The Loves of the Lionheart Read online

  There were so many dishes at the feast, Alys could scarcely name them all. There were exotic birds, carefully plucked, cleaned and cooked, then put back together so that they looked as they had in life. There were whole fish, there were the heads of pigs and there were sweetmeats such as she had never seen before.

  All the ladies were dressed in the most expensive cloth, the nobility and royal families dressed in silks from the far east. And Marguerite looked so happy; Alys was enchanted for her.

  At the end of the evening, the newly married couple were followed to their bedchamber by all the guests, with the King and Queen leading the procession. Everyone crowded into the chamber and the guests began to undress the bride and groom. Men stepped forward to remove the young King’s clothing and women did the same to Marguerite.

  She blushed crimson and her new husband smiled encouragingly at her. But when they stood naked, the guests did not leave. The priest came and sprinkled holy water over the bed, two maidservants rolled down the covers and the couple climbed beneath them. Then someone drew the velvet bedcurtains together and while most of the guests left, the king and queen, along with Count Richard and Count Geoffrey, took seats a little way from the bed and waited.

  Alys turned to leave the bedchamber, but there was Matilda, leading her to a seat on the other side of the huge bed. Surely this could not be normal, could it? She recalled her strange thoughts and as the sound of short, gasping breaths came from the bed, followed by quiet laughter and murmurs, she felt that odd throbbing once again.

  She was horrified, afraid to give herself away and thankful she could not be seen by anyone except Matilda.

  She began to fidget, wondering if perhaps they would have to sit here all night, but then the Queen got to her feet and approached the bed. Alys’ eyes opened in horror as she wondered if she would now pull back the bed curtains and expose the newlyweds to prying eyes. But she only looked inside, then, apparently satisfied, she turned to the King and they led the way out of the chamber.

  Alys was delighted to be back in her dormitory with Matilda, who collapsed on her bed and pulled off the hood which covered her hair.

  “You look embarrassed, little Alys,” she said. “You were not expecting that, were you?”

  Alys shook her head.

  “No. I thought my sister and your brother would be allowed some privacy to consummate their marriage.”

  “It has always been the way.”

  “Why?”

  “To be certain the marriage is consummated and that nothing can be hidden. In the morning, my parents will inspect the bed sheets.”

  “What?” Alys cried. She had been pulling off her kirtle and she stopped in shock. “Now I know you are teasing me.”

  “No, I’m not. They need to be sure the consummation was a success and that your sister was a virgin before the act.”

  “How will they know that? Only Henry would know that.”

  She was uncertain how he would know, but it seemed likely. Matilda smiled kindly.

  “Oh dear, now I’ve frightened you and I really didn’t intend to. Virgins bleed the first time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you not know that?”

  Alys shook her head, wanting to end this conversation and climb into bed where she could hide her blushes, but now her curiosity was aroused.

  “What if they find she was no maid?”

  Matilda shrugged.

  “I’m not sure really, but they would not be best pleased. I think they would likely send for a physician to examine her, be sure she was not with child when she went to my brother. After all, they have to be sure any child she has is fathered by him, do they not?”

  “I see,” said Alys. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Do you have a reason to think perhaps she was not a maid?”

  “No. Oh, no. She is devoted to Henry.”

  “Good,” Matilda said. “Now we must pray that my brother’s seed will bear fruit.”

  Again, Alys blushed. She had been looking forward to her own marriage, but now she did not think she would be able to tolerate it. She remembered how excited she was when she imagined Richard touching her. What she had not imagined was an audience.

  EVERYTHING SHOULD HAVE been wonderful after Marguerite’s marriage to Henry and the coronation of them both. They settled down together in their own apartments and Alys waited impatiently for someone to mention a date for her own wedding to Richard, but she waited in vain.

  She listened at many doors, in the hope of hearing something about it, something that might tell her how much longer she had to wait, but all she heard were the increasingly hateful arguments between the brothers and their father.

  It was this habit of listening at doors which allowed Alys to learn of Rosamund, whom the Queen declared was King Henry’s mistress. Alys had found an alcove beneath the stone staircase beside the great hall and had found it to be an excellent place to hear what was going on. If she tucked her feet up and drew her knees close to her chin, she could not be seen by anyone unless they were actually seeking her out.

  All she wanted was to learn about plans for her own future, but what she heard that day made her roll herself into a little ball in her alcove, terrified that she might be discovered by the witch Queen who was screaming at her husband.

  “If you do not break off this sordid relationship,” she shouted, “I will seek her out and kill her myself.”

  “You will never find her.”

  “Do not be so sure,” Eleanor replied.

  “You harm one hair on her head and I will kill you with my bare hands. I love her, Eleanor. I love her as I once loved you.”

  There was a gasp and a silence, then once more she heard the Queen’s angry voice.

  “I’ll not be made a fool of, Henry. I have tolerated your whores for all the years I’ve known you, but I’ll not tolerate this one. Not when you tell the world you love her.”

  That was all Alys heard that time before she watched Eleanor’s feet as they raced passed her hiding place and out of sight. This was all very interesting but told Alys nothing of what she wanted to hear.

  Another time she heard what sounded like treason, young King Henry planning to take up arms against his own father. She did not really understand it at all, and she was just wondering if she should tell someone, perhaps her sister who could talk him out of it, when she recognised Richard’s voice, and he seemed to be agreeing with him.

  Her eyes filled with those unwelcome tears. If he went to war with the King, they would never be married. And if he lost that war, he could be charged with treason.

  After hours of sitting alone and thinking, trying to decide what would be the best way to handle the situation or if she should keep quiet, that night she decided to seek out her Prince and ask him herself. She was unsure if she would find him alone; since Henry’s marriage, he no longer had a place in the bedchamber, but Geoffrey might be there. She saw little of Geoffrey and was never sure if he even still lived in the castle.

  She waited to hear the steady breathing of her maidservant, the sound which would tell Alys the girl was asleep and unlikely to miss her. She slipped from her bed and pushed her feet into her soft leather slippers, grabbed her velvet cloak from the bed and swung it around her shoulders. She picked up the candle from the table beside her bed, gave a quick glance at the maidservant where she lay on the trundle, and made her way to the door.

  It was very late and the whole castle was sleeping, all except the guards on the battlements. Alys had never known it so quiet before and she looked about nervously, wondering if there were any ghosts watching her. But that was blasphemous; the spirit moved on to purgatory then to the Kingdom of God. It did not haunt the places where it lived. The priests had assured people of that and they should know.

  She moved quickly, but carefully, across the stone floors and eventually she came to a huge, oak door which she was sure was that of the Prince’s bedchamber. She had never been inside, but she
had walked passed it and had seen Richard coming out one morning, with his brothers. Now she hoped he would be alone and she could talk to him.

  It would be more seemly to talk to him during the day, where there were other people, but she could never find him alone and there was always someone listening. If she tried to get him by himself, somebody would interfere, wanting to know what they were doing, if they were doing anything improper. She wanted no one else to know what was on her mind. And she would likely be in trouble for speaking out, for being so candid and forthright. That was not seemly, not ladylike and not how a princess should behave.

  She was supposed to wait, not knowing if she would be married or no, have children or no, be sent back to France or passed on to marry someone else. But she could not do that; it was her life, no matter what anyone else thought, and that life was in the hands of Richard and his powerful parents.

  She turned the heavy, iron handle as quietly as she could and leaned her shoulder against the door to push it open, using the full strength of her slight weight. She stepped inside, her heart hammering rapidly, clashing against her ribs until she thought it might burst through.

  It was dark, the only light coming from the full moon whose glow shone through the window opening and onto the three beds within. She moved farther into the room, glanced down to see that the trundle bed was still in its place beneath the largest of the beds. No servants. A further glance round the chamber told her that only one bed was occupied and she moved toward it, placed the candle on the little table beside the bed and leaned over to be sure of the occupant.

  Now she was here, she was not sure what to do. She should not be here, she knew that and now she wondered if he would be angry. She had seen him angry before and it was not a mood she wanted to see again.

  It was hard to be sure this was Richard. His hair colour was the same as that of his brothers and his features similar. A low rumbling sound drifted from his lips but lying here asleep and almost snoring, she needed a better view to be sure.

  She pulled the cover gently away from his shoulders, just to be certain, and he leapt up, a dagger in his hand, making her jump back with a shriek. She thought she might startle him, but she never expected him to sleep with a blade beneath his pillow.

  Before she could move away, he had a firm grip on her, was holding her from behind and bringing the knife close to her throat until it rested on her skin, its icy touch sending a shiver of fear through her body.

  “No!” She screamed. “Please.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then pulled the knife away and pushed it back under his pillow. He turned her to face him.

  “Alys?” He said. “What the hell are you doing here? I nearly killed you.”

  “Forgive me. I needed to talk to you and the last thing I expected was that you might sleep with a weapon.”

  He breathed a sigh and sat back against the headboard.

  “What do you want?” He asked. “Tis the middle of the night.”

  He was completely naked beneath the covers and she stared for a few moments, still trembling. He had frightened her so much, she was shaking uncontrollably, thinking how close she had come to having her throat slit, when all she was trying to do was make sure it was him and if it was, to wake him gently. Her lip trembled, her heart felt that it might hammer out of her chest and her teeth chattered so she found it difficult to form the words.

  “I needed to ask you something. I cannot sleep till I have your answer.”

  “You have had all day to talk to me. Why wait until now?”

  “I needed to speak to you alone and there is never a chance with everyone about. There is always someone watching me.”

  He sighed heavily and pulled the covers up to his waist.

  “Very well,” he said resignedly. “What is it?”

  He still seemed angry and she was unsure if he was angry with her or if he was just angry because he had been startled out of sleep. Or perhaps because he had very nearly killed her.

  “I have been wondering,” she managed to say, “now that my sister is married to your brother, now that I am of age, when our own nuptials will be.”

  “That’s it?” He asked her with a look of astonishment. “You woke me in the middle of the night, nearly got yourself killed, to ask me that?”

  She nodded, feeling suddenly foolish.

  “Obviously it is of no importance to you.”

  He made no reply for a few minutes and when at last he spoke, it was not what she wanted to hear.

  “Alys, I have to tell you that I am not certain there will be a wedding for us.”

  “What? Why not? We have been betrothed these three years, almost four.”

  He reached up to gently cup her face in the palm of his hand.

  “I cannot tell you everything,” he said. “Suffice it to say that your father and mine have quarrelled again. They can do nothing to keep my brother away from his wife, but with you and I it is different.”

  “And you are also on bad terms with your father,” she said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have ears,” she said. “I know that you are planning to go to France, with Henry and Geoffrey, and raise arms against the King. I mean nothing to you, I see that.”

  “I am fond of you, Alys, but I did try to warn you, remember? I tried to tell you not to get too attached, as we neither of us know what our futures hold. It is not for us to make those decisions.” He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips. “Can I rely on you to keep this to yourself? Or will you want revenge?”

  “Revenge for what? Besides, I have no one to tell,” she said. “Who would I tell?”

  “My father.”

  “Why would I do that. If I am to take sides in this, I will take yours, yours and my sister’s. Your secret is safe with me.”

  He smiled then, that warm and tender smile which often appeared in her dreams, but rarely out of them.

  “Dear Alys,” he said. “As long as our betrothal stands, we can assume we will one day be wed. But that day will not be soon. I am sorry.”

  She left him and made her way back to her own bed, wondering if he had kissed her because he wanted to know how her lips would taste, or if he wanted to be sure of her loyalty. She doubted she would ever know.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Love of a King

  THAT YEAR THE CASTLE went from a bustling home with lots of people, young and old, to a quiet, almost desolate place. Young Henry had gone, taken his wife, Marguerite, with him. Geoffrey had gone and more importantly, so had Richard. And even the Queen herself. It seemed she wanted revenge for her husband’s infidelity; young Henry wanted the authority his title should have given him, the authority and power the King had denied him and his brothers wanted the same.

  There was enough land to satisfy everyone, but King Henry wanted to control everything himself.

  It seemed the whole family had gone to France, to raise an army against their father. Joanna was the only friend Alys had at this court and she was still very young. Still, Alys tried not to get too attached to her as she would be leaving soon enough. She was promised to the King of Sicily, a man twice her age and whom she had never before laid eyes on. She was to stay in that country until the marriage could take place. It seemed that the daughter of the King of England had no more say in her own future than did the daughter of the King of France.

  Now Alys was alone, with no real idea of what her own future might hold. For a son to take up arms against his own father was a terrible sin and as time went on, she could not help being angry with Richard as well as his brothers. Now she might never see her sister again and she might never see Richard either.

  Do not get too attached. That is what he told her and now she realised that was exactly what she had been doing. He was to be her husband and she wanted to love him, but he obviously did not feel the same. She was not as important to him as seeking revenge on his father, with siding with his brothers and making war.

&nbs
p; The rebellion was quickly suppressed. None of the princes could stand firm against King Henry, not for long, and they had been forced to beg forgiveness. Richard had gone to Aquitaine to suppress a rebellion there, brought about by his own rebellion against his father. But Alys knew none of this until the King returned to his castle.

  Richard had always enjoyed making war. He told Alys once that as soon as he was old enough, he planned to join the crusaders in the Holy Land, those who were trying to reclaim the Holy city of Jerusalem from the infidel. All Alys had hoped for at the time was that they might be wed before that happened.

  The night it began, she had been studying her reflection, remembering that other time and comparing herself now with the half grown girl she had then been. Once more, she ran her hands over herself, once more she recalled those feelings. If Richard saw her now he would not be telling her not to get too attached, she thought stubbornly.

  That is when she realised she was not alone.

  “Forgive me, My Lady,” said the King.

  She quickly dropped a curtsey and grabbed a cloak to cover her shift.

  “Your Majesty,” she said. “I did not realise you were back.”

  “I sent no notice.”

  The fact that he was here told her the battle was over and that the King had either won or escaped. And what did that mean for Richard? All she cared about then was that her future husband was safe. She desperately wanted to know, but was afraid to ask. It was unlikely King Henry would tell her anyway, would think a young woman had no business asking about such things. But he was married to Eleanor of Aquitaine and nobody ever thought her a simple woman.

  Alys often wished she was more like the witch Queen, but she had not the strength nor the wealth if truth be told. And in all honesty, all she really wanted was a marriage and children and it did not seem now as though she was likely to have either.

  She studied the King’s face and was stunned to see the sorrow in his countenance. He seemed to have aged since last she saw him and it was easy to forget who he was, that he was the King of England and the Angevin Empire, the father of her betrothed.