windsor castle july 1172 alais rushed into my antechamber from the outer hallway as if the devil himself were on her heels. i knew then that she must have seen my son with his lover. the niche in the outer hallway was a favorite of richard’s trysting places, as it was for half the court. even alais had known of this niche, though she had never used it herself. no, she took her ease with my husband by the riverside, in full view of his men. alais froze in my doorway, as a rabbit does before it runs. she, too, would run from her pain, but it would catch her in the end. better to face it, and know herself. men brought pain as the spring brought rain, my son included. i remembered the day i had known that even henry would stray from me. i had absorbed my pain, and lived with it, but in those days henry had known me well, and had seen the pain on me as he would have seen a bruise. i covered it from others, but then i could hide nothing from him. “would you rather return to louis?” he asked me. “he would never take a lover.” “no,” i said. “he never did.” “and yet you chose me,” henry said. i had seen my choice, and knew what path i would take. i reached for henry’s hand, and drew him with me onto my bed of furs. “i choose you,” i said. i took alais’ arm and she followed me, away from the sight of richard hiding from the rest of the world with another woman. alais sat in the chair i offered her, her face as pale as i had ever seen it. her eyes were vacant, lost, and i knew that i would have to take her in hand. if she thought to marry among my men, she had better learn to take what comes. “alais,” i said, “you saw something you did not like.” “richard,” she said. she closed her mouth and did not speak again. i sat beside her and waited, sipping my own wine.
she did not drink her wine, but held the golden goblet between her hands, as if it were the last connection she had to earth. i took it from her and set it on my table. i drew my chair close to her, and took her hand. “you saw richard with my woman margaret.” she met my eyes, and i saw that she was older than she looked. she understood me. “you knew.” she said. “you’ve always known.” “alais, if you mean that i knew my son took women to his bed, you are correct.” i let her take this information in. she sat once more in silence, her great brown eyes wounded as they had been on the day i took her hunting, and that bird had bled out its life on richard’s glove. fury rose in me, that she would be so weak. i had trained her to see the world as it was. i blamed the church and all its teachings for this. “did you truly expect fidelity, alais? richard is a good man, the best man i have ever known. but what is true of all men is true even of my favorite son.” i sat back against the cushions of my chair and watched her, my anger behind my teeth. i saw the political value of all this. i think i saw it first, as i see everything, as a tool to be used to shore up my power. this pain of alais’ could be used as a wedge. i might drive it between them, if i had the need. i might support their marriage while keeping them apart, separate from each other in any real sense, and both dependent on me. i saw this, as i would see the next move laid out on my chess table before i lifted my chosen pawn. i felt my heart twist within me. i wanted alais to be stronger than that. i wanted her to let it go, to become the kind of woman i had always been. the woman i had been since the age of fifteen, when i had looked in louis’ eyes and known that my husband loved me, and i did not love him. she would join me in the here and now. i would see to it that she chose to live in the world. she was my daughter in truth, and i would prove it, both to her and to myself. i spoke harshly to her, more harshly than i had ever spoken to her in my life. i watched as tears sprang into her eyes. she drew her handkerchief from her sleeve, the one that bore my crest. she wept openly, but i did not hold back. i loved her, but i loved richard, too. “all men take lovers. no man, save your sainted father, lives without whores. and louis would barely rouse himself to sleep with me, his lawful wife.” alais stood when i said that; fury blazed in her eyes, burning up her tears. for a moment i thought she would cast my wine in my face. but she was my daughter. she stepped back from me, her control fleeting but steady. her goblet of wine stayed where it was. “it means little to you who sleeps with my son,” i said. i stood to face her. she was a little taller than she had been a few months ago. she had grown since i had brought her out of the nunnery. she could almost meet my eyes without raising her chin. for some reason, this filled me with pride, even as i fought down my rage. “whether richard sleeps with men or women or dogs, it can mean nothing to you. you will be his wife. you will bear his children, and give him an heir. you will reign as the duchess of aquitaine at his side. your alliance is a political one. alais, you have given your life to it. you knew that already.” “he said he loved only me.” her tears were dry then, and my fury drained away, as water from a broken jar. i wanted to reach for her, but knew it was too soon. i held back, and watched her as she wiped the salt from her cheeks, and carefully folded the handkerchief i had given her, placing it once more in her sleeve. i watched her gain control of herself, her passion spent, her inner fire banked. my heart surged within me, with pride and pain: pride that she was after all as strong as i had ever known her to be, and pain that she suffered so, as all women suffer, and i could do nothing. we all must walk this path. sooner or later all women must learn their place in the world of men. only then can that place be remade, to suit ourselves. but we must first see the world as it is. “richard does love you, alais. more than i have ever seen him love another, more than any woman that he has ever hoped to take into his bed. but richard is still a man. men are what they are. even my son. you must learn to live in the world.” she met my eyes, and i thought for a moment that she would be reconciled, that she would sit with me and drink my wine, that she would let me hold her hand. but she did none of these things. instead, alais walked to the outer door. i thought she might leave me in silence, without a curtsy, without being dismissed. but she turned back and looked at me, and i saw once more how truly young she was. “i will not live in that world,” she said. and then she was gone, my door left standing open behind her. i did not move, but let my ladies come to me, surrounding me as an incoming tide. they brought chatter and fresh fruit. amaria took my arm and led me back to my chair. only when i saw her face did i know that my wound showed on mine. i smiled then, and laughed, and called for more wine. bertrand came in and played for us without being asked, and angeline and mathilde got up to dance. i saw that my women meant to distract me; they knew something had passed between me and my favorite. as i watched, i saw that they did not know what. we had remembered ourselves that far, at least. we had kept our voices down, knowing always that the walls of every castle have ears.
