need not think on France.”
Marie Helene relaxed to hear me say this, and quickly changed the subject back to my gowns. It was not long before some of Eleanor’s women found me, and led me down to the great hall, for it was time to eat again.
I looked down the table and saw the place for the king was bare. He was not at court yet, but it seemed that everyone else was. Strange men eyed me as I took my seat among the queen’s women. Though I was still well favored and seated at the high table, I was not served off the queen’s trencher that night.
As I ate from the platters of venison and squab, I listened to the gossip all around me. Men were seated at our table, one for every woman, and while they did not speak to me directly for fear of the queen, they spoke around me as if I already knew the gossip, and was only hearing it repeated from their lips.
The men speculated about Richard’s sudden rise to power. Here, at the king’s high table, sat his ministers. These men helped with the ruling of the kingdom. They served the king closely, and knew well his mind.
“He wanted that duchy for Henry the Younger,” one man said.
The taller man beside me took another piece of venison, and drank deep from his tankard of mead. “Indeed, there is no end to the honors the king would heap on his eldest son. He wanted young Henry to have the Aquitaine, and Normandy, and England, too.”
“Well, it remains to be seen how it will play out. God knows, the king has waited long enough for his sons to honor him. All they do is take, then ask for more.”
My color rose when I heard this, for I knew Richard was no grasping prince. But I knew when to hold my tongue. I ate my meat in silence. Richard did not need me to defend him.
“This matter of the Lord Richard puts me in mind of Thomas Becket,” the first man said.
They both fell silent, and crossed themselves.
The Reverend Mother wept on hearing the news of Becket’s death when I was a child. She had never told me how he died, but there, sitting at the king’s table, I was soon to learn it.
“We know the king’s tolerance for challenges to his authority,” the other replied. “The king’s knights murdered Becket, and in his own cathedral.”
“His Majesty had no knowledge of that and will one day do penance for it,” one young man said. “My father told me.”
The two older men locked eyes above the young man’s head. They did not acknowledge in any other way that the boy had spoken.
I sat motionless, my dinner dagger clutched in numb fingers. I laid my knife down, so that I would not drop it.
Our corner of the table was plunged into silence. Only then did one of the men glance my way and remember I was there, and who I was. He shook his head once, and the other man glanced at me furtively, before looking away.
“Well, it’s all in God’s hands.”
“And the king’s.”
“Amen.”
I drank deep from my wine, though it was sour and unwatered. I tried to imagine what King Henry must be like, that he would order his own archbishop killed in the sacred precinct of a church. I tried to convince myself that even such a man would never turn on his own son. I almost managed to do so, until I met Marie Helene’s eyes.
The fruit was brought out, and a minstrel stood with his lute to start the dancing. Marie Helene squeezed my hand beneath the table as if to offer me an assurance of Richard’s safety, an assurance I was certain she did not feel.
I smiled when a young man from the lower tables asked me to dance. I did not accept or refuse, but looked to the queen for permission.
Eleanor had not spoken to me all evening, apart from greeting me when I arrived in the hall. I saw that in this place she was queen but not ruler. Even with Henry a day’s ride away, his presence was felt at Windsor as if he were but in the next room. I wondered how Eleanor would fare when the king arrived, and how I might be of help to her when he came.
The queen smiled when she
Marie Helene relaxed to hear me say this, and quickly changed the subject back to my gowns. It was not long before some of Eleanor’s women found me, and led me down to the great hall, for it was time to eat again.
I looked down the table and saw the place for the king was bare. He was not at court yet, but it seemed that everyone else was. Strange men eyed me as I took my seat among the queen’s women. Though I was still well favored and seated at the high table, I was not served off the queen’s trencher that night.
As I ate from the platters of venison and squab, I listened to the gossip all around me. Men were seated at our table, one for every woman, and while they did not speak to me directly for fear of the queen, they spoke around me as if I already knew the gossip, and was only hearing it repeated from their lips.
The men speculated about Richard’s sudden rise to power. Here, at the king’s high table, sat his ministers. These men helped with the ruling of the kingdom. They served the king closely, and knew well his mind.
“He wanted that duchy for Henry the Younger,” one man said.
The taller man beside me took another piece of venison, and drank deep from his tankard of mead. “Indeed, there is no end to the honors the king would heap on his eldest son. He wanted young Henry to have the Aquitaine, and Normandy, and England, too.”
“Well, it remains to be seen how it will play out. God knows, the king has waited long enough for his sons to honor him. All they do is take, then ask for more.”
My color rose when I heard this, for I knew Richard was no grasping prince. But I knew when to hold my tongue. I ate my meat in silence. Richard did not need me to defend him.
“This matter of the Lord Richard puts me in mind of Thomas Becket,” the first man said.
They both fell silent, and crossed themselves.
The Reverend Mother wept on hearing the news of Becket’s death when I was a child. She had never told me how he died, but there, sitting at the king’s table, I was soon to learn it.
“We know the king’s tolerance for challenges to his authority,” the other replied. “The king’s knights murdered Becket, and in his own cathedral.”
“His Majesty had no knowledge of that and will one day do penance for it,” one young man said. “My father told me.”
The two older men locked eyes above the young man’s head. They did not acknowledge in any other way that the boy had spoken.
I sat motionless, my dinner dagger clutched in numb fingers. I laid my knife down, so that I would not drop it.
Our corner of the table was plunged into silence. Only then did one of the men glance my way and remember I was there, and who I was. He shook his head once, and the other man glanced at me furtively, before looking away.
“Well, it’s all in God’s hands.”
“And the king’s.”
“Amen.”
I drank deep from my wine, though it was sour and unwatered. I tried to imagine what King Henry must be like, that he would order his own archbishop killed in the sacred precinct of a church. I tried to convince myself that even such a man would never turn on his own son. I almost managed to do so, until I met Marie Helene’s eyes.
The fruit was brought out, and a minstrel stood with his lute to start the dancing. Marie Helene squeezed my hand beneath the table as if to offer me an assurance of Richard’s safety, an assurance I was certain she did not feel.
I smiled when a young man from the lower tables asked me to dance. I did not accept or refuse, but looked to the queen for permission.
Eleanor had not spoken to me all evening, apart from greeting me when I arrived in the hall. I saw that in this place she was queen but not ruler. Even with Henry a day’s ride away, his presence was felt at Windsor as if he were but in the next room. I wondered how Eleanor would fare when the king arrived, and how I might be of help to her when he came.
The queen smiled when she
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