The Rebel Princess (16 page)

I
pushed myself up with a stiff arm, and looked around. All seemed in order in my chamber, and I wondered if I had dreamt the noise that had awakened me. Or perhaps I had not latched the shutters closely last night, in my distress, and a gust of wind had caught them.

I reached for the bell that sat ever at my bedside, and rang for my maid, who always slept in an alcove off my room, except on the nights when William visited. She appeared quickly, as if she had been waiting for my summons.

“Mignonne,” I said, throwing back the furs on the bed, “help me to rise and prepare myself.

And find a page. I would send a message to my brother.”

“Yes, my lady.” And the young thing sped about her tasks with her usual dispatch. I held up a silvered oval to my face, and saw therein the ravages of my quarrels with William, my
anger, and my sleepless night. In dismay, I tossed it aside.

“Mignonne, as soon as you have found the page, come to my table and help me. Today, after we braid my hair, I would have you get out the pots of powder for my face.”

“My lady?” The maid nearly stopped in midair as she was hopping about her business.

“I know. I never use those creams and powders during the day. But this morn I must look my best. I intend to have an audience with my brother, the king, as soon as possible.” I glanced once more into the oval. “I need a boon from him. And to look at my appearance now, I couldn’t persuade a blacksmith to invite me to supper.”

Of course the king of France could scarce deny me a visit, when I had been so helpful to him only the day before in his public audience with the monks. But still, I would take all care so that he would not stand in the way of my plan.

So it was with a firm resolve, a slightly elevated heartbeat, and a face powdered and painted to hide the lack of sleep that I bade his guard announce my visit, waiting not at all for him to return with permission but rather following the man into the chamber.

Philippe was closeted with several ministers when I burst in unannounced. My brother sat at the head of his long council table, parchment rolls scattered in front of him, the inevitable great seal of France near his right hand. He looked up from his intense conversation with Etienne Chastellain at the sound of my voice calling his name. He did not look pleased.

“Sister? What brings you to my council room, unsummoned, at such an early hour?” His voice registered his irritation. He didn’t rise to greet me, as he would have done ordinarily, although his counselors did so. It was well for them, for Philippe was a stickler for court protocol. “I sent word that I would see you later, after the noon dinner hour.”

I held out my hands in supplication, sensing he was not yet done with his tirade.

“What is so important that you must interrupt a council on state matters?” he barked as I advanced toward him. He blinked when I came close, surprised at either the fatigue or the paint. “Are you ill?” he asked, his tone softening.

“Brother, I have matters of grave issue to discuss with you now. Immediately. And in private.” I gave him a low courtesy and he, as I knew he would, gave me his hand and bade me rise.

“Could this matter not wait until my council has adjourned?” He was peevish, I could tell, but coming round.

“Your Majesty.” I made my voice firm. “There are certain items I must discuss with you that may have an impact on your future decisions. They concern matters we spoke of recently.” I cast a meaningful glance in his direction. If theft and murder were significant enough for him to send William shooting off like an arrow for Toulouse, the king most certainly should be interested in my own plans to depart for the south, for that is what I now intended. However, my absence would slow the investigation my brother had asked me to undertake. And, in any case, I did not dare leave the court without his permission.

“Very well.” Philippe’s response was grudging. But no matter. “Counselors, wait in the antechamber. I will summon you when I am ready to resume our meeting.”

The six counselors had remained standing throughout this exchange, Chastellain shifting from foot to foot with scarcely disguised impatience. Even as Philippe spoke the others began picking up scrolls and quills from the table and packing smaller papers into leather
sacs
brought for that purpose.

Only Etienne Chastellain dallied. We had not seen each other since our irascible parting at the previous day’s tournament, after the chief minister had pressed me to intervene on behalf of the monks with my brother. Now he spoke, his hands moving in that nervous, washing motion he employed when addressing the king: “Your Majesty, do you wish me to remain and record?”

Impudent rascal. We stood on either side of the table, the king seated between us. My gaze met the chief minister’s. His was the more wary, and he looked away quickly. He wondered what my business with the king was. He had every right to worry.

But this was no time for me to address the issue of Chastellain’s loyalty.

“Your Grace,” I said smoothly to the king, “my audience with you is on private matters. They do not concern the court or the chief minister.” As I uttered this, I detected a slight flicker of relief crossing that man’s face. “And I do not think you will need a record of proceedings from our meeting.”

“Very well,” the king said, making a brushing motion with his hand. “Wait in the antechamber, Etienne, with the others.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Chastellain was now gathering up a stack of his papers and shuffling them into the case. “Your Grace.” He bowed stiffly to me, then raised his head and confronted my gaze directly. I returned his brazen stare in kind. He turned and left without a word.

“Now, Sister, what is so important?” Philippe waved me into a chair. His demeanor was abrupt. “Have you news of Constance and her strange activities?”

“I know that I promised I would investigate the strange activities of our aunt Constance,” I began carefully.

“But you may not know,” he interrupted. “I have some disconcerting news on that score.” He riffled the papers in front of him, and pulled out a small, folded square of parchment.

“What is it, Brother?” I was impatient to make the request for my journey, but the king must not be rushed.

“Constance has abruptly left our court.” Philippe was tapping his quill on a blank piece of parchment, watching my face. “Do you know anything about this?”

“She has left court?” I had had little sleep the night before, with all the dramatic events, and so felt I had not heard correctly. “No, I had
expected to meet with her tomorrow. She gave the invitation only last evening at dinner.”

“Well, if you want to meet with her, you’ll have to ride like the devil to catch up. She is gone, left early this morning, with only a note to my royal self. She says she is going to visit our half-sister Marie, in Troyes.”

“You say that as if you don’t believe it.” I folded my arms on the table, leaning toward him. “I must admit I am puzzled that she left without sending me word after inviting a rendezvous. But why Troyes?”

The king shrugged. “It does seem passing strange that she chose Troyes. She dislikes the count, who also has just left for his home. If she were joining his family for a visit, why did she not ride with his party? And you know she and the Countess Marie do not have a cordial relationship.” He shook his head. “So I had her followed. The two men assigned to her came back with interesting news. She took the road south after she crossed the Seine, not the road to the east.”

“Are your men still tracking her?” I asked.

Philippe shook his head. “No. My instructions were only to discover the route she took, south or east.” He smiled cannily. “If she is going south, there is no doubt she intends to join her son in Toulouse. But why lie about it to me?”

Suddenly the king frowned, as he recalled his interrupted council meeting. “But what is the reason for your demand on my time this morn? I sense the subject was not to be Constance.”

I took a deep breath. “I must leave court, Brother. I beg your permission to do so. And I must go now. Today.”

“Leave court? For what purpose? Where would you go?” My brother was rubbing his palm on his cheek, and it occurred to me that his tooth was giving him little rest. But I had no time for sympathy with his infirmities at the moment. Yet I dared not interrupt him as he produced a catalog of complaints in a rising voice laced with irritation.

“We don’t want you to leave court. We need you here to assist
us. We made that clear in our last meeting. We are no longer certain whom to trust. There is a new riddle now, a treasure stolen and a murdered monk. And Constance is gone. We need to know what mischief she wrought here, and whether she is part of the treason with John of England. And anyway,” he added as an afterthought, “you still haven’t told me why you want to leave.”

I didn’t point out that he had not given me an opportunity to respond. I merely took a deep breath. “Brother, all of those items notwithstanding, I tell you I must depart now for the south. William left last night on your orders and I have decided to accompany him, to follow him, to overtake him.”

“Oh, he would like that not, Sister,” Philippe said with surety, shaking his head. He picked up the royal seal and tapped it on the table nervously as he spoke. “William is on a dangerous mission. He must work for peace. He has orders from the holy father, and Raymond’s situation is worsening. And William has an urgent assignment from me as well, to report the loss of the chalice Raymond entrusted to me. We believe the chalice theft is related to the Cathars and we want to prevent Raymond from doing something rash to make the situation more volatile.”

“What could Raymond do to make things worse than they are?” I was nonplussed.

“He could publicly accuse the Cathars of the theft of the chalice and the murder of its guardian. The new sect feels persecuted enough now. Any challenge could promote open hostility and roil the land further. There may be war in spite of Raymond’s promises at Blois.” The king had taken to thumbing through his papers, as though searching for something that may or may not have relevance to our discussion.

I hadn’t thought of the looming war, so wrapped up had I been in my personal loss and fear for Francis. But suddenly I made a decision to be honest with my brother.

“William now has yet another purpose in the south, one which
came up later in the evening, after you had dismissed him,” I said firmly. “It is more important than all the rest.”

“And that would be…?” Philippe looked up with interest.

“To find his former clerk, the young knight Francis, who appears to have been taken by force from his chambers just before William’s party was to leave in the early morn hours.”

“Taken by force? In my own palace? How can a knight of such an important household disappear?” The king drummed his fingers on the ink-stained oak table. “Well, well, that is unfortunate, but it changes nothing No doubt the lad will turn up. You must not concern yourself with William’s business.”

“Philippe, I don’t think you understand. There were signs of a struggle in the young knight’s chambers when William sent his men to look. A map was left, whether in haste or by design, that seems to indicate he was taken to the Toulouse area.”

“You are fond of this lad, are you not?” Philippe suddenly focused, his look boring into me, that occasional disconcerting concentration that always made me uncomfortable. I glanced down. He leaned back and balanced his chair, his knees propped against the table. “And your next words will be that you, yourself, must go to Toulouse and find this young Francis.”

I opened my mouth to agree, but before I could speak he cut me off.

“Don’t even think of it, Sister. I will not allow it. And that is final.” And for emphasis the front legs of his chair hit the ground. It was the firm sound of a royal denial.

“Brother, I will go to Toulouse.” I slammed a fist on the table to get his attention. “Whether or no you will give permission.”

Philippe’s chin snapped up at my rebellion, a great frown taking possession of his handsome features. “You most certainly will not!” he exclaimed, and with such force my heart sank. His chair fell backward as he jumped up, towering over me, the king of France in a fury. For once I was wordless.

“You go to the south? At this time? I cannot credit that you would even suggest such a thing. I say again, I will not allow it, Alaïs! The journey would be far too dangerous.” He thumped his knuckles on the table and the ink pots jumped. “The entire region is a seething cauldron. Anything can happen down there. Violence could be done to you, and we’d not know for weeks. And make me no argument,” he added, as I opened my mouth to speak. “This is not just about you.”

He wagged a finger in my face, leaning toward me. “You represent the royal house of France. You could be abducted by one or the other of the parties in this religious dispute and held for ransom. Or worse! I tell you, I will not allow it.”

“Philippe.” I took a deep breath. “You do not understand. This is a matter of my heart, my very life.”

“Princesse, I know your love for William is exceptional,” he shot back. “But these romantic feelings are no excuse for putting the house of France at risk. I say again, there is no way I will let you leave court now.” The king strode away, his hands clasped behind his back.

“This is not about William.” I was near to gritting my teeth to keep from screaming, but I kept my voice in check, turning my head to keep him in sight. “It is about Francis.”

“I know you are taken with that young man.” He cast these words over his shoulder as he busied himself at the long oak side table, shuffling papers, pouring wine from a pitcher. “Last spring, when he was here with William for the Easter celebration, I watched you together. I thought you overfond of him then. He is William’s ward, not yours, and William can see to him far better than you.” He added hastily: “Not that you are not capable—”

“Stop!” I stood up, knocking over an inkwell in the process. Leaning across the table as far as I could, I shouted at the king of France. “Stop talking!” Then I let out a long wail at the top of my lungs. It brought Philippe’s diatribe to a halt.