W
hen we reached the field, William took hold of the reins of my horse, for the crowd was a milling squabble of animals, knights, squires and nobles, pages and stableboys looking to earn a coin. The courtiers who had been so civil at the audience in the Great Hall were now acting like a horde of Huns. All was confusion, with the horses kicking up great clouds of dust from the dry land. I pulled my veil over my face to avoid choking. Pages were running everywhere with pails of water from the river to dampen the ground. Gradually the dust settled and the passage to the royal quarters became bearable, although we were still buffeted by the churning crowds. I rode my favorite palfrey, kept for me in Philippe’s stables, while William rode a much larger destrier and so had an advantage
in this whirling melee. He led the way, carving a path for us through the crowds.
The standard of the royal house fluttered over one group of pavilions, set up in the meadow adjacent to the tourney field. The smaller tent next to Philippe’s was mine. Queen Agnes used to have her own quarters at these events, but Ingeborg never came and now the servants did not bother to set up a shelter for her. Thus there were only three in the royal group: Philippe’s, mine, and that of our uncle Charles. Constance could have had her own retreat also, but she refused to attend these festivals.
William led my horse to a stop and slipped to the ground. He waved the groom aside and helped me dismount himself. As we made our way inside the tent he held my elbow, as if somehow I might fly away. It amused me, this need he had to touch me whenever we were together. I wondered if that need would remain once we were man and wife, and he—retired at last from the Temple order and its demands—stayed at home by my side.
When we entered my pavilion it was as if we were suddenly absorbed into a separate world from the noisy, dusty one we had just ridden through. Heavy Smyrna carpets had been spread and reclining seats set up for our rest. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, cheering the interior. I chose a favorite couch and made my way there, slipping my cloak from my shoulders. William caught the garment before a servant could spring to my side, and handed it to the young man. He then pulled a deeply colored burgundy wool shawl from another chair and tossed it over my lap and legs when I was settled. I smiled my thanks for the added warmth.
He joined me in an adjacent couch, so that we sat side by side, our legs stretched out comfortably in front of us. I was glad for the steaming cups of mulled wine the servants brought, for my bones were chilled. Although the fog had lifted and the sun had finally graced us
with its light, there had been precious little warmth from it on the ride across the Seine.
“Well, sweetheart, the first part of the day has been adventuresome. Here’s a toast to the second part, with the hope that it will be less exciting.”
“William.” I leaned my head back against his arm outstretched along the back of the couch. “Is there truly a need for me to witness this joust? Could I not just stay behind here in the pavilion?”
“I fear not, love. The sister of the king of France would be sore missed, especially after your role today in the public audience. Besides, did you not say that Philippe expressly asked that you attend today?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why.” I ran my finger around the rim of the cup. A thrust of strong wind shook the tent, and I could hear the standard overhead flapping on its pole.
“Perhaps it has to do with your role as his adviser. I believe he wants the court to see his confidence in you.”
“But why?”
William shrugged. “Philippe keeps his own counsel, as you may have noticed. He confides in me, sometimes in his uncle, less and less I believe in his privy council, but many things he does not share. I don’t blame…ah, there you are.” William leaped to his feet at the sudden entrance of young Francis and his companion, the sweet-faced Geoffrey. “I was afraid you were lost on the way. What delayed you? Could you not find one of the three royal tents?” he joked.
The two youths were splendid in their flashing tournament garb, robust and healthy and looking well nigh indestructible. Their chain-mail shirts somehow made them appear older than they had in the palace reception rooms, as if the very act of dressing for combat added years.
“Princesse.” Both youths dropped to their knees, but I motioned them to stand.
“Please, young knights. Do not stand on ceremony with me when
we are not in court.” I looked at Francis, and could not keep the pride from my voice or face, but I addressed them both. “You look wondrously ready for this adventure. How long before the king takes his place, do you know?”
“We were told that we had only a short time to make our courtesies to you, Your Grace.” Francis grinned as he bobbed his head.
“Lord William said we must see you before we take to our horses. He said it would bring good luck.” Geoffrey clapped his companion on the shoulder as he spoke.
“And are you both ready for this test?” I asked, amused at their excitement.
“We’ve practiced so long,” Geoffrey said. “I’ve only been knighted for half a year, and already I’ve been in the lists in three tourneys.” He stopped for a moment. “Or rather, two before this one. This is my third tourney,” he confessed. “But I intend to bring honor to Lord William’s household!”
“I am certain he is already proud of you,” I said, willing all my good spirit onto these two earnest young men.
The flap to the tent door opened again just then, letting in a shaft of light. Then a shadow fell across the room. It was only a figure blocking the slanting autumn sun, but a chilled breath sped across my heart when I saw who entered.
“Your Grace.” Etienne Chastellain, resplendent in a fox-lined cloak of deepest green, bowed to me. I nodded curtly, making no move to welcome him. He turned immediately to the two youths standing awkwardly to the side, their faces registering some surprise to have the king’s chief minister appear so casually.
“Young knights, they are calling the lists even now. You’d best be on your way.” His voice was commanding and I bristled like a forest animal at his impudence.
“You came to fetch the two young knights?” My voice dripped honey. “How considerate of you.”
“I came to have a word with you in private, Princesse,” he retorted smoothly.
“Lord William,” I heard Francis say, “come, put your name to ours on the list as our sponsor.”
“I don’t think…” William looked quickly from me to Chastellain, a frown gathering. There was a roar from the direction of the field.
“Yes, William. Do go with the young knights,” I urged. “And please tell Philippe I will be in place shortly. I hear a commotion from the direction of his tent and I fear he is making his way onto the field now.” I knew from the sound of the crowd the king had stopped on the field to receive the welcome of his people on his way to the royal box.
Casting a glance in my direction, William hustled the two young knights from the room, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll send one of your grooms to accompany you.”
“Now, Sir Etienne, what is your business with me that is so private?” As I spoke I occupied myself with arranging the folds of the wool shawl William had thrown over my lap when we first arrived.
“Your Grace,” Chastellain said again as he sighed and pulled a small stool forward next to my couch. He perched unsteadily, his bulk being unsuited to the small seat. He was now on a level with me, his eyes boring into mine. I did not recall giving him leave to sit in my presence, but I decided to overlook that breach on his part. He made me uneasy, and I wanted to hear what he had to say and dispatch him as quickly as possible. In the back of my mind lurked the ominous shadow of our encounter the previous night. What did he know about Francis? Could he know that he was my son? That his father had been king of England? My heart beat so loudly I thought sure he must hear it.
“Continue, please.” We sat eyeing each other like stray tomcats.
He glanced sideways and began to fiddle with his chain of office. Another small noise, almost a grunt, preceded his next remark, as if he were shifting the burden of his thoughts to me.
“Your Grace, it pains me to have to ask you this, but I require your help at this time.”
“On what matter?” I still regarded him steadily.
“This morning…uh…you heard the request of the two Cistercians, their plea for the king’s assistance in overcoming the heresy of the south.” Chastellain’s demeanor and voice underwent a change as he spoke, softening like the tone of a young man courting in the spring. He leaned toward me and I could smell wine on his warm breath.
“Please, Etienne, get to the point.” I deliberately used his first name, denying him the respect his chain of office demanded. If he didn’t make haste I’d address him in the familiar
tu,
like a servant!
“Your Grace, I am trying to say what I must with as much finesse as possible. But as you will.” He straightened his back and faced me directly, once more the man of business. “I require your aid, as I have said. This morning it was clear how much your brother trusts you. Before the entire court he asked you to judge, as a veritable Sybil, on the matter of giving arms and aid to the Cistercians.”
“I am aware of the events of the morning.” My impatience was evident but I cared not. “
Certes,
you did not come here to test the reliability of my memory!”
“No, Your Grace, but there have been some later developments that I thought might cause you to reverse your position.”
“How could there have been time?” I was incredulous. “We only left the assembly rooms an hour past.”
“Events are moving swiftly,” Etienne said pompously. “The long and short of it is that I am here to ask you to intervene with the king in these matters.”
“In what way?” If he knew me at all, he must have an idea how dangerous this conversation was to him. What he was asking bordered on treason.
“Nothing improper, Your Grace,” he said, holding up his hands
as if to ward off my recriminations. “In point of fact, His Majesty this morning did not say he would forbid his liege men to fight with the monks at some time in the future.”
“Go on.” I drew the words out, clipping the ends of them as if with a knife.
“Hmm, yes. But here is a problem.” He was fiddling with his chain of office now, twisting it in his fingers. “The need is urgent. If the king delays in sending aid it may be too late.”
“You heard the king this morning. He is not in the habit of changing his opinion, once given in a public audience.”
“Ah, but he could change it if you asked. Just this once. And he would not have to go with his own army. He could allow Nevers and Burgundy to take their men and go, just as de Donzy requested. Such an action need not affect the royal treasury. It would even offer the king an alternative to fighting one of his own vassals, Count Raymond.” Chastellain paused. “I thought…I’ve noticed your high regard for young Francis of Lord William’s household, and I thought perhaps, to ensure his ongoing safety with the help of my men, um…you might be willing…”
His words sent a cold shaft through my heart. I threw back the shawl and rose abruptly, nearly knocking the prime minister off the three-legged stool in the process and putting a sudden end to his vile speech.
“Sir Chastellain, I have tarried too long in this conversation. The king will be wondering where I am. I hear by the noise of the crowd that the first knights are ready for the contest. You heard the king’s decision at the morning audience. France will not countenance war in the south, no matter what the wishes of Rome or their legates. I would not presume to intercede with the king when he has made his decision so clear.” I paused, then continued with clear enunciation. “The king wants neither his armies nor his liege men involved in this matter. Not now.”
Chastellain rose also. He was so short that his eyes were still level with mine. He came closer to me but I edged sideways. I turned and picked up my cloak, busying myself as I pulled it about my shoulders.
“Your Grace, the Count de Nevers is intent on going to the south.” Chastellain was speaking quickly now, aware that the time to make his case was nearly finished. “He rode with me to the tourney here today. He feels it is a matter of his immortal soul, that he must make reparation for the sin he committed when he made war on his wife’s father. He begs you to intercede so that the king will allow him and the Duke Eudes to take their men and go with the monks to fight this heresy.”
These words came tumbling out of the chief minister’s mouth while I occupied myself with fastening the jeweled clasp of my cloak. I allowed a pause, long enough to be uncomfortable, before I looked up from my task.
“Yes, I understand the Count de Nevers has much to atone for. I wish him well in his quest to do so. But my brother has good reasons for not wanting the knights of France involved in a war. You heard him this morning. I will not importune him further on the subject.” I turned to go.
“Your Grace, this is not wise…” Chastellain began, and I whirled on him, this time deliberately stepping quite close. Now it was he who was forced back a step.
“Sir Chastellain, by no means! Do not dare to tell me what is wise for me and what is not. And never, ever again bring a private request to me to intercede with the king, nor bring mention of the Lord William’s household into our conversation.” I narrowed my eyes with unmistakable hostility. “Do we understand each other, sir?”
The little man had no alternative but to nod, once, reluctantly.
I turned and went swiftly from the pavilion. Outside, as William had promised, a groom held my restive palfrey. Another appeared and cupped his hands for my foot. I could scarce see for the tears of anger
blurring my vision. I rode off without a backward glance.
I
cantered along the turf past the nobles’ boxes, paying little heed to their turning heads and dropped jaws. The king’s pennant flew from the largest of these units, in the center of the long row. The masses of townspeople and guilders were on the opposite side, in makeshift bleachers. On one end was a huge open space, where the peasants from the country could stand and watch the jousts. The participating knights would ride in from the opposite end, where the marshals and heralds were already milling about in their midst.
I rode boldly in front of the crowd. The man assigned to ride with me had been left quite behind as I sped onward alone. Any woman without escort in public was an unusual sight, and to see a royal female without a knight at her side must be astonishing to the king’s subjects. My performance would provide grist for gossip in the taverns that night! When I reached the royal box, the king’s grooms leaped forward to help me dismount.
William and Philippe were standing in the back of the box, talking intently. A footman recognized and assisted me, clearing the way through the crowd. William looked up as I entered and broke off his conversation with my brother. He hastened to my side.
“Alaïs?” He could see my distress. “What has happened?”
I had conquered my urge to cry like a rageful child and composed myself. But I still did not trust that my voice would not tremble. I shook my head.
He tried for a light tone: “The two bright red spots on your cheeks give you away.” I was in no mood for teasing so I merely shrugged.
“What did Chastellain want in his private interview?” he persisted, now more seriously, sotto voce.
I finally spoke. “He pressed me to intercede with the king on behalf of the monks’ suit.”
“He dared that?” There was true surprise in his voice. “What reply did you make?”
“I said on no account would I do so. And William…” I was about to tell him of Chastellain’s final comment, the veiled threat about Francis, but at that moment the king looked up and beckoned us to our seats.
William nodded, and handed me into my chair, which once again was beside my brother. The king stood at the front of his box, waving to the crowds, the townspeople and serfs from the surrounding villages freed for the day and festive as happy pigeons around grain. Philippe adored appearing before his people. He was a natural-born monarch. I found such crowds and displays stifling, but then again, I was not a ruler in search of the love of my subjects. Meanwhile, the marshals were having hard work of it to clear the field of stragglers so the games could begin.
Philippe acknowledged my presence with a brief nod just before he sat down.
“What are the rules of the day?” I asked, forcing a casual lilt. “It will be arms of courtesy, will it not?” Fresh from the interview with Chastellain, I feared for the safety of Francis. Harm could come from any quarter.
“The heralds are just now starting the announcements.” The noise lessened as the horns sounded. “Yes, arms of courtesy. I’ve put
a ban on tourneys with unblocked lances again,” Philippe said. “Too many young men are dying on the fields of France for sport.” He was watching the field intently, as the knights assembled for the first round of charges.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Because of the blunted lances no one would be gravely injured, although a knight could sustain broken bones if he were unseated too industriously by a challenger.
After a shrill blast of trumpets the lead herald rode forward to proclaim the rules for the tourney. Five challengers were to be selected by lot from the lists, and any knight from those assembled could then propose himself to fight against these knights. After five lances were broken, the king would declare the winner of that joust.
The heralds completed their task, and were showered with gold and silver, as was the custom. I looked around the cheering crowd and beyond, to the brilliantly colored trees that surrounded the field and the deep blue sky above. The fog of early morning had burned off, and left us with a sparkling late-autumn day. Even I, loath as I was to be here to witness these war games, admitted that the day lacked nothing to be perfect for open-field festivities. Why God should bless the lashing and grunting of a tournament with such beauty of nature was beyond me.
“You know, if they didn’t organize war games, the knights and younger sons would be fighting among themselves in every field and byway. The overall consequences would likely be even more dire. This way, at least, they are supervised.” William’s voice was in my ear. Once again he had read my thoughts. I was about to give him a rejoinder that sometimes youths died on the tourney field, and what, pray, could be more dire than that, when suddenly Francis pulled up before me, riding a magnificent warhorse. I recognized it as William’s own.
“Princesse Alaïs.” The young knight smiled and lowered his lance until it was level, the tip quite close to my breast. His strong young shoulders were visible under the chain metal tunic as he struggled to
hold the impatient charger. “Will you give me the honor of wearing your colors in the lists?”
I found myself blushing, to William’s apparent delight, as I unraveled my favorite green silk foulard from my neck and wound it on the end of the lowered lance. “My compliments, Sir Francis,” I said, acknowledging his knighthood. “And I wish you fortune’s favor for the day.”
He laughed then, and rode gaily off. William pressed my hand briefly. I couldn’t look at him, but neither could I stop the smile that would rise to my lips.
“He’s a brave lad,” I said, my voice full of the feeling for which I could not find words.
“Yes, he is indeed. And so also is his friend Geoffrey, who has joined the lists with him.”
“Both are gallant young men,” I murmured absently, watching the field.
Now the heralds rode forth to read out the names of those who were on the lists. My heart fluttered when I heard Francis’s name, along with the Count of Nevers and three others unfamiliar to me.
Philippe stood and raised his royal arm, bringing it down like a broadsword. “Let the games begin,” he shouted, and the heralds repeated the order down the line, as they galloped off the field.
My motherly qualms subsided as I watched Francis time after time take on the challengers and unhorse or disarm every one. I was of a mind for a brief period that he would be victor of the day, although he was surely the youngest knight on the field. But close on the end he faded with fatigue and finally was bested by another, losing his seat on the remarkable warhorse. He retired from the field to an uproar of support from the sidelines, a cry from those who saw how young he was, and how valiantly he had fought through the hours. And though he lost the lance, I saw him scramble to retrieve my favor from the
field, where it had fallen in his mishap. He scooped it up and stuffed it back into his doublet as he was helped across the mangled turf.
As the afternoon sun lowered in the sky, the rays seemed to increase in intensity, casting long spikes of light across the field. The crowd became ever more jolly, as if anticipating the happy conclusion of the day, the awards to be given out, and the alehouses to which they would repair later to replay the events. The cheery noise had the opposite effect on my spirit. I felt a premonition. Something was not quite right.
To my surprise, I looked up to see the two monks approaching the king. Amaury, who always seemed to thrust himself into the lead position, bowed low. “Your Majesty, my compliments for a fine exhibition here.”
The king took his eyes from the field momentarily, frowning at the interruption. The monk continued quickly: “My colleague and I request permission to withdraw at this point. We have not yet said our daily office, and must attend to our prayers if we are to make a showing at your feast.”
Philippe waved his hand negligently. “I understand, Abbé. You have our permission to withdraw.” I suspected the king’s friendly tone was an attempt to smooth over any ruffled feelings that were retained as a result of his refusal to fall in with the monks’ request at his audience that morning. “But I fully expect to see you both this night. After all, the festivities are in your honor.”
The monks bowed again, and made their way down onto the field. I followed their progress as they signaled for horses. Amaury mounted expertly, Pierre with more effort. Then they rode quickly from my sight. Something about their early exit bothered me, but my gaze was drawn back to the action on the field.
The next round was about to begin, and I was met with a jarring sight. As a seasoned knight made ready at one end of the field, a famil
iar figure took his place opposite, at the other.
I exclaimed loudly, “Oh, no. This cannot be.”
“Alaïs, what causes you distress?” William, whose gaze had been fastened on the field, was immediately solicitous. “Are you ill?”
“No,
pas du tout,
” I exclaimed, unable to take my gaze from the field. “It’s the boy. Francis’s friend Geoffrey. He is so young, and he faces Hervé de Donzy, Count of Nevers! The count is much older and more experienced. And he is known for his brutality on the field.”
“But, Princesse, you know the lists are settled by chance. They cannot be altered at this time.” William looked around. “Speak softly. Do not draw attention.”
“Why, you are afraid I will create a womanish scene!” I turned to him with vehemence. “But what of this young man’s fate? He is younger than Francis by at least five summers. And look at de Donzy.” William’s glance turned just in time to see the frontispiece of the helmet clamp down over the scowl of the older knight. “Can you imagine how angry the count is after this morning? His plea was dismissed by Philippe. He was refused in front of the entire court while he was on his knees!” And then I was struck by another thought. “Perhaps the Count of Nevers knows I refused Chastellain’s request. He may hold a grudge against me, and his anger may fuel violence here.”
William shook his head. “There is nothing to be done.”
I could not keep the pleading note from my voice. “You have the ear of the king. Can you not stop this?”
“Alaïs, Geoff is a knight who entered the lists here. He wants to prove himself. He will be fine. They are fighting with blunted lances.” William sought to soothe me, but I had a sudden terrible feeling that the sunny afternoon was about to turn dark. I saw young Geoffrey as a mirror of my own son, and a son without a mother here to protect him.
“I will ask Philippe to stop the joust.” I said this with determination, and half rose. But William placed his hand on my arm.
“You cannot do that without humiliating this young man,” he countered quickly, his voice stern. And I knew what he said to be true. The youth would not thank me for interceding for him, even if Philippe were willing to call a halt to the games. And there was no certainty the king would honor my request. I turned back to the field to watch.
The first pass was in progress. As usual, it seemed primarily a test of mettle between the combatants. Did one knight flinch? Did the other give way? Was there a weak spot to be pressed in later passes?
The townspeople and peasants cheered, as much to encourage the knights to greater boldness as a response to their mild actions. The knights reached the end of the pole and pulled in their horses, circling them around to begin again. At the sound of the horn they commenced riding. The second pass was more lively, with each knight making a serious attempt to unhorse the other, the long bar between them. The third held even greater action, with a valiant attempt by Geoffrey, giving a thrust that nearly unseated de Donzy. Then there was a long pause as the two knights readied for the final test. It seemed de Donzy had asked the marshal for consideration so he could slip from his post and tighten the straps. His horse pawed the ground as he remounted and settled himself. Eventually the baton fell, the horn rang out, and the final run began.
The two men rode hard, the hooves pounding on the ruined field. The figures blurred slightly before my eyes, merging for a moment into one. Every part of my body gripped inward. I knew with certainty the awful outcome before the happening.
The crowd must have sensed what I already knew, for a strange silence gradually descended upon all, like a calm that precedes a storm. I averted my eyes. Then I heard a crash followed by a roar. I looked up quickly, but I was blinded by the sun’s rays bouncing off the helmet that lay in the middle of the field.
I shielded my eyes against the light with my good hand, but still I
could not see what had happened. “William?” I questioned.
“It seems the young knight has been unhorsed,” he replied. “De Donzy’s lance struck him in the forehead.”
“But that is expressly forbidden,” I cried out.
“The count has dismounted. He comes quickly now, to beg forgiveness of the king.”
“And the young man?” I had risen. The king was distracted by the event, and the approach of the Count of Nevers, and did not notice.
“He is not moving,” he said quietly. “The marshals are attending him.”
I swept past William and made quick work of the steps to the field without looking back. When I reached the fallen knight I knelt beside him. He was pale and bleeding from the wound in his head. Blood was trickling from his mouth, as well, and I knew he was lost. Then his eyelids flickered and opened. I bent closer. He spoke in a whisper.
“Princesse, I am so sorry to disappoint…” And he faded away. I took off my mantle and covered him with it, smoothing it over his face and shoulders as his mother would have.
When I stood William was at my side. I placed my hand on his arm to steady myself, but there was no need for words. In a moment I turned back to the royal box and saw de Donzy kneeling in front of the king. Philippe listened, head bent, and then waved him away, a gesture both contemptuous and forgiving. The marshals had taken Philippe’s wave to de Donzy as a signal to end the tourney, and the closing horn notes rang out. The king, morosely slumped in his chair, made no move to stop them. De Donzy bowed his head and slunk off.
I nearly ran back to the royal box, arriving breathless, and stopped abruptly at the railing in front of the king’s own chair. I leaned up to speak to him, almost shouting in my distress, my arm extended to catch his attention: “Is no one to be held to account then? No responsibility assigned to snuffing out the young, promising life of this youth?”