Shield of Three Lions (43 page)

Abruptly King Philip sat on his throne again, his eyes slits. “I refuse to hear more calumny against my own sister, especially from
the lips of such a notorious lecher. Your accusation does not constitute proof.”

Yet I believed King Richard, and I think everyone else did too, even the French. I believed the acts between Alais and Henry, that is, but I didn’t believe the venal motives he gave the French princess. Why did no one mention love? Wasn’t it possible that Henry had loved her and she him? Maybe their passions had outstripped their reason.
Deus juva me
, I could understand!

“Twelve witnesses—including Queen Eleanor—will give testimony before the new pope unless you release me now,” Richard asserted.

King Philip’s steady stare was chilling.

“There speaks Angevin gold,” he replied. “You have bled your country to bribe and coerce your way to power, even at the cost of humiliating your liege lord. I thank God that my own father is dead, that he’s not here to witness the continued wiles of his adulterous wife and her serpent son. Nor to hear poor Alais’s cruel maligning from a family of child-molesters!”

My own wail was swallowed in the general outcry,
Deo gratias
, for ’twas now clear that King Philip knew—and therefore everyone must know—about the king and me. The act was bad enough, but to speak of it in public so!

King Richard heard the insult to his person and the line of red whelks began to gleam on his jaw, but calming whispers from his counselors restrained him.

“Alais seduced Henry, by God!”

Aye, I admitted miserably, I seduced Richard as well, by leaning on him and kissing him, but I’d thought he loved me.

“But you twist facts to your own ends. Witness your expulsion of the Jews from Paris in seventy-two on the basis that they were child-molesters.”

“Jews and Angevins,” Philip said, “an apt comparison.”

“After you had appropriated all the Hebrews’ wealth and property,” Richard went on relentlessly, “they were suddenly invited back to Paris. Now you call me and my family child-molesters for a purpose as well. Speak plainly, Philip, what do you want?”

“The Vexin
first
,” Philip answered.

And I released my breath. How cleverly Richard had led him away from that odious topic of abusing children, though at the same time he hadn’t denied its truth.

“Never the Vexin.” And they were back on familiar ground. “That territory has been English since my brother wed.”

“The Vexin
first
,” Philip repeated, “and I assure you that it will be mine. Gold for our humiliation and certain guarantees which we will present in our own time.”

Now other counselors joined the argument as I sank into a vision of Richard with horns and cloven feet, for he
was
cursed, he and his father both. Yet he had lied when he’d said that his father had never had pleasure in children; he’d been betrayed by his sons but Alais has given him carnal pleasure.
Benedicite!

King Philip suddenly seemed pressed beyond endurance and abruptly rose to take his leave. Richard stood as well. Once again the French king’s face was marmoreal white, his manner
icy
.

“Wait, Your Highness,” Richard said. “I’m yet to hear from your lips:
‘I release you from your betrothal vows to my sister.’”

If possible, France paled still more. “With my own lords and bishops as witness, I release you, Richard.” He smiled bitterly. “And I release my sister as well, from her ignominious imprisonment in Rouen tower, from the martyrdom of suffering your debauched person in her bed.”

Our king couldn’t resist. “And me from suffering hers. However, at least she would have received all of England in return.”

Philip swayed as if on a boat. “How little you understand the Capets. Alais cared nothing for the English Empire, never, not when she was a child and not now. She cared for peace—as I do. And with Alais gone from your bed, peace goes as well: first the Vexin, then peace for all time, for mark me well, England, today you have suffered a victory which will haunt you always. If Alais is not your wife, we are no longer brothers and our countries are enemies forever.”

He bowed and walked from his throne but was stopped at the door by Richard.

“One last word, My Lord. Call you
this
peace? How could it be worse?”

Philip smiled enigmatically. “You will see, Richard, you will see.”

His submerged threat gave me gooseflesh though I had nothing to do with such matters,
Deo gratias
. I had sufficient problems of my own.

Richard stood silently until he was certain the French king was out of earshot, then turned, clasped Leicester and laughed aloud.

“St. George be praised, we have our way!”

Leicester’s smile was tight. “Indeed, Your Majesty, but ’tis more prudent methinks to await Philip’s terms about the dowry, especially the Vexin; for I fear he’ll change his mind.”

Richard could not be repressed. “Did you see his face when he heard that Pope Clement was dead? Let Philip discover what it’s like to parley without Rome on his side. I’m going to light a candle to Clement, God bless his rotten soul.” And he laughed again.

A bishop glanced at Leicester. “As the saying goes, My Liege, you have won the battle but taken on full-scale war in the process.”

“Nonsense,” Richard scoffed. “France has always hated England, always been at war. This is merely the latest skirmish and the day is ours. Admit it! Banish those long faces!”

The lords and bishops attempted to comply, but ’twas an effort. William de Fortz was the next to express his reservations.

“I fear, My Liege, that he has declared war, is your sworn enemy.”

“England’s
sworn enemy,” Rouen corrected him, “which is more serious. Philip’s anger goes beyond a personal vendetta and will last as long as he lives.”

“Then I promise to outlive him,” Richard said lightly. “I’ll wager my span against his, for I am Eleanor’s son.”

And Henry’s too, I thought grimly. Child-molester! I scrubbed at a spot on the table linen, eager to be quit of this loathsome tower and its traitorous king. If only I could steal my writ from Enoch this very night.

“When do you expect the ladies?” asked Gilbert de Vascueil.

“As soon as I can get a ship to Brindisi to transport them; I hope before Lent so that I may wed at once. But if the pope’s release takes some time, I’ll get a dispensation and transport the new queen with
me on the Crusade. Think! England’s future heir may be conceived in the Holy City!”

I felt nauseated. Let him procreate in the middle of Jerusalem’s golden streets if that’s what pleased him, so long as I didn’t have to watch. I hated him! Hated him!

After a long, wearisome time the English, too, prepared to depart and me with them.

“Wait, pages,” the king ordered.

I stood behind Antonio who was very tall.

“Thank you for your tactful attendance on this difficult occasion. And I must remind you—especially the new pages—of our rule of discretion.”

Sir Gilbert vowed we’d all be quiet.

“Very well, you are dismissed. All but Alex.”

“I’ll attend you,” Sir Gilbert said eagerly.

“I want a word with Alex.”

Sir Gilbert smirked. “Ah yes, of course, Your Majesty. I have already dismissed him from your service for his gaucheries tonight. I humbly apologize.”

He flourished his way out and I set my jaw, awaiting the worst.

“Don’t make that mouth,” the king said in his old bantering fashion. “I merely wanted to have a cup with you. No, stand still, I’ll serve
you
—it may be safer.”

He walked to a cabinet, then the trestle, and pressed a thin knobby old goblet of wine into my hand.

“Will you drink a toast to my marriage?”

He drank; I didn’t.

“Alex,” he said sternly.

I looked at his shoes, the same pointed red velvet pair he’d worn at Chinon.

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” I raised the goblet and stopped, fighting a gagging in my throat, “with the choice of your heart.”

“I’m still waiting for you to drink, Alex.” His brows were high, his smile bemused.

I poured the noxious liquid down my gullet where it landed like lead. The goblet tasted of rust.

“Good, now I’ll tell you a secret. You’ve just imbibed from a magic cup, for that was King Arthur’s own goblet, excavated from his tomb in ’fifty-five.”

I felt his vibrant expectancy and stayed silent. A pox on all kings and their goblets.

“And I want to give it to you for your very own.” His sentimental voice.

Before I could stop myself I asked suspiciously, “Why?”

The question caught him off-guard. “As a gift, of course. I enjoy giving presents to …”

Our eyes suddenly locked as they had on the sand and he stopped. Cast back into that mood of intimacy with this new ugly knowledge between us, I became reckless. I would not be a “whore,” bought off by old cups!

“I don’t want a gift—
Richard
.” I saw his dangerous flush but didn’t care. I banged the cup on the trestle.

“There’ll be no discussion,” he said angrily. “Take it!” He put it back into my hands.

“Thank you. Is that all, Your Majesty?” I was equally choleric.

“No.”

Again I watched his feet, saw him go for another glass of wine, return.

“Look at me, Alex.”

I did, found his face no longer jocular or sentimental, but troubled.

“You know that I don’t want to hurt you. What you heard today has nothing to do with what I feel …” He smiled ruefully. “I am a king.”

“I know that, Your Highness.”

“I doubt it, but at least try.”

His voice and words were both extraordinarily soft for his person and had a devastating effect upon me, for my anger melted to a grief I felt I couldn’t bear. If I didn’t escape at once, I would burst into tears.

“May I please be excused?” I barely managed to choke out.

“Not yet, not until …” His hand fell lightly on my shoulder. “What can I do to make you happy?”

“I want to go home!” I sobbed. “Please, Your Highness, give me another writ—just for me and not the Scot—and send a note to your justicier. I want to go back to Wanthwaite!”

I saw the consternation on his face. “And leave me?”

“I have no role in the Crusade,” I implored, “and I’m only a nuisance to you. You have to worry about me when you have so much to concern you. And besides, since … I mean, now that you’re…” But I couldn’t bring myself to mention his marriage.

He didn’t answer at once, seemed to consider. I held my breath.

“You would be perfectly safe if I put you with the queens.”

Aye, put all his women together, I thought bitterly.

“No, please, Your Majesty, I don’t want to travel with the queens. They have a reason—a purpose—and I haven’t.”

“You have exactly the same reason that they have,” he replied coldly. “Namely that I want it so.”

And I knew I’d lost, but I had to go on.

“But you also want me to have my estate, have often told me so, and I could begin my life again. You’ve already given me so much, taught me so many arts—I’m sure I could do it. Please!”

“God’s balls, have you no respect? Not another word! You’ll do as I say! I mean that, Alex, and if you want your precious Wanthwaite, you’ll obey.”

I gave up, lowered my head, woebegone.

He put his hand under my chin, made me look at him again. “You seem to have forgotten that murderous Osgood of Northumberland …”

“Osbert.”

“Osbert, a ruthless scoundrel as I remember him. That hasn’t changed, Alex, nor has my promise. I swore that you’d be reinstated and you will; I swore that you’d be educated in my household up through your winning your spurs and you will; and you will crusade.”

I didn’t answer, lowered my eyes.

“And yes, I also remember that I swore to protect your innocence. And I have. Since my scourging, I, too, am innocent in God’s eyes. We start anew, little Alexander, and I swear you’ll be safe—even from me.” His words were firm, but not his tone. I caught a lack of
resolution masked by his strong oath, the way I sometimes go too far in a lie. He’d also sworn that he loved me and would see me again. His image blurred in my gush of tears.

“Christ! My Eros,” he groaned as he lifted me to his shoulder, “don’t remind me of what I’ve renounced. Do you think I don’t know?”

I breathed deeply of sweet woodruff and didn’t answer. His hand stroked my head.

“Nor is the irony lost on me.
Alex, Alais
—even the names are similar.”

“How can I survive in a war? With all those men?” I asked brokenly.

“I’ll put the Scot with the women as well; he knows what to do. Besides, no one dare touch you when I …” His voice trailed off. Then he pulled me back so we looked at each other. “Shall we kiss goodbye?”

He cupped my head in his hand and drew me into a passionate embrace which stirred and confused me utterly. If Berengaria was the choice of his heart, what was I?

“Now go, before I forget my scourging entirely.”

He dropped me and I ran out the door.

And was nearly stabbed in the stomach by Enoch’s raised thwi-tel!

“Put that silly thing down!”

I half-slid down the ladder to our dark corner below as the Scot scrambled after me.

“WHAT HAPPED IN THERE? Why was King Philip wrathful? Why did ye stay afterward?”

He was stunned at the tale of Alais and King Henry.

“Such a hizzie as that,” he marveled. “I’d rather make houghma-gandie with a broom. Still, there’s no accountin’ fer a king’s cardiacle passion.”

But ’twas the announcement of Richard’s forthcoming marriage that intrigued him most. Again and again he had me repeat every word till I was sick of the subject.

“The choice of his heart. Hmmm. It mun be true yif she’d nocht rich nor bonny nor powerful. What elsit? I mun have him wrong.” And he waxed cheerful, whistling and humming.

The strain of the last few hours and the telling of it now took their toll on my vital spirits. I curled on my goatskin and felt Enoch place a squirrel cover atop me.

“Be as be may,” he said softly “’tis good news that the king be gang to take a decent wife to breed an heir fer England.”