The Rebel Princess by Judith Koll Healey Page B

set on denying them, perhaps the scene tomorrow in the presence room will be…”—I searched for a word—“difficult. Do you still plan to hold the tourney afterward?”
    “Sister,” he replied, his tone as dry as autumn leaves underfoot, “have you ever known me to cancel a tourney once the knights have gathered and wagers have been laid?”
    “No, Your Majesty. Never.” Tournaments were as dear to the king’s heart as my drawing was to my own. I could not disguise my amusement as a smile spread across my face.
    “Then why in the name of the Virgin’s mantle would you think I would consider canceling tomorrow’s joust?”
    “Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied demurely. Perhaps he was right. The festivities would take the edge off any unpleasantness that might occur when the monks were denied their request.
    Philippe added: “Besides, Amaury is a bloodthirsty old reprobate and he, at least, will enjoy the carnage.”
    “Hunh. Let us hope when you have finished with him, he does not feel he is part of it,” I muttered, causing the king to grin as he turned back to the badinage of his laughing nobles.
    I scanned the faces around me. William was now engaged with Pierre de Castelnau in what appeared to be an amicable conversation. Amaury’s face was flushed with the evening’s wine. He glanced at the entertainment from time to time, but his expression was that of a man occupied with distant thoughts. The folds of his heavy face were traced by the dancing candlelight. Only Francis seemed to be watching the entertainers perform. Yet though he laughed, his browwas furrowed. He suddenly looked my way and gave me a reassuring smile. But I was not fooled. Something was troubling him.
    Gace Brulé finished his long and mournful song, and bowed low in the king’s direction. The crowd in the hall cheered. Taking the opportunity, the king rose and waved his arm to Brulé in a gesture of appreciation, then turned to leave. The Count of Champagne and the other nobles at the table stood also, still chatting together. The entertainers bowed and scattered, as was their custom when the king made ready to depart. William, now also on his feet, crossed behind the monks and offered his hand to me. I placed my hand on his right willingly. I was glad for his courtesy, yet I felt the evening was ending prematurely. Certes, there was more to be said on many topics. My spirit was far from tranquil as I bid the young Francis a hasty good night.

.6.
Chambers of the Princesse Alaïs
    W illiam made a show of leaving me at the door of my chamber, a charade of doubtful effect. I did not for one moment believe it fooled the guards stationed at the top of the stairwell nor the maids inside, shortly to be ordered from my room. When I entered, I found the fire had grown low in the hearth. My maids added wood at my direction. Then I sent them to retire and sat alone, watching the flames rise to lick the logs. My head was spinning with all of the strange events and mysteries that had passed this day.
    Finally I blew out the great candle on the stand near the door, doused the torches near the hearth with the iron cup, and crawled into the recesses of my goose feather bed to watch the last flames. Just at that moment the door creaked. I was not alarmed. William had the habit of waiting until much of the castle wasasleep before he came to me. It was a futile subterfuge, since most of our servants knew of his visits, but it preserved his sense of honor and his discretion amused me.
    Tonight, however, I was impatient to quiz him about the events of the evening. He wasted no time coming to my bed, doffing his tunic and robe as he slid in beside me, under the furs. Although the embers were still glowing in the large hearth, the room had gone chill. I could feel William’s cold feet at the same time as he surrounded me with his arms.
    Suddenly he caught me and pressed his mouth hard on mine. It was some moments before I could breathe, and extricate