Winchester Castle
May 1172
On my first day in Eleanor’s court, she made me welcome but kept her distance, as if to avoid encouraging her ladies-in-waiting to envy. I saw behind her eyes that she loved me, even as she dressed me with her own hands, in her own gown. It was made of emerald silk, the finest dress I had ever worn in my life. My shifts were all plain convent wear, and Eleanor would not rest until she had had her seamstress sew a ribbon of emerald silk around the hem of the shift I wore.
Eleanor made a brief show of presenting her women to me, each in their turn. They were all beautiful, and all only a few years older than myself, save for Eleanor’s chief woman, Amaria, who was of an age with the queen. They left with Eleanor almost as soon as they came in, and I was left alone to take in the beauty of my rooms by myself.
The bedchamber had wide windows that looked down over a rose garden. The flowers had begun to bloom early, and I took in the scent of their perfume. There was a dressing room with a fine clothespress, though as yet I had no gowns to place in it.
The tapestries on the walls were old but well brushed, and the bedstead was large, its rosewood posts carved with trailing flowers. I fingered the carving, and felt the polish of the years beneath my fingertips. The bedstead, too, was old, but it had been cherished, just as Eleanor cherished me.
I had little time to admire my rooms or the gown the queen lent me, for her lady-in-waiting came for me almost at once, and took me in to meet the prince.
Marie Helene, one of Eleanor’s ladies who had not been presented to me before, was a quiet woman, always watchful, a woman who thought long before she spoke. She reminded me of my father in that, though in no other way.
Her hair was a soft blond, like wheat when it first turns from green to gold. Her hair was as fine as silk, and she often kept it hidden beneath a wimple. Her blue eyes were bright but steady. Marie Helene was worldly enough to see deception in others, but she did not lie herself. She never lied to me.
The day I met her, Marie Helene curtsied to me with as much respect as if I were married to her prince already. She honored me from the first.
As young as I was, I saw her good sense shining out of her eyes. She saw me fiddling with my borrowed gown, for I was six inches shorter than Eleanor, and the hem dragged the floor.
“May I help, Your Highness?”
I smiled at her soft tone of diffidence; it was clear that she did not want to overreach herself, and offend me. This evidence of reserve, the only such I was to see in Eleanor’s court, pleased me, as it was tinged so heavily with respect.
“ Yes.”
I stood still under her capable hands. Marie Helene drew my skirt up and tucked it into the belt I wore so that the ribbon on my shift showed beneath the emerald of the gown.
“Thank you,” I said. “I have no clothes of my own.”
“You will.” Her blue eyes met mine, and I saw her kindness as well as her restraint. “The queen will see to that. I have heard her speak of it already.”
“Is it time to meet the prince?” I asked.
She hesitated, as if afraid to frighten me. “It is.”
I smoothed the silk of my borrowed gown. “I am ready”
I remember little of my first meeting with Richard. Eleanor’s ladies were there as witnesses, and Marie Helene stood waiting for me by the door. Beyond that, I remember fragments. Only that the sunlight came in from behind him, and touched his red hair with gold. And that his eyes were the deep blue of France, so that I felt I had come home when I looked into them.
We barely spoke, and the prince was as courteous as I could have hoped for. Behind his eyes, I saw his joy in me and in my beauty, and I felt the same joy at the sight of him. I remember the tone of his voice, if not his words, as he welcomed me.
The queen called us together to announce that Richard was taking on the duchy of the Aquitaine in his own right. No sooner had she made this announcement than I was dismissed, and her seven ladies with me. I saw from her eyes that she wished to take counsel with her son. I turned back at the door to look at him once more, and caught Eleanor watching him, and me.
I reminded myself of my duty and followed Marie Helene back to my rooms. I looked down at the rose garden below, wishing I might walk in it, but I stayed in my room, and waited on the queen. I knew that, before long, she would call me to her.
Later that afternoon, when I came into the queen’s rooms with Marie Helene at my side, all her ladies were in place once more. I saw that they were celebrating Richard’s rise to the duchy, but Richard himself was nowhere to be seen.
As soon as I came in, Eleanor rose from her chair and smiled, crossing the room to meet me. Her ladies saw this sign of favor, and stopped their conversations, turning instead to look at me.
I curtsied and Eleanor helped me rise, her hands on mine. I caught the sight of Angeline’s resentment, her jealousy clouding the blue of her eyes. I remembered her name from the time I had met her briefly in my own rooms. I had no doubt in that moment that she had been the favored lady before I first came to Eleanor’s court.
“Alais, you are welcome to this place.”
The queen kissed me. The silence deepened, so that birdsong could be heard beyond the windows.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Have you eaten? There is fruit here, and bread.”
“Fruit would be welcome. I thank you.”
Eleanor drew me with her across the room. At a gesture from her, Mathilde, Angeline’s sister, rose and offered me her chair. She was better at hiding her jealousy, and managed to smile at me. I sat at once, and the queen sat beside me, while fruit was brought to the table between us, and fresh wine.
Eleanor offered me a goblet from her own hand. I sipped the wine, and found it fresh and sweet, with a hint of the flavor of pears. The cup I held was cast in gold, and glinted in the afternoon sunlight. This room was her solar, and there were windows to the west as well as to the east, so that the sun always fell within those walls, and warmed them.
I looked around at the queen’s ladies, all of whom had taken up their embroidery once more, and were talking among themselves, though I saw that they still cast their eyes on me. They noticed the high favor the queen showed me, and wondered at it. I knew that Eleanor liked to keep her women, and all those around her, guessing. Though this public welcome was gratifying, it was calculated. Our real time together would come later, when we were alone.
“I would have my troubadour sing for you, Princess, if you are willing to hear him.”
“It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”
“No, indeed, little princess, it will be his.”
Amaria, the chief of Eleanor’s ladies, called for Bertrand, and when he stepped into the room, there was a flurry among the women. Angeline and Mathilde, both blond and fair, turned bright pink at the sight of him. The girls rose at once, straightening their gowns and simpering. The voices of all the women rose in pitch, as did their laughter. The man was young and as tall as Richard was, but not as beautiful. He bowed first to the queen, and then to me, before casting his eyes upon the ladies.
As I watched, they fawned on him. If I had not known the queen’s ladies to be virtuous, I would have thought a lascivious glance passed between Bertrand and more than one of the queen’s waiting women. I raised an eyebrow, only to find Eleanor watching me, a sardonic smile on her face.
She was offering her women up in all their foolishness, for me to laugh at. I swallowed my mirth, but my eyes still sparkled. My suppressed mirth was enough to soothe Eleanor’s need for mischief, for she turned at once to Bertrand, and called for a song.
He bowed low, his hose displaying his leg to advantage. Convent-bred as I was, even I noticed the fine line of his thigh in his rose-colored hose. He caught me looking and winked, and I laughed in spite of myself.
“The princess has not heard enough music, locked away in her nunnery. Play something for her now.”
Bertrand might have amused himself by smiling at me, but he knew where his duty lay. He strummed his lute, all sign of laughter gone, and sang a song for the queen that was so beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes.
He sang of beauty that endured forever, and of a queen that held all men under her sway. His voice wove a spell over me, and over all the women there. I knew that he was desired not only for his fine leg but for his voice, and the spell it cast.
When he was done, the queen applauded him, and her women followed suit. I clapped as well, a beat late, for I had to wipe tears from my eyes.
Eleanor, always one to chastise me for weeping, reached out and took my hand. She pressed a handkerchief embroidered with her crest into my palm. She drew it from her sleeve with a flourish, so that all her court ladies could see. This sign of favor granted to me, she turned to Bertrand, her public voice ringing in the room like the peal of a bell.
“You have moved us all to tears, Bertrand, and given me much pleasure.”
“Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.”
Eleanor’s smile turned wicked. “Indeed, Bertrand, that is not what my ladies tell me.”
Laughter filled the room. As I watched, Mathilde and Angeline blushed, and a few others raised their hands to their cheeks, or to their mouths, to cover their laughter. Bertrand said nothing, but took the warm laughter as yet more applause, and bowed once more to the queen.
Shocked, I met Eleanor’s glance, and she smiled at me. I realized that she meant to tell me that her troubadour sampled the favors of her women, and she approved.
I knew little of the pleasures of love. The Reverend Mother in the abbey had instructed me on my duties in my marriage to the prince. Now that I had seen Richard, I hoped that those duties would be sweet. But the queen’s women were not married to her troubadour, and some were not married at all.
I saw that adultery and lasciviousness were things that Eleanor winked at among her women, but I knew she would not wink at them in me. She sought to teach me this, as she sought to teach me everything. While these women might sport with lowborn chanteurs, she and I could not.
I set aside my maiden modesty, and looked once more on the troubadour. He had risen from his bow under the gaze of all those women. While he smiled at them boldly, he had the courtesy not to turn his gaze on me.
“Ladies, I find myself growing tired,” Eleanor said. “Please leave me. I will see you all in the great hall for this evening’s feast.”
Her women rose, some still laughing, and as one they bowed to her. Amaria, Eleanor’s chief lady-in-waiting, made a gesture, and the other women filed out, as orderly as the nuns in the abbey I came from, and I saw once more the queen’s power. Eleanor held these women with such authority that they did her least bidding without question, without hesitation.
I thought to go as well, but she held me there, her hand on mine. Bertrand bowed to her, but when she raised one hand, he stayed.
Marie Helene met my eyes across the room. She was the last lady to leave, and she caught my gaze before drawing the door closed behind her.
“Do you like the woman I have asked to attend you?” Eleanor asked once we were alone.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I thank you. She has taken very good care of me.”
“As she should. Very well, then. I will let you keep her.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty”
I glanced at Bertrand. He had taken a stool along the far wall, a simple stool that one of the ladies had abandoned in her flight. He did not look at us or seem to listen as we spoke. He simply strummed his lute quietly, his soothing music underlying our talk.
Eleanor did not heed him, so I did not. In this, as in all things, I took my cue from her.
“Do you like your gown?” Eleanor asked.
Of their own accord, my hands moved down to the skirt of my dress, to the smooth emerald silk. I ran my fingers over its softness. “It is the most beautiful dress I have ever worn,” I said.
“It is my favorite.”
I had been fitted for my own gowns in my room, before Eleanor called me to sit among her ladies. The seamstress had assured me that I would have at least one of my new dresses the next day, though how any woman could work so fast, I could not comprehend.
“You will have your own tomorrow. For now, you will have to make do with mine.”
“It is my honor, Eleanor.”
The troubadour, whom I had almost forgotten, stopped strumming in midnote, and the silence held for a full beat before he resumed his music once more. Later I learned that he was shocked into silence; no one else used her given name, save perhaps the king.
“My father chose my name, you know,” was all she said. “In the langue d‘oc, it is Aliénor, The only name I ever heard spoken before I moved to Paris.”
“Before you married my father,” I said.
“Yes. Louis could not say ‘Aliénor,’ so ‘Eleanor’ it has been ever since.”
“I am sorry.”
“You will find, little princess, that with marriage a woman often loses more than just her name. You would do well to heed it.”
“Richard would take nothing from me,” I said.
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened, and her gaze held mine. “Richard is a good man, but always remember that he is a man. You like him, do you?”
“I am honored to marry so fine a prince.”
She must have seen something in my eyes, or heard the joy in my voice, for her face softened. She loved him well. “I am glad that you are matched,” she said. “You will make beautiful children.”
“I hope to give him many sons,” I said, my eyes cast down.
Eleanor raised my chin so that I was forced to meet her gaze. I remembered that though it was proper for a nun to keep her eyes on the ground, a princess must face the world. Eleanor had taught me that. I would not shrink from her again.