The Stolen Queen (12 page)

In May, a priest in Essex was summoned to a court of bishops to answer for himself after reports that he had led dancing in his churchyard on Easter Day wearing ram's horns on his head. My husband took me to Portsmouth to meet with his barons and plan an attack on the rebels. We were to go to Normandy, and then, at the invitation of the French king, to visit him in Paris. I ordered a new wardrobe, more for the pleasure of hearing Lady Maude grumble at the expense than for any delight I took in it, and a scarlet velvet caparison for Othon, for when I rode him at our entry. So we crossed the sea once more, and once more, I
could not rejoice in it, for all that water was surely my element now, as one of Melusina's kin.

We lodged the first night at the Louvre, the fortress built over the river Seine, facing out towards the Norman strongholds of the English kings. The royal palace, the Cité was on an island in the middle of that river. King Philip had given it over for our use, and we would ride there in procession the next day. I was in my chamber with Agnes and the maids, looking over my cloth of silver gown, when a page skittered in with a message. I had sent a pair of beautiful gloves, gold-chased doeskin, to Princess Blanche, whom I was very curious to see, and she had returned a parcel of delicate lace to me. I thought carelessly that it must be another gift, and told the boy he might send the bearer in.

Outside, the spring night was clear, but the Louvre was a gloomy place, the walls vastly thick, with forbidding round towers at each corner and just two narrow gates to the south and east, barely wide enough for a mounted man to pass. I should be glad to lodge at the Cité, I thought, this place felt more like a prison than a palace. Still, the casements were shut against the stink of the river mud, and the room was bright with candles so that the maids could see about their stitching. When he came in, it was as though all their light danced to his face, so that for a moment, we sat in darkness. I thought two things: I thought that I might be looking into my own countenance, and that I had never seen a beautiful man before.

His hair, like mine, was ashy gold, with a sheen like new corn. His eyes, like mine, were the brightest turquoise, his skin,
like mine, the colour of new cream. He was tall, and broad shouldered, and his waist was narrow. In fact, from the titters from the maids I could see he possessed all the features of a knight in a romance, and somehow that made me cross.

I greeted him coolly, leaving him a long time on his knees, had water brought for his hands, fruit and wine, though I did not rise, and when we had accomplished the courtesies I asked him his name.

‘Pierre de Joigny, Majesty. Sent by your lady mother, the Countess of Angouleme.'

I shot a quick glance at Agnes, seated quietly in a corner busying herself with the lacings on my slippers. Her head moved very slightly, though she did not look up.

‘Leave us,' I ordered the maids. ‘Now!'

As the girls made a languid show of gathering up their needles, for the chance of a few more seconds' ogling. I could hear them giggling along the passageway after they had curtsied their way out. Agnes went quietly to the door and locked it before returning to her place.

‘Will it please you to sit, sir?'

‘Majesty, do you know who I am?' asked Pierre.

‘I should think you are my brother, sir,' I smiled. ‘I am very glad to see you, at last.'

Before my mother's marriage to my father, she had been the wife of the Comte de Joigny, until the marriage was dissolved by the church as the two were found to be too closely related. I had never known anything of my brother except his existence, and that he was the king of France's man. Had my mother sent
him to make amends? I could not help being delighted to see him. We had the same blood, after all.

‘You are most welcome, Brother. I believe you were with King Philip in the Holy Land.'

He assented with a modest nod.

‘Then you will have much to tell me. I long to hear of your adventures.'

‘Indeed, Majesty. I hope we shall become good friends, if Majesty will do me the honour.'

‘Perhaps.'

‘Though perhaps it is too much to aspire to, the friendship of such a beautiful lady as Majesty.'

‘You flatter me, sir. And perhaps yourself too, since a looking glass would show our countenances so alike.'

‘Impossible, Majesty. I could only ever hope to be a shadow to your sun.'

I had come a long way, I thought, from my hoyden days at Lusignan. I could keep up this kind of flirtatious patter for hours, charming, feinting, the idlest of conversation, designed with nothing more than mutual smugness and the whiling away of an evening. ‘But sir, you must forgive me. It grows late and I am rather fatigued by our journey. You say you bear a message from our lady mother?'

‘Just so, Majesty.'

I wondered what it could be. A letter, perhaps? But watching his face, I saw a tiny shadow cross it, like a cloud's silhouette on the surface of a calm and sparkling sea. I tried to tell myself that this visit was a kindness, that Pierre had taken the chance
to meet me while I was in his master's city, or perhaps ask me some favour, a grant or a place, but I knew it was none of those things, and I felt cold again inside.

‘Then you will trust what I have to tell you?'

‘Why should I need to trust you, sir?'

‘It is a … delicate matter, Majesty.'

‘Then how might I know to trust you? You bring a letter, maybe? Or some token?'

‘I bring proof.' His face in the candlelight now looked hard, marble-planed, and I knew that despite his pleasantries, he wished me ill.

‘As I said, sir, I am rather tired. Perhaps you will be so good as to find me once more at the Cité, once the ceremonies tomorrow are concluded. Agnes, would you be so good as to show the gentleman out?'

I turned but Agnes had not stirred.

‘Agnes!' I rapped sharply. ‘I asked you to show my guest out.'

She shook her head dumbly. ‘Agnes! What can you mean by disobeying me?' I glared at her, but she only shook her head and mumbled something.

‘What? What are you saying?'

‘That you need to hear what your brother has to say.'

I could not be angry with her. She looked so cowed and fearful. I thought wearily that I could summon the guard and order Pierre away from my presence in King John's name, but then all my state, my commands, had done nothing to protect me so far. I might as well hear it, I thought, drawing myself up straight.

‘Very well. But do not tarry. What is this “proof” you speak of?'

‘This.' He took a small package of black watered-silk from the pocket on his mantle. ‘Our mother sent it.'

He revealed a square of linen with a dark, red-brown stain. Inside, a little piece of parchment with a crude drawing in charcoal, slightly smudged, seven lines making a stag's antlered skull, and beside it, a coiled shape that might have been another smudge had it not looked so very like another mark that I knew well.

I looked at the things, put out a hand to touch them, withdrew it, my fingers hovering over the pulse of their horrible power. I felt my composure fracture, dug my nails into the soft palms of my hands, bit down hard on my lower lip. I could not give way, yet my exclamation was a child's, not a queen's.

‘Agnes! Agnes, why? You said you burned it—'

‘I cut away a piece, as the Countess instructed me.'

‘I am come from court,' said Pierre. ‘Our mother is there, as you perceive. You will see her tomorrow.'

‘I do not wish to see her. I will not.'

‘But you will listen?' he asked.

‘Have I a choice?'

‘Where is the king?'

‘At supper with his men of Normandy. He will not come for a long time.'

‘Sister, please believe me. I know how strange this must have been for you, how lonely and hard. But I am here now.' Pierre's voice was so gentle, it made me want to weep. ‘You have been very good, and very brave, and I can help you, now.'

Perhaps it was the struggle to keep back my tears, or the irritation I had felt when the maids looked at him, but I could not hold on to my temper. And by God, I was bored of weeping. I threw the disgusting little bundle to the floor and hissed at him.

‘I am weary, do you hear me? I am tired to death of all these whispers and plotting. I am queen of England! I have no need of your protection, or my mother's interference. You are nothing to me, and I will not have you make mischief in my life any more. And these,' I kicked contemptuously at the scribble and the scrap of cloth. ‘These are wicked tokens. A priest would call them the Devil's work and I will not have them near me. So you can tell our lady mother that. Now get out before I call the guard.'

And then I spoiled all my injured dignity by bursting into sobs after all, stifling them reproachfully in the hem of my gown, hunching myself smaller and smaller into a snail shell of pain. In a moment, I felt his hand gently stroking my back, and his touch felt like my mother's, and I cried all the harder, until I lost my breath and began to gasp for air.

‘Here.' Agnes took me firmly in her arms and gave me a little shake before pressing my wet face to her bosom. ‘Calm yourself, little one, there now, there now.'

Pierre knelt, as gracefully as if he were dancing, or handing a lady to her horse in a tapestry, to gather his foul tokens.

‘Sister, I cannot leave until I have spoken with you. Please, calm yourself, as your nurse says. Here, sit.'

They fussed about me, sponging my face and fetching a cup of wine, Pierre's voice murmuring that all would be well. ‘You
are recovered, Sister? I am so sorry for your distress. Now, here are the things you must consider. You are queen, indeed, but you are in danger. Your husband is weak, he will not hold his lands if the king of France moves against him.'

‘My husband loves me. He will protect me, whatever happens.'

‘Will he love you so much, Majesty, when he knows you are not a maid?' He let it hang there, and then his voice continued, supple and sinuous. ‘You know he will not. Perhaps he would let you retire to a convent. But you know the penalty for adultery in a queen? It is treachery, after all, what you did.'

‘I didn't do anything! It wasn't my fault, I was forced—' I stopped myself. The dumb sickness that had come upon me after my wedding had been a blessing, I saw. I had shrivelled away in shock, like a snail caught in sunlight, and stopped my mouth. I might have cried out on Lord Hugh, proclaimed what he had done to me and asked my husband to avenge me. But John would not have wished to avenge me, as I had been spoiled, and in so spoiling me, Lord Hugh had made me party to the most heinous crime of all.

‘You could tell him that, Sister. Perhaps he will be merciful. But you have had a show of his temper, I think. He is not always a reasonable man, you must concede.
Lèse majesté
is a burning offence for a woman, know you that. Besides, John will not long be king. Lord Hugh never intended to be John's man. Why do you think your betrothal was arranged to Angouleme's old enemy as soon as the Lionheart died? Why did you think the king came to Lusignan to hear his fealty?'

‘I thought, I thought it was an alliance. To join their lands, as is usual. To bring peace.'

He snorted. ‘Are you such a child still, Sister, that you believe that? No one wished for peace. They wished for power, as all men do. And the lord of Angouleme with them.'

Papa. But my papa was a good man.

‘Lord Hugh knew that King John had certain … tastes,' Pierre continued, ‘and certain … incapacities. Why do you think there are no children of his marriage with Lady Hadwisa?'

‘The king has bastards, like his brothers. Like all kings.'

‘Perhaps, but he is older now. And has no legitimate child. Lord Hugh knew that he would want you, knew that in taking you he would give the Lusignans a legitimate grievance to rebel against him. So he arranged it with your Lord Aymer, the betrothal, then the betrayal. The Count of Angouleme thought of nothing except that his daughter would be queen.'

‘As I am.' I would not let him see how the thought of my father using me hurt.

‘Or not … the king has not known your bed. It would be an interesting case for a church court, would it not, Sister?'

‘And now?'

‘Lord Hugh will rise against John, and the men of Normandy will support him. The next heir is Duke Arthur.'

‘What of it?'

‘You, my dear Sister, are England's queen. You have been shown to the people, shopped about like a pedlar's bundle over the countryside, we hear. You will be useful to Arthur's claim, when you marry him. So you will still be queen of England,
and Duchess of Normandy and Aquitaine. And perhaps queen of France, too.'

My mouth was bubbling with questions, but he held up a hand. His voice was growing colder and colder. ‘I will finish. Now, as you know, the kings of France are related to the Courtenays, as well as the dukes of Brittany. Lord Hugh considers that if Louis of France should … die, then Arthur, as King of England and Duke of Brittany, would have a strong claim.'

‘This is madness. I will not hear it.'

‘I think you will. You see, Lord Hugh is an adherent of the old religion.'

At the words, I felt the throb of the scar on my shoulder. I tried to turn away from the images that tumbled into my mind, the horned figure on the rock at Lusignan, the dark man in my wedding bed, the leering face in the green chapel in the wilds of England. I thought I might scream with it, scream and never stop, run mad and they would take me away and lock me up and drug me and I could be done with this, done with this spider's web of vileness. I could feel it swell and billow inside me like a great wave, all the horror and rage I had quenched inside me during the time of my quietness. I opened my mouth to release it, but no sound came, only a weak little gasp. I breathed, swallowed, tried again, putting as much dismissive contempt into my voice as I could muster. ‘Yes, I know of that. Nonsense. Superstition for peasants. Ungodly and disgusting.'