Winchester Castle May 1172 On my first day in Eleanor’s court, she made me welcome but kept her distance, as if to avoid encouraging her ladies-in-waiting to envy. I saw behind her eyes that she loved me, even as she dressed me with her own hands, in her own gown. It was made of emerald silk, the finest dress I had ever worn in my life. My shifts were all plain convent wear, and Eleanor would not rest until she had had her seamstress sew a ribbon of emerald silk around the hem of the shift I wore. Eleanor made a brief show of presenting her women to me, each in their turn. They were all beautiful, and all only a few years older than myself, save for Eleanor’s chief woman, Amaria, who was of an age with the queen. They left with Eleanor almost as soon as they came in, and I was left alone to take in the beauty of my rooms by myself. The bedchamber had wide windows that looked down over a rose garden. The flowers had begun to bloom early, and I took in the scent of their perfume. There was a dressing room with a fine clothespress, though as yet I had no gowns to place in it. The tapestries on the walls were old but well brushed, and the bedstead was large, its rosewood posts carved with trailing flowers. I fingered the carving, and felt the polish of the years beneath my fingertips. The bedstead, too, was old, but it had been cherished, just as Eleanor cherished me. I had little time to admire my rooms or the gown the queen lent me, for her lady-in-waiting came for me almost at once, and took me in to meet the prince. Marie Helene, one of Eleanor’s ladies who had not been presented to me before, was a quiet woman, always watchful, a woman who thought long before she spoke. She reminded me of my father in that, though in no other way. Her hair was a soft blond, like wheat when it first turns from green to gold. Her hair was as fine as silk, and she often kept it hidden beneath a wimple. Her blue eyes were bright but steady. Marie Helene was worldly enough to see deception in others, but she did not lie herself. She never lied to me. The day I met her, Marie Helene curtsied to me with as much respect as if I were married to her prince already. She honored me from the first. As young as I was, I saw her good sense shining out of her eyes. She saw me fiddling with my borrowed gown, for I was six inches shorter than Eleanor, and the hem dragged the floor. “May I help, Your Highness?” I smiled at her soft tone of diffidence; it was clear that she did not want to overreach herself, and offend me. This evidence of reserve, the only such I was to see in Eleanor’s court, pleased me, as it was tinged so heavily with respect. “ Yes.” I stood still under her capable hands. Marie Helene drew my skirt up and tucked it into the belt I wore so that the ribbon on my shift showed beneath the emerald of the gown. “Thank you,” I said. “I have no clothes of my own.” “You will.” Her blue eyes met mine, and I saw her kindness as well as her restraint. “The queen will see to that. I have heard her speak of it already.” “Is it time to meet the prince?” I asked. She hesitated, as if afraid to frighten me. “It is.” I smoothed the silk of my borrowed gown. “I am ready” I remember little of my first meeting with Richard. Eleanor’s ladies were there as witnesses, and Marie Helene stood waiting for me by the door. Beyond that, I remember fragments. Only that the sunlight came in from behind him, and touched his red hair with gold. And that his eyes were the deep blue of France, so that I felt I had come home when I looked into them. We barely spoke, and the prince was as courteous as I could have hoped for. Behind his eyes, I saw his joy in me and in my beauty, and I felt the same joy at the sight of him. I remember the tone of his voice, if not his words, as he welcomed me. The queen called us together to announce that Richard was taking on the duchy of the Aquitaine in his own right. No sooner had she made this announcement than I was dismissed, and her seven ladies with me. I saw from her eyes that she wished to take counsel with her son. I turned back at the door to look at him once more, and caught Eleanor watching him, and me. I reminded myself of my duty and followed Marie Helene back to my rooms. I looked down at the rose garden below, wishing I might walk in it, but I stayed in my room, and waited on the queen. I knew that, before long, she would call me to her. Later that afternoon, when I came into the queen’s rooms with Marie Helene at my side, all her ladies were in place once more. I saw that they were celebrating Richard’s rise to the duchy, but Richard himself was nowhere to be seen. As soon as I came in, Eleanor rose from her chair and smiled, crossing the room to meet me. Her ladies saw this sign of favor, and stopped their conversations, turning instead to look at me. I curtsied and Eleanor helped me rise, her hands on mine. I caught the sight of Angeline’s resentment, her jealousy clouding the blue of her eyes. I remembered her name from the time I had met her briefly in my own rooms. I had no doubt in that moment that she had been the favored lady before I first came to Eleanor’s court. “Alais, you are welcome to this place.” The queen kissed me. The silence deepened, so that birdsong could be heard beyond the windows. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” “Have you eaten? There is fruit here, and bread.” “Fruit would be welcome. I thank you.” Eleanor drew me with her across the room. At a gesture from her, Mathilde, Angeline’s sister, rose and offered me her chair. She was better at hiding her jealousy, and managed to smile at me. I sat at once, and the queen sat beside me, while fruit was brought to the table between us, and fresh wine. Eleanor offered me a goblet from her own hand. I sipped the wine, and found it fresh and sweet, with a hint of the flavor of pears. The cup I held was cast in gold, and glinted in the afternoon sunlight. This room was her solar, and there were windows to the west as well as to the east, so that the sun always fell within those walls, and warmed them. I looked around at the queen’s ladies, all of whom had taken up their embroidery once more, and were talking among themselves, though I saw that they still cast their eyes on me. They noticed the high favor the queen showed me, and wondered at it. I knew that Eleanor liked to keep her women, and all those around her, guessing. Though this public welcome was gratifying, it was calculated. Our real time together would come later, when we were alone. “I would have my troubadour sing for you, Princess, if you are willing to hear him.” “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.” “No, indeed, little princess, it will be his.” Amaria, the chief of Eleanor’s ladies, called for Bertrand, and when he stepped into the room, there was a flurry among the women. Angeline and Mathilde, both blond and fair, turned bright pink at the sight of him. The girls rose at once, straightening their gowns and simpering. The voices of all the women rose in pitch, as did their laughter. The man was young and as tall as Richard was, but not as beautiful. He bowed first to the queen, and then to me, before casting his eyes upon the ladies. As I watched, they fawned on him. If I had not known the queen’s ladies to be virtuous, I would have thought a lascivious glance passed between Bertrand and more than one of the queen’s waiting women. I raised an eyebrow, only to find Eleanor watching me, a sardonic smile on her face. She was offering her women up in all their foolishness, for me to laugh at. I swallowed my mirth, but my eyes still sparkled. My suppressed mirth was enough to soothe Eleanor’s need for mischief, for she turned at once to Bertrand, and called for a song. He bowed low, his hose displaying his leg to advantage. Convent-bred as I was, even I noticed the fine line of his thigh in his rose-colored hose. He caught me looking and winked, and I laughed in spite of myself. “The princess has not heard enough music, locked away in her nunnery. Play something for her now.” Bertrand might have amused himself by smiling at me, but he knew where his duty lay. He strummed his lute, all sign of laughter gone, and sang a song for the queen that was so beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes. He sang of beauty that endured forever, and of a queen that held all men under her sway. His voice wove a spell over me, and over all the women there. I knew that he was desired not only for his fine leg but for his voice, and the spell it cast. When he was done, the queen applauded him, and her women followed suit. I clapped as well, a beat late, for I had to wipe tears from my eyes. Eleanor, always one to chastise me for weeping, reached out and took my hand. She pressed a handkerchief embroidered with her crest into my palm. She drew it from her sleeve with a flourish, so that all her court ladies could see. This sign of favor granted to me, she turned to Bertrand, her public voice ringing in the room like the peal of a bell. “You have moved us all to tears, Bertrand, and given me much pleasure.” “Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” Eleanor’s smile turned wicked. “Indeed, Bertrand, that is not what my ladies tell me.” Laughter filled the room. As I watched, Mathilde and Angeline blushed, and a few others raised their hands to their cheeks, or to their mouths, to cover their laughter. Bertrand said nothing, but took the warm laughter as yet more applause, and bowed once more to the queen. Shocked, I met Eleanor’s glance, and she smiled at me. I realized that she meant to tell me that her troubadour sampled the favors of her women, and she approved. I knew little of the pleasures of love. The Reverend Mother in the abbey had instructed me on my duties in my marriage to the prince. Now that I had seen Richard, I hoped that those duties would be sweet. But the queen’s women were not married to her troubadour, and some were not married at all. I saw that adultery and lasciviousness were things that Eleanor winked at among her women, but I knew she would not wink at them in me. She sought to teach me this, as she sought to teach me everything. While these women might sport with lowborn chanteurs, she and I could not. I set aside my maiden modesty, and looked once more on the troubadour. He had risen from his bow under the gaze of all those women. While he smiled at them boldly, he had the courtesy not to turn his gaze on me. “Ladies, I find myself growing tired,” Eleanor said. “Please leave me. I will see you all in the great hall for this evening’s feast.” Her women rose, some still laughing, and as one they bowed to her. Amaria, Eleanor’s chief lady-in-waiting, made a gesture, and the other women filed out, as orderly as the nuns in the abbey I came from, and I saw once more the queen’s power. Eleanor held these women with such authority that they did her least bidding without question, without hesitation. I thought to go as well, but she held me there, her hand on mine. Bertrand bowed to her, but when she raised one hand, he stayed. Marie Helene met my eyes across the room. She was the last lady to leave, and she caught my gaze before drawing the door closed behind her. “Do you like the woman I have asked to attend you?” Eleanor asked once we were alone. “Yes, Your Majesty. I thank you. She has taken very good care of me.” “As she should. Very well, then. I will let you keep her.” “Thank you, Your Majesty” I glanced at Bertrand. He had taken a stool along the far wall, a simple stool that one of the ladies had abandoned in her flight. He did not look at us or seem to listen as we spoke. He simply strummed his lute quietly, his soothing music underlying our talk. Eleanor did not heed him, so I did not. In this, as in all things, I took my cue from her. “Do you like your gown?” Eleanor asked. Of their own accord, my hands moved down to the skirt of my dress, to the smooth emerald silk. I ran my fingers over its softness. “It is the most beautiful dress I have ever worn,” I said. “It is my favorite.” I had been fitted for my own gowns in my room, before Eleanor called me to sit among her ladies. The seamstress had assured me that I would have at least one of my new dresses the next day, though how any woman could work so fast, I could not comprehend. “You will have your own tomorrow. For now, you will have to make do with mine.” “It is my honor, Eleanor.” The troubadour, whom I had almost forgotten, stopped strumming in midnote, and the silence held for a full beat before he resumed his music once more. Later I learned that he was shocked into silence; no one else used her given name, save perhaps the king. “My father chose my name, you know,” was all she said. “In the langue d‘oc, it is Aliénor, The only name I ever heard spoken before I moved to Paris.” “Before you married my father,” I said. “Yes. Louis could not say ‘Aliénor,’ so ‘Eleanor’ it has been ever since.” “I am sorry.” “You will find, little princess, that with marriage a woman often loses more than just her name. You would do well to heed it.” “Richard would take nothing from me,” I said. Eleanor’s eyes sharpened, and her gaze held mine. “Richard is a good man, but always remember that he is a man. You like him, do you?” “I am honored to marry so fine a prince.” She must have seen something in my eyes, or heard the joy in my voice, for her face softened. She loved him well. “I am glad that you are matched,” she said. “You will make beautiful children.” “I hope to give him many sons,” I said, my eyes cast down. Eleanor raised my chin so that I was forced to meet her gaze. I remembered that though it was proper for a nun to keep her eyes on the ground, a princess must face the world. Eleanor had taught me that. I would not shrink from her again. It seemed that she would speak of Richard, and our many sons, but instead she said, “You are a brave girl. I am proud of you.” Her unexpected praise warmed me more than mulled wine. My heart swelled with my next breath, but I did not weep. Eleanor had taught me that, too. “Shall we have another song before we go down to dinner?” she asked. “I would sing one for you,” I said. Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Such talent, little princess. How is it that I did not know of it?” “It is a small gift, but I would give it to you.” “You must never hide your talents, Alais. Only your failings.” I smiled wryly, my eyes sparkling. “But, my lady queen, I have none.” Eleanor laughed at that, as I had meant her to. I sang for her a sweet song my nurse had taught me at home in Paris, before I was sent away. The queen then honored me by taking me down to the great hall herself, her hand on my arm. All the court bowed to us as we passed, and parted before us as we strode to the dais, where the high table stood. Richard sat at the head of the table already. He stood when he saw us, and bowed as the others did. I ignored the people below the dais, but to Richard, I offered a curtsy. “Welcome, Mother. Princess Alais.” His voice thickened a little when he spoke my name. I met his eyes, and saw warmth in their blue depths as well as his honor for me. “Good evening, Richard.” Eleanor raised her cheek for his kiss. “It is good to have my son here before me, to welcome me to my own table.” “It is good to sit with you once more, Mother. There is no gracious spot in England unless you are there.” Eleanor laughed and leaned close to me. “You see, Alais, he will charm you before you know it.” “He already has, Your Majesty.” I spoke low, my tone soft, but my bold words shocked him. Richard almost turned from me, but managed not to. A hot blush crept up his cheeks, and into his red gold hair. For the first time, I was reminded that he was only fifteen. Eleanor laughed again, and I sat in the chair that Richard drew out for me. Unlike my father’s court, where all but the king sat on benches, everyone at Eleanor’s high table had a chair and cushions. I sank into this luxury, grateful that I was no longer eating on a bench in the nunnery, listening in silence while the Word of God was read aloud. I loved the Scripture, but in Eleanor’s court, I had already learned that I loved music more. Eleanor sat beside me, and Richard took the chair on her left hand. He set about cutting meat for both of us, and was as gracious and charming as any man I have ever known. He spoke of the company, and of how the court was glad to welcome me among them. I knew that Eleanor’s ladies were not particularly pleased that I was there, as she forced them all to give precedence to me, but I did not correct him. The queen knew my thoughts without my voicing them. She smiled her wicked smile, and changed the subject to the duchy of the Aquitaine, and of how Richard would be a credit to her there. I did not listen close to this talk, for the meat was good, and still hot from the spit. I had not eaten much meat in the nunnery, only at Christmas and at Easter. The venison was succulent, its juices threatening to drip down into my borrowed sleeve. As I licked my fingers, I found Richard staring at me. Eleanor tapped my hand, offering a bit of meat from her own knife. Though she smiled, her eyes were cool, her thoughts shuttered so that I could not guess at them. Before I could wonder at the sudden change in her demeanor, Richard rose from his place. He laid his hand on Eleanor’s arm, and kissed her. “With your permission, Mother,” he said, his low voice courteous. She waved her hand without answering him, which Richard took for assent. I watched her, though, and wondered if he was right. I heard the strum of a lute and I turned, surprised, for the fruit had not yet been brought out. We were still eating the meat. Mother Sebastian had taught me the manners of the court, as she had known that one day I would go there. She told me quite clearly that no musician came into the hall until the fruit had been served. I met Richard’s eyes, where he stood at the edge of the dais. I felt the warmth of his gaze on my skin. Perhaps there were different rules in Aquitaine, and Eleanor had brought them to her own court at Winchester. The hall fell silent as soon as it was seen that it was the prince who stood to sing and not a troubadour. Even the simpering women at the queen’s table stopped their gossiping. Richard looked to his mother as if for permission again, and Eleanor bowed her head. The hall filled with applause at once, the polite applause that was required when a prince stood to raise his voice in song. Such a thing would never have happened in my father’s court. Even as a child, Philippe Auguste would sooner have cast himself into the fire than raise a song in company. I leaned back against the cushion of my chair. I was shocked when the prince took up the lute himself. “I would sing for my betrothed, if you would indulge me.” I felt all the eyes in the hall on me then, but I did not heed them. I kept my gaze on Richard’s face. My breath lodged in my chest, and I thought I would not draw another. Richard’s voice was sweet, the sweetest I had ever heard. A true silence fell over that hall as he sang. The nattering women and loosemoraled men stopped dead in their talk, and not because Richard was prince. When Richard sang, even those people could not turn away. The song he sang for me was in the langue d’oc, the language spoken in the Aquitaine. I could make out only one word in three, but I knew that he sang of love. When his song was done, Richard fell silent, and his hand drew out one last note on his lute. That note filled the hall, and hung there, mesmerizing all of us, so that we forgot to move. Then he bowed, his eyes seeking mine. I wiped my tears away with the kerchief Eleanor had given me, the soft linen cloth that bore her crest. Richard did not smile, for the moment between us was too solemn for that. Instead, he turned to the queen, and smiled on her. Eleanor led the applause. In spite of my tears, I had the sense enough to join it. “My son,” the queen said. “You surpass us all in honor.” Richard bowed once more before taking his place beside her. He did not look at me again. “You see, Alais, I do not lie. My son will turn your head, before you even know he’s done it.” Richard, who had stood before all the court and sung from his heart, blushed now to hear his mother speak of him to me. “He has already done so, Your Majesty” Eleanor turned from Richard, and looked at me. “So I see, little princess. So I see.” That night I dreamt of Richard’s song. His voice followed me into my dreams, so that even as I woke, the last note of his song was still with me. It made my sleep sweet, and my heart light, to know that such a man had been chosen for me by God. But when I looked to Marie Helene in the morning to bring my breakfast and to laugh with me over the cattiness of the queen’s ladies, especially Angeline, Marie Helene could not speak. Her throat had closed up overnight with a swift cold that she assured me with croaks would soon fade. I sent for teas to soothe her, but the water the servants brought was lukewarm, and the tea only some valerian root from the simples garden. Since my own gowns had not yet come, I drew on Eleanor’s beautiful emerald silk once more, and set out to find the simples garden myself. I knew enough of herb lore from my time in the nunnery to help my friend. For such a large castle, Winchester had very few servants. Or perhaps, more likely, they simply saw me coming and ducked out of my way. It took me almost an hour to find a door that led out into the sunshine of the morning. When I stepped outside, instead of the kitchen garden, I came upon roses in the center of a walled courtyard. It was a small garden, the same garden I could see from the window in my room. Though surrounded on all sides by stone and damp, there was enough sunlight for a few hours a day for the roses to flourish, red ones, and pink ones, and even some roses of white. I marveled at how such beauty could grow in the midst of such dark confinement. I stood among the flowers, breathing in the scent of their perfume. Most were open, though spring had not yet turned to summer. I lifted my face to the sky, to take in the rays of sun that came down over the high walls. Richard found me there, when my thoughts were turned on nothing but the way the warm sunlight felt on my face. “Good day,” he said. Richard stood just a few feet away from me. Either he was very quiet when he moved, or my thoughts had been far away, for I never heard him until he spoke. “God be with you,” I said. The warmth of my dreams came upon me then, and the joy he had brought me with his music. His blue eyes met mine, and it seemed he, too, was remembering his song. I savored Richard’s tall, proud grace, the way his stance spoke of who he was and what he was born to. It was a pity that he was a younger son, and would never be king. “Where is your waiting woman?” he asked. I thought of Marie Helene, alone in my bed. I realized then that I should have called another of the queen’s women to walk with me. A princess could not walk alone unencumbered. “She is in bed,” I said. “Her throat is sore.” Richard did not chide me for my folly in walking alone, though he had the most to lose if I was accosted. He nodded and said nothing. The warmth between us was still there, as it had been the night before, but now, as we stood alone with no one else watching, he was too shy to speak. So I spoke for both of us. “I am looking for the simples garden,” I said. “I must make Marie Helene a tisane to help her throat heal.” He smiled at this, thinking that surely I knew nothing useful, nothing that could heal another. It also seemed to amuse him that I was out of my rooms, in service of my waiting woman. But Marie Helene was my friend, my only friend besides the queen at this court. I would not watch her suffer and do nothing. “I know of the simples garden,” he said. “I can take you there.” The sun on the roses made their petals look like velvet. I thought to take a flower with me, my fingertips brushing the petals of one red rose. In the end, the stem was too thick for me to break, and I left the rose in the sun. I promised myself that I would come back, and look at them again. Richard led me back into the castle keep, and as we walked together, he shortened his strides to mine. “You seem to have a care for your servants,” Richard said. “I have never had a waiting woman before, not one that was all my own. I had a nurse in France.” I thought of Katherine, of her sweet smile and warm hands. “But she was responsible for me.” “And you feel responsible for your woman here,” he said, as if to finish my thought. “Yes. Marie Helene is in my charge, for however long she serves me. I cannot leave her to suffer.” “You could call for a new lady to wait on you,” Richard said. “My mother would give you one.” “I would not turn Marie Helene away. She is my friend.” “It is good to have a friend in a new place,” he said. I saw his loneliness then, and it called to the loneliness within me. Just as I had been alone all my life, sent to marry among my father’s enemies to serve the throne of France, so had Richard been alone, except when his mother was with him. He, too, served as I did. He worked always for the good of Eleanor, placing her needs and the needs of the duchy of Aquitaine above his own. He met my eyes then, and I did not look away. Our gazes held, and he seemed to see behind my eyes into my thoughts. I felt, in that brief, blessed moment, that he understood me. Since I was a child, I had known that I must marry this man, and part of me had feared it. Now I saw that we might build something together, something that politics and all its harsh necessity could not touch. Together, we might build a home, and find some peace amid the constant furor of royal courts, with their backbiting and their shadows. Together, we might love each other as a man and woman, not as a prince and princess. Richard took my hand, and held it in his own. “My mother is also your friend, as I am” I did not know what to say for my breath had gone. Tears rose to my eyes unbidden, though Eleanor had taught me never to cry. But my heart wept at the thought of finding a haven in my new life, a haven with my husband; my eyes wept, too. Richard stood beside me, my hand in his. He did not speak of my tears, and I felt that to him they did me honor. He reached down and wiped them away gently with one large finger. The sweetness of the gesture moved me more than anything else he might have done. I wiped my eyes with my free hand, and I smiled. “Eleanor has been like a mother to me,” I said. “All I am, all I will ever be, I owe to her.” His smile lit his face, as if dawn had broken over a plain of darkness. “It is so with me as well,” he said. “In all the dark places of my childhood, my mother was the only light. My music, my poetry, even my prowess in war, all were gifts from her hands.” I knew this was an admission that he would never have given to anyone else. Anyone else would have questioned that: a woman giving a man the gift of war. But I knew what he meant, for even in my cloister, I had heard of Richard’s heroism in war. He meant that Eleanor had taught him the art of war by teaching him to nurture art within his soul. His music, his poetry, and his flair for battle, all came from the same place, the creative fount that Eleanor had nurtured, as she had left me nurtured in the Abbey of St. Agnes. Nowhere else would a woman have been taught to paint as I had been. No other nunnery would have allowed it. Always, Eleanor gave the best to those she best loved, holding nothing back. We walked on, and I felt close to him, closer than I had felt to anyone but Eleanor in many years. I thanked God once more that He had seen fit to give me this man as a haven for the rest of my life. We came to a part of the castle where people were stirring. As we passed, people bowed to Richard, then looked twice when they saw me. Some did not even think to bow, but stared. Richard did not acknowledge any of them except to nod to a few, the ones who were high ranking, the ones he could not ignore. He spoke to none of them, but dropped my hand as he led me to another door. This one opened onto a much larger courtyard. I could see the buttery in the distance, and somewhere I heard a wheel turning, drawing water from a well. Richard bowed to me in the middle of a simples garden that was not much larger than the one at the abbey. Winchester was a royal palace, as well as the bishop’s seat, but it was not as large as my father’s palace in Paris. No one else was in the garden, though I could hear women working in the kitchen not far away. “I will leave you here,” he said, his face closed to me. The easiness between us had fled. We had started gossip by walking in public un-escorted, and he did not like it. For me, he had broken every rule of the honor we had both been raised to. Behind his displeasure at the talk we had started, I saw in his eyes that he wanted us to build our own alliance, a love born from our common loneliness. Richard hoped that we might make our own rules, and be a haven for each other. “I must thank you.” I touched his arm. “I would not have found this place without you.” His face softened, and the shutters fell from his eyes. Before he could speak again, Marie Helene found me, her wimple askew where she had drawn it on by herself. “Your Highness, where have you been?” she asked. “When you did not come back, I was worried, my lady.” “You see, my lord,” I said. “She is my friend who fears for me, so much that she would scold me in front of my betrothed.” “It is a good friend who will scold you, though you are a princess. Keep her by you always, for friends like that are rare.” We stood looking at each other, Marie Helene forgotten until she cleared her throat. Richard bowed to us, and we curtsied. “I hope to see you again,” he said to me, lowering his voice slightly, as if to give us privacy that we no longer had. “I fear you will have to, my lord.” I quirked an eyebrow at him, and he laughed. “Yes. Well, it is a charge I would not turn from.” “Nor I.” Marie Helene stiffened, but neither of us heeded her. As we stood together, Richard’s page came running to us. He bowed first to me, then knelt to Richard on the damp ground. Richard smiled, his face softening still further at the sight of the boy. He touched the crown of the boy’s head, and the page rose to his feet. “My lord prince, the queen calls for you to go on a hunt.” The child invoked Eleanor as if she were a pagan goddess come down to earth. I hid my smile. I had always loved her. My awe had been married to my love. With others, she was always above them, beyond their reach. Richard turned to me. “Shall we ride out, my lady?” I had never been on horseback in my life. I ate meat, but never had I seen it dressed or killed. But I would not let them leave me behind. “I would love to, my lord prince.” We left the garden then, trailing behind Richard’s page, who ran ahead like the child he still was. I remembered to take up herbs for Marie Helene, and when I returned to my rooms to dress in a new gown that the seamstress now had ready for me, I found steaming water waiting, so that I might brew Marie Helene’s tea. No doubt Richard had spoken to someone, and had seen it done, before I could ring the bell myself. His kindness touched me, as had the deep blue of his eyes. I dressed in royal blue, and wrapped a new leather belt around my waist. I would ride out on horseback for the first time in my life, with Richard beside me.