Canterbury Papers (41 page)

“And so it was,” Eleanor said softly, catching my attention. “A fight to the death between them.”

“And so it was,” William repeated.

“Alaïs.” It was my Aunt Charlotte who broke the silence. “I have letters your father wrote me years ago when he was married to your mother. I think you are entitled to know what is in them. Wait, and I will have the servants bring them from my chamber.”

I thought about my father and my mother, and my uncle Robert, who had been rumored to love my mother. I thought about the mysteries surrounding all those who went before us. And I thought, briefly, of the rights of the dead to keep their own counsel. Perhaps that was what
requiem in pace
truly means.

“Stay, aunt,” I said, busying myself with my own cloak. “I think I will leave those letters with you.” She looked puzzled. “After all is done,”—I knew that my sadness shone through the smile I managed—“the dead must keep some secrets. I no longer have wish to know them.”

“Come,
Princesse,”
William said. “I'll see that you are returned to Paris.”

But we had to pick our way to the door, for the women insisted on accompanying us. And the queen's walk was mightily slowed.

When we came to the doorway, each of the women in turn embraced me, my aunt and my stepmother. And in my sincere return, I knew I was embracing the whole of my life.

W
e mounted and waved back to the old women, a royal portrait in their elegant colors, with sleeves trailing as they raised their hands in farewell. As we rode out of the courtyard, I could see that William was in a hurry, as always, and I was challenged to keep up with him.

When we came to the edge of Poitiers, I knew not which road we would take. I rode up alongside William and stopped him with my hand on his bridle. “I would like a favor,” I said.

“Only ask.” He looked at me with that grave, courteous expression he assumed from time to time. “What is it?”

“I would like to ride in the fields before we continue.”

“And what fields would those be that you seek?”

“I know a place, not two leagues from here, where the wheat is cleared and the trees are sparse and the horses could have their heads.”

“But you haven't been here since you were a girl.”

“No, but I have faith that this field is unchanged. I know that it is in the same spot and that it looks the same still.”

William looked long at me. “You're full of surprises. And full of faith. All right. Let us see if the field is still there.” He wheeled his horse around and followed my lead, and we cantered down a side road for some time.

We found the meadow, and it was as I remembered. Then we raced our horses together, hooting and shouting like children. We would no sooner finish one race than one of us would shout out a new target and we would begin again. William always won, of course. But I made a fair showing and once nearly pulled in front of him.

Finally I called a halt, partly because I was laughing so hard. We dismounted, and I threw myself on the good, rich meadow grass. He followed suit. First we embraced, and then we lay like children side by side. The sky had cleared, and all traces of the rain washed away. Hefty white clouds beaten about by the wind made patches in the sky.

“Are you content, then,
Princesse
Alaïs?” he asked, his mouth close to my ear.

“Yes, close to content.” I smiled.

“And you no longer desire aught but me?”

I didn't answer immediately.

“Ah.” He withdrew, just slightly, so he could see my face. “You still want the jewel.”

“No,” I said slowly, in full knowledge that I spoke the truth. “I no longer need the talisman. But I am still stunned that my uncle gave the order to steal it.”

He rolled on his back to scan the sky.

“He is grand master in France, is he not?” I persisted.

“Alaïs, you know more about the Templar order than most of the Knights by now. Yes, he is. You heard that fool Destriers. But I cannot punish him, for he was acting under orders from his own commander that countered mine. And he belongs to the Frankish Knights. Duke Robert and I will have a talk. It is a delicate situation.”

“And you forbade your knights to take my jewel?”

His voice softened. “Call me a fool. I knew that Richard had given it to you. It seemed unfair that it should be taken from you just to serve the whim of a tyrant. Like stealing a piece of your past, your very heart.”

I turned to him. “All of the past is but a memory. And that memory shifts every time I understand something new about those long-ago events.”

“I hope none of my men sees me here,” William said, his hands comfortably locked under his head. “Resting in the grass with an errant princess is not the kind of leadership activity they expect.”

“If they raise the question,” I said with a sly look, “just tell them you are making plans.”

“And what plans are those?” he asked. “Have they to do with you?”

“I don't know how they could,” I said. “The Templars are committed to celibacy.”

“As you have seen, that principle is honored more in the breach, even by their leaders.” He seemed to be reading the clouds, not looking at me, so I turned my attention back to the sky.

“William, I have a question that has been burning for the better part of this afternoon.”

“Ask anything,
Princesse.
My life is an open book.”

“Hmm.” I gazed upward. “It's true that Jacques Destriers followed me from Paris and had my room searched looking for the pendant he so wanted.”

“Yes, and so cleverly unmasked he was by you this very afternoon. So much has happened that I neglected to compliment you on your astute reasoning.”

“Well, that same astute reasoning leads me to another conclusion.”

“Which is?”

I rolled on my side to look at him. “Today at the House of Lyons, I saw by your face that you were surprised when I accused that man of the theft.”

“Alaïs, I would never have countenanced his actions. Thieving from women is not how the Templars accomplish their negotiations.” William now turned his body to face mine. “And I would never have allowed such an invasion of your privacy.”

“I do believe that. But there is one thing we still need to discuss. My room was sacked twice. Once at Havre and once at Canterbury.”

“And neither time was the thief successful.”

“But Destriers could not have been the person who tore my belongings apart at Canterbury. He was in the town, but he wasn't at the abbey. You would have known.”

“Mayhap it was the Arab who was later found dead.”

“No, he would not have been lurking in the garden when he was killed if he had a chance the previous evening to search my room.”

“So what do you think?” His tone committed him to nothing.

“Whoever searched my possessions at Canterbury was not a thief. That performance was for another reason altogether.”

“But who did it? And why?”

“Why, you did, of course.”

“I did not!” Outrage laced his voice. “Do you think I had nothing better to do when I was running the abbey for Hugh Walter than ransack the rooms of guests? A fine demonstration of the Benedictine value of hospitality!”

“William. If we are to have honesty between us, we must start now.” I propped myself on my elbow and looked into his eyes, those remarkable ice-blue eyes that could stop even rogue financiers in their tracks. He broke into a smile.

“Well, all right, then. But I didn't do it myself.”

“But you had it done. And I can guess your purpose. You wanted to frighten me.”

“It's true.” His arm reached out and pulled a lock of hair loose from my braid. “I wanted you not to keep your vigil in the cathedral. I wanted you not to be accosted by John, and truly, I feared harm could come to you. But I have the jewels I took, Alaïs. And I did plan to return them.”

“And, if I mistake not, you have already begun to make amends. It was you who sent to my room the beautiful chain of jewels for me to wear at Baron Roger's dinner party.”

“Yes, what happened to it? I haven't thought of it since.”

“I kept it. We can make an exchange one day, my own jewels for the one chain I have.”

“I have a better idea. You keep the chain, and I will take my time returning the rest of your jewels … one by one, over many a year.”

He pulled me toward him, and for a moment we lay a breath apart. “I don't want to lose you again,” he whispered. “In some way you have always been in my life as a dream. Now that I have discovered you, I need you there in the flesh as well.”

“But we have different paths,” I said, as simply as I could, disengaging myself.

“What would you do? Go back to Philippe's court? But you are not happy there.”

“I will go back for now. But I will leave the court soon. I have property in Ponthieu. I think it is time for me to move my household to my own estate.”

“Philippe will not be pleased.” We lay now, side by side.

“No, I expect not. He has always wanted me close. But I am tired of the life his family and friends live. And I will visit him often. In truth, he is so busy he may think I still dwell on the Île de la Cité even if I am off in Picardy.”

“What about François?”

“I have to think about him. It would be good if he could join me, but I wouldn't want to deprive him of a life at court. Or better yet, a life on the stage.” I had to laugh, but then I suddenly sobered. “I would like him to be with me for some while. Mayhap, when we have got to know each other, he could make his own decision.”

“A good course of action.” William turned to me. “You really are wise, you know.” He paused for effect. “For a woman.”

“Oh, you are a fine one.” I began to tear off the long grass and throw it at him, in a most unroyal way.

He grabbed my hand, this time with great glee, and drew me close. And after we had kissed long, I said to him, “And what of your future?”

He rolled onto his back once again. “I have a commitment to the order as grand master in England for three more years. Then I have been thinking of retiring to the country. I am tired of power and its responsibilities.”

“Retire to the country? You? To do what? Be a country squire, after all this excitement? I think not, Sir William. Oh, excuse me—
Lord
William, whatever that's about.”

“I have land in the north of England, left to me by Becket, and a title that I never use, left to me by Henry before he died. Oh, and one manor in Normandy. And, to tell the truth, although I still like the planning and intrigue, my bones are weary of the days when I must ride the road from sunup to sunset. And many meetings on finances, like the one with the House of Lyons, require my presence. Three more years will be more than enough. Someone else can take over.”

“Perhaps in between your travels, you will find your way to Ponthieu.”

He rolled onto his side to face me. “If you were there, I would find my way with alarming regularity.”

“If you come, I will be there.”

My heart was joyful at these words, although I would not have admitted it for all the almond cream in Poitou.

We lay watching the sky together in silence. A huge wild falcon wheeled overhead, then spun off into the distance. At last I said what was in my heart. “When I was a young woman, I used to ride in these fields with Marguerite and our stepbrothers. I was so in love with Richard, and I looked forward to what our life together would be.”

“But things turned out differently.”

“Yes, you are right. And what I have learned from this remarkable journey is that those memories belong to the past. They are out of another time. Holding on to them, and the anger around them, has done me little good.” I turned my head and pulled the fuzz off the dandelions that stood next to my cheek. When I opened my hand, the wind captured the ephemeral, cloudlike clumps and drew them up into the air. “That is why I could let the talisman go. I don't want it back. It has served its purpose for me, and now it can serve another purpose for someone else.”

I turned close, my breath on his cheek now. “I promise you, William grand master, that I release all those memories. That the whole of me is in the present, not lurking in past times or with ghosts. And that in the future, those who give me joy will be those on whom I spend myself.”

He propped his head up on one elbow, looking down at me. The sun shone now in his face, and I could see the etchings of age on it, those deep lines that ran from under his eyes to his mouth on each side. I realized he could see my face clearly also, in all its honest age. And the idea gave me some amusement.

“And I promise you that in however many years we have left, whatever we do, we will not lose each other again.”

And that was sufficient for the moment.

T
he royal princess Alaïs Capet (pronounced Al-ah-ees Ka-p
ā
) is a true historical figure. Born to Louis VII, called le Jeune, and his second wife, Constance of Castile, Alaïs and her elder sister, Marguerite, were actually sent to live with the court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, Louis's first wife and the mother of his first two daughters.

Alaïs was betrothed at an early age to Richard, later to be called Lionheart, and Marguerite to the elder Plantagenet brother Henry Court Mantel. King Henry did indeed take Alaïs as his mistress after he imprisoned Eleanor in Old Sarum. And, as one might expect, the marriage to Richard never took place. Following Henry's death Alaïs was returned to Philippe's court, where, after some time, she apparently married someone named William. More than that, historians do not tell us, but several say that the chronicles of the time hint that there was a child born of Henry and Alaïs.