his bridle. He eyes narrowed somewhat.

“
Princesse
, I sent Tom to Fontrevault.” He spoke in a low voice, with some urgency, which struck me as odd. “I'm sorry I could not ask your permission first. He was the only man I could send, the only one I could be certain would get through. He will catch up with us after tomorrow, and he will be sore tired and in need of sleep by then, I'll wager.”

“Why did you send him to Fontrevault?” My suspicions were rising. Recalling Petronella's words, I feared I already knew his answer. “We're not going to the abbey after all, are we?”

“Not today. By your leave,
Princesse
, we are going south to Poitou. John has men surrounding Fontrevault. He knows that you will travel there to see Eleanor, if you think she is at the abbey. He lies in wait for you.”

“But…”

Now William did remove my hand from his reins and placed it gently back on my own horse. “However, he will be surprised. The queen isn't at the abbey as he thinks. She is in the ducal palace in Poitiers. Tom will bring us information there about the number of men at Fontrevault and whether John himself is among them. We ride south to see Eleanor. If we can make our destination this evening, and there is a hot dinner waiting, perhaps I will have time to explain all.”

“But why does John want to capture me again? He had me once. He knows I know nothing.”

“It's not you he's after. You just happen to be included in the party.” William wheeled away from me with those words, and Roland, as if on cue, rode up beside me. I found the young clerk François on my other side, and they set me a good pace. I couldn't have lagged behind if I had desired it.

I
t was long past sundown when we rode into Poitiers. Spring had come to the south. I could hear the birds coo-cooing in the trees and the heavy, seductive smell of blossoms was everywhere. Poitiers, where I had spent the brief years that bridged childhood and womanhood. Poitiers, where I had been close to Eleanor and closer still to Richard. And where Henry had been, mercifully, absent.

We had changed horses three times, stopped for bread and cheese and a flagon of ale at a rude country inn, and then, riding pell-mell onward, achieved our destination after nightfall. It was not the four-hour ride to Fontrevault I had intended to make when I rose that morning!

Although my backside was sore, I discovered, when I finally dismounted in the courtyard of some inn William had chosen just inside the city walls, that my hip no longer pained me as it had at the beginning of my long journey to Canterbury. God's throat! Was I recovering my bodily youth in all this mindless dashing about?

I was bone tired; there was no question of that. But not so tired that I had any intention of sleeping before William gave up his secrets. There was something yet to be discovered, some piece of information he had almost let go of the previous evening, in our intense conversation. I intended to discover it.

This newest dwelling was yet another surprise. From the stone mansion in Wiltshire to the stone mansion in the Loire to a stone inn in the Limousin, there were only differences of magnitude, not style.

With this house William had surprised me well. Fires burned in the grate in the hall, and the innkeeper came forward right quickly to serve our needs. Pleasant, clean maidservants appeared to direct us to pleasant, clean rooms.

But it quickly became apparent to me that, although it seemed a substantial inn, our party made up the sum total of the guests. I had noted that only two grooms came forward to lead our horses to the mews; no shouts were heard in the courtyard once we were safely indoors. In short, there was a phantomlike quality about this place that made me uneasy.

I found fresh water in my basin and so washed the dust of my travels from me. As I was drying my face, I noted the spaciousness of the room. A large bed was set against one corner, covered with furs and tapestries that seemed too rich for a simple village inn. In another corner a square table, unusually large for a chamber table, stood. I noticed that it had a linen cloth on it, candles, and those clever new forks from Italy again.

The floor, too, in this room was not covered with rushes, as one might expect. A multitude of woven rugs, of the kind Philippe had brought back from
Outremer
, made a soft carpet underfoot. When the knock on the door came, I was not surprised that William opened it before I gave permission. Nor was I particularly surprised that behind him came three servants bearing steaming bowls of hot soup, then the white bean cassoulet of the kind they are fond of in the south, followed by platters of legumes, roast birds, bread and wine and cakes. William motioned them toward the table, looking at me.

“Supper,” he announced, rather unnecessarily.

“So I see.”

“I thought it would be more”—he hesitated—“private to have supper in your chambers.” He glanced my way with unusual delicacy.

“I didn't notice the common rooms overflowing with people.”

“No, but our party makes up seven. The others would take their meal with us were we downstairs. This way we can talk.”

“Is there serious news, then?” I moved to the garderobe and threw the door open. “Now, why did I suppose I would find clothes here to fit me?”

He didn't reply, but I saw a half smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I pulled out a wool robe much fresher than the one I wore and disappeared behind the side of the giant armoire. Tossing off one garment, I slipped the other on, reflecting once again upon how easily one may be refreshed when one is traveling.

When I reappeared, William was standing, looking at some documents. I had no idea how they had appeared.

“Come, Alaïs. Have your supper while it is hot. The servants have gone to some trouble to prepare dishes worthy of a princess.”

“Other than having no information on where I am going next, being thwarted at every turn when I try to go someplace myself, having my letters purloined, having my chambers ransacked not once but twice, and being kept in the dark about King John's intentions, Queen Eleanor's intentions, and your true identity, my least complaint on this journey would be about cold food.”

He didn't glance up from his reading.

I sat down, and William absentmindedly seated himself across the table once again, still reading. He paused to pour the wine, then finally put the papers down to offer me the dishes, one by one. I was struck by the ease we had now developed with each other when we were alone, almost as if we were man and wife in some small cottage taking our evening meal in the silence of our long familiarity. First the cassoulet, then the legumes, then the bowl that held something unidentifiable but which might be hare in cheese sauce. Probably from Wales.

“So now that we have achieved this much-desired privacy you speak of, suppose you tell me the rest of the story,” I said, taking the dishes one by one with my good hand as he passed them.

“Starting with…?” He began to tuck in to his soup.

“Starting with today.” I sharpened my voice, and he looked up. “Why are we here, William? Oh, perhaps we came here because John's men have ringed Fontrevault and we can't get past them without capture. No, I forgot.” I snapped my fingers, as if making a great discovery. “John doesn't want me. It's someone else in our party he seeks. Let me guess.” I pulled an exaggerated grin. “I know. It's you! King John is tired of your pranks and irritated because you had me freed from Sarum. And anyway, Hugh Walter wants you back at Canterbury, not dashing around Normandy spending the order's hard-taxed money. So John wants to capture you to aid Hugh Walter!”