Dangerous Women

NORA’S SONG

MONTMIRAIL,

JANUARY, 1169

Nora looked quickly around, saw no one was watching, and slipped away between the trees and down the bank to the little stream. She knew there would be no frogs to hunt; her brother had told her that when the trees had no leaves, the streams had no frogs. But the water glittered over bright stones and she saw tracks printed into the damp sand. She squatted down to pick a shiny bit from the stream. It wouldn’t be pretty when it dried out. Behind her, her little sister Johanna slid down the bank in a rush.

“Nora! What do you have?”

She held out the pebble to her sister and went on a little way along the trickle of water. Those tracks were bird feet, like crosses in the damp sand. She squatted down again, to poke at the rocks, and then saw, in the yellow gritty stream bank, like a little round doorway, a hole.

She brushed aside a veil of hairy roots, trying to see in; did something live there? She could reach her hand in to find out, and in a quick tumble of her thoughts she imagined something furry, something furry with teeth, the teeth snapping on her hand, and tucked her fist against her skirt.

From up past the trees, a voice called, “Nora?”

That was her new nurse. She paid no attention, looking for a stick to probe the hole with; Johanna, beside her, went softly, “Ooooh,” and on all fours leaned toward the burrow. Her skirt was soaked from the stream.

“Nora!” Another voice.

She leapt up. “Richard,” she said, and scrambled up the bank, nearly losing a shoe. On the grassy edge, she pulled the shoe back on, turned and helped Johanna up behind her, and ran out through the bare trees, onto the broad open ground.

Her brother was striding toward her, smiling, his arms out, and she ran to him. She had not seen him since Christmas, the last time they had all been together. He was twelve years old, a lot older than she was, almost grown up. He bundled her into his arms and hugged her. He smelled like horses. Johanna came whooping up and he hugged her too. The two nurses, red in the face, were panting along behind them, their skirts clutched up in their hands. Richard straightened, his blue eyes blazing, and pointed across the field.

“See? Where Mother comes.”

Nora shaded her eyes, looking out across the broad field. At first she saw only the crowded people, stirring and swaying all around the edges of the field, but then a murmur swept through them, and on all sides rose into a roar. Far down there, a horse loped up onto the field and stopped, and the rider raised one hand in salute.

“Mama!” Johanna cried, and clapped.

Now the whole crowd was yelling and cheering, and, on her dark grey horse, Nora’s Mama was cantering along the sideline, toward the wooden stand under the plane trees, where they would all sit. Nora swelled, full to bursting; she yelled, “Hooray! Hooray, Mama!”

Up there, by the stand, a dozen men on foot went forward to meet the woman on the horse. She wheeled in among them, cast her reins down, and dismounted. Swiftly she climbed onto the platform, where two chairs waited, and stood there, and lifted her arm, turning slowly from one side to the other to greet the cheering crowd. She stood straight as a tree, her skirts furling around her.

Above the stand, suddenly, her pennant flapped open like a great wing, the Eagle of Aquitaine, and the thunderous shouting doubled.

“Eleanor! Eleanor!”

She gave one last wave to the crowd, but she had seen her children running toward her, and all her interest turned to them. She stooped, holding her arms out toward them, and Richard scooped Johanna into his arms and ran toward the platform. Nora went up the steps at the side. Coming to the front, Richard set Johanna at their mother’s feet.

Their mother’s hands fell on them. Nora buried her face in the Queen’s skirts.

“Mama.”

“Ah.” Their mother sat down, holding Johanna slightly away from her; she slid her free arm around Nora’s waist. “Ah, my dear ones. How I’ve missed you.” She kissed them both rapidly, several times. “Johanna, you’re drenched. This won’t do.” She beckoned, and Johanna’s nurse came running. Johanna squealed but was taken.

Still holding Nora against her, Eleanor leaned forward and leveled her gaze on Richard, leaning with his arms folded on the edge of the platform in front of her.

“Well, my son, are you excited?”

He pushed away from the platform, standing taller, his face flaming, his fair hair a wild tangle from the wind. “Mother, I can’t wait! When will Papa get here?”

Nora leaned on her mother. She loved Richard too, but she wished her mother would pay more heed to her. Her mother was beautiful, even though she was really old. She wore no coif, only a heavy gold ring upon her sleek red hair. Nora’s hair was like old dead grass. She would never be beautiful. The Queen’s arm tightened around her, but she was still tilted forward toward Richard, fixed utterly on Richard.

“He’s coming. You should get ready for the ceremony.” She touched the front of his coat, lifted her hand to his cheek. “Comb your hair, anyway.”

He jiggled up and down, vivid. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I’m going to be Duke of Aquitaine!”

The Queen laughed. A horn blew, down the pitch. “See, now it begins. Go find your coat.” She turned, beckoned to a page. “Attend the Lord Richard. Nora, now …” She nudged Nora back a step so that she could run her gaze over her from head to toe. Her lips curved upward and her eyes glinted. “What have you been doing, rolling in the grass? You’re my big girl now; you have to be presentable.”

“Mama.” Nora didn’t want to be the big girl. The idea reminded her that Mattie was gone, the real big girl. But she loved having her mother’s attention, she cast wildly around for something to say to keep it. “Does that mean I can’t play anymore?”

Eleanor laughed and hugged her again. “You will always be able to play, my girl. Just different games.” Her lips brushed Nora’s forehead. Nora realized she had said the right thing. Then Eleanor was turning away.

“See, here your father comes.”

A ripple of excitement rose through the crowd like the wind in a dry field, turned to a rumble, and erupted into a thunderous cheer. Down the pitch came a column of riders. Nora straightened, clapping her hands together, and drew in a deep breath and held it. In the center of the horsemen, her father rode along, wearing neither crown nor royal robes, and yet it seemed that everything bowed and bent around him, as if nobody else mattered but him.

“Papa.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said, under her breath. “The kingly Papa.” She drew her arm from Nora and sat straighter on her chair.

Nora drew back; if she got behind them, out of sight, they might forget her, and she could stay. Richard had not gone away, either, she saw, but lingered at the front of the royal stand. Her father rode up and swung directly from his saddle to the platform. He was smiling, his eyes narrow, his clothes rumpled, his beard and hair shaggy. He seemed to her like the king of the greenwood, wild and fierce, wreathed in leaves and bark. All along this side of the field, on either side of the booth, his knights rode up in a single rank, stirrup to stirrup, facing the French across the field. The king stood, throwing a quick glance that way, and then lowered his gaze to Richard, standing stiff and tall before him.

“Well, sirrah,” their father said, “are you ready to shiver a lance here?”

“Oh, Papa!” Richard bounced up and down. “Can I?”

Their father barked a laugh at him, looking down on him from the height of the booth. “Not until you can pay your own ransoms when you lose.”

Richard flushed pink, like a girl. “I won’t lose!”

“No, of course not.” The King waved him off. “Nobody ever thinks he’ll lose, sirrah.” He laughed again, scornful, turning away. “When you’re older.”

Nora bit her lip. It was mean to talk to Richard that way, and her brother drooped, kicked the ground, and then followed the page down the field. Suddenly he was just a boy again. Nora crouched down behind her mother’s skirts, hoping her father did not notice her. He settled himself in the chair beside the Queen’s, stretched his legs out, and for the first time turned toward Eleanor.

“You look amazingly well, considering. I’m surprised your old bones made it all the way from Poitiers.”

“I would not miss this,” she said. “And it’s a pleasant enough ride.” They didn’t touch, they didn’t give each other kisses, and Nora felt a little stir of worry. Her nurse had come up to the edge of the platform and Nora shrank deeper into Eleanor’s shadow. Eleanor paid the king a long stare. Her attention drifted toward his front.

“Eggs for breakfast? Or was that last night’s supper?”

Startled, Nora craned up a little to peer at him: his clothes were messy but she saw no yellow egg. Her father was glaring back at her mother, his face flattened with temper. He did not look down at his coat. “What a prissy old woman you are.”

Nora ran her tongue over her lower lip. Her insides felt full of prickers and burrs. Her mother’s hand lay on her thigh, and Nora saw how her mother was smoothing her skirt, over and over, with hard, swift, clawing fingers.

Her nurse said, “Lady Nora, come along now.”

“You didn’t bring your truelove,” the Queen said.

The King leaned toward her a little, as if he would leap on her, pound her, maybe, with his fist. “She’s afraid of you. She won’t come anywhere near you.”

Eleanor laughed. She was not afraid of him. Nora wondered what that was about; wasn’t her mother the King’s truelove? She pretended not to see her nurse beckoning her.

“Nora, come now!” the nurse said, loudly.

That caught her mother’s attention, and she swung around, saw Nora there, and said, “Go on, my girl. Go get ready.” Her hand dropped lightly to Nora’s shoulder. “Do as you’re bid, please.” Nora slid off the edge of the platform and went away to be dressed and primped.

Her old nurse had gone with Mattie when Nora’s big sister went to marry the Duke of Germany. Now she had this new nurse, who couldn’t brush hair without hurting. They had already laced Johanna into a fresh gown, and braided her hair, and the others were waiting outside the little tent. Nora kept thinking of Mattie, who had told her stories, and sung to her when she had nightmares. Now they were all walking out onto the field for the ceremony, her brothers first, and then her and Johanna.

Johanna slipped her hand into Nora’s, and Nora squeezed her fingers tight. All these people made her feel small. Out in the middle of the field everybody stood in rows, as if they were in church, and the ordinary people were all gathered closely around, to hear what went on. On either side banners hung, and a herald stood in front of them all, watching the children approach, his long shiny horn tipped down.

On big chairs in the very middle sat her father and mother and, beside them, a pale, weary-looking man in a blue velvet gown. He had a little stool for his feet. She knew that was the King of France. She and her sister and brothers went up before them, side by side, and the herald said their names, and as one they bowed, first to their parents and then to the French king.

There were only five of them now, with Mattie gone, and their baby brother still in the monastery. Henry was oldest. They called him Boy Henry because Papa’s name also was Henry. Then there was Richard, and then Geoffrey. Mattie would have been between Boy Henry and Richard. After Geoffrey was Nora, and Johanna, and, back with the monks, baby John. The crowd whooped and yelled at them, and Richard suddenly raised his arm up over his head like an answer.

Then they were all shuffled around into the crowd behind their parents, where they stood in line again. The heralds were yelling in Latin. Johanna leaned on Nora’s side. “I’m hungry.”

Two steps in front of them on her chair, Eleanor glanced over her shoulder, and Nora whispered, “Ssssh.” All the people around them were men, but behind the King of France a girl stood, who looked a little older than Nora, and now Nora caught her looking back. Nora smiled, uncertain, but the other girl only lowered her eyes.

A blast of the horn lifted her half off the ground. Johanna clutched her hand. One of Papa’s men came up and began to read from a scroll, Latin again, simpler than the Latin the monks had taught her. What he read was all about Boy Henry, how noble, how good, and, at a signal, her oldest brother went up before the two kings and the Queen. He was tall and thin, with many freckles, his face sunburnt. Nora liked the dark green of the coat he wore. He knelt before his father and the French king, and the heralds spoke and the kings spoke.

They were making Boy Henry a King too. He would be King of England now, just as Papa was. In her mind suddenly she saw both Henrys trying to jam together into one chair, with one crown wrapped around their two heads, and she laughed. Her mother looked over her shoulder again, her eyes sharp and her dark brows drawn into a frown.

Johanna was shuffling from one foot to the other. Louder than before, she said, “I’m hungry.”

“Sssh!”

Boy Henry got up from his knees, bowed, and came back around among the children. The herald said Richard’s name and he sprang forward. They were proclaiming him Duke of Aquitaine. He would marry the daughter of the French king, Alais. Nora’s eyes turned again toward the strange girl among the French. That was Alais. She had long brown hair and a sharp little nose; she was staring intently at Richard. Nora wondered what it felt like, looking for the first time on the man you knew you would marry. She imagined Alais kissing Richard and made a face.

In front of her, sitting stiff on her chair, the Queen pulled her mouth down at the corners. Her mother didn’t like this, either.

Until she was old enough to marry Richard, Alais would live with them, his family. Nora felt a stir of unease: here was Alais come into a strange place, as Mattie was gone off into a strange place, and they would never see her again. She remembered how Mattie had cried when they told her. But Mama, he’s so old. Nora pressed her lips together, her eyes stinging.

Not to her. This wouldn’t happen to her. She wouldn’t be sent away. Given away. She wanted something else, but she didn’t know what. She had thought of being a nun, but there was so little to do.

Richard knelt and put his hands between the long, bony hands of the King of France, and rose, his head tipped forward as if he already wore a coronet. He was smiling wide as the sun. He moved back to the family and the herald spoke Geoffrey’s name, who was now to be Duke of Brittany, and marry some other stranger.

Nora hunched her shoulders. This glory would never come to her, she would get nothing, just stand and watch. She glanced again at the Princess Alais and saw her looking down at her hands, sad.

Johanna suddenly yawned, pulled her hand out of Nora’s, and sat down.

Now up before them all came somebody else, his hands wide, and a big, strong voice said, “My lord of England, as we have agreed, I ask you now to receive the Archbishop of Canterbury, and let you be restored to friendship, end the quarrel between you, for the good of both our kingdoms, and Holy Mother Church.”

The crowd around them gave up a sudden yell, and a man came up the field toward the kings. He wore a long black cloak over a white habit with a cross hanging on his chest. The stick in his hand had a swirly top. A great cry went up from the people around them, excited. Behind her, somebody murmured, “Becket again. The man won’t go away.”

She knew this name, but she could not remember who Becket was. He paced up toward them, a long, gaunt man, his clothes shabby. He looked like an ordinary man but he walked like a lord. Everybody watched him. As he came up before her father, the crowd’s rumbling and stirring died away into a breathless hush. In front of the King, the gaunt man knelt, set his stick down, and then lay on the ground, spreading himself like a mat upon the floor. Nora shifted a little so she could see him through the space between her mother and her father. The crowd drew in closer, leaning out to see.

“My gracious lord,” he said in a churchy voice, “I beg your forgiveness for all my errors. Never was a prince more faithful than you, and never a subject more faithless than I, and I am come asking pardon not from hopes of my virtue but of yours.”

Her father stood up. He looked suddenly very happy, his face flushed, his eyes bright. Face to the ground, the gaunt man spoke on, humble, beseeching, and the King went down toward him, reaching out his hands to lift him up.

Then Becket said, “I submit myself to you, my lord, henceforth and forever, in all things, save the honor of God.”

The Queen’s head snapped up. Behind Nora somebody gasped, and somebody else muttered, “Damn fool.” In front of them all, halfway to Becket, his hands out, Papa stopped. A kind of pulse went through the crowd.

The King said sharply, “What is this?”

Becket was rising. Dirt smeared his robe where his knees had pressed the ground. He stood straight, his head back. “I cannot give up the rights of God, my lord, but in everything else—”

Her Papa lunged at him. “This is not what I agreed to.”

Becket held his ground, tall as a steeple, as if he had God on his shoulder, and proclaimed again, “I must champion the honor of the Lord of Heaven and earth.”

“I am your Lord!” The King wasn’t happy anymore. His voice boomed across the field. Nobody else moved or spoke. He took a step toward Becket, and his fist clenched. “The kingdom is mine. No other authority shall rule there! God or no, kneel, Thomas, give yourself wholly to me, or go away a ruined man!”

Louis was scurrying down from the dais toward them, his frantic murmuring unheeded. Becket stood immobile. “I am consecrated to God. I cannot wash away that duty.”

Nora’s father roared, “I am King, and no other, you toad, you jackass, no other than me! You owe everything to me! Me!”

“Papa! My lord—” Boy Henry started forward and their mother reached out and grabbed his arm and held him still. From the crowd, other voices rose. Nora stooped and tried to make Johanna stand up.

“I won’t be disparaged! Honor me, and me alone!” Her father’s voice was like a blaring horn, and the crowd fell quiet again. The King of France put one hand on her Papa’s arm and mouthed something, and Papa wheeled around and cast off his touch.

“Henceforth, whatever comes that he chooses not to abide, he will call it the Honor of God. You must see this! He has given up nothing; he will pay me no respect—not even the respect of a swine for the swineherd!”

The crowd gave a yell. A voice called, “God bless the King!” Nora looked around, uneasy. The people behind her were shuffling around, drawing back, like running away slowly. Eleanor was still holding fast to Boy Henry, but now he whimpered under his breath. Richard was stiff, his whole body tipped forward, his jaw jutting like a fish’s. The French king had Becket by the sleeve, was drawing him off, talking urgently into his ear. Becket’s gaze never left Nora’s father. His voice rang out like the archangel’s trumpet.

“I am bound to the Honor of God!”

In the middle of them all, Nora’s father flung up his arms as if he would take flight; he stamped his foot as if he would split the earth, and shouted, “Get him out of here before I kill him! God’s Honor! God’s round white backside! Get him away, get him gone!”

His rage blew back the crowd. In a sudden rush of feet, the French king and his guards and attendants bundled Thomas away. Nora’s father was roaring again, oaths and threats, his arms pumping, his face red as raw meat. Boy Henry burst out of Eleanor’s grasp and charged him.

“My lord—”

The King spun around toward him, his arm outstretched, and knocked him down with the back of his hand. “Stay out of this!”

Nora jumped. Even before Richard and Geoffrey started forward, Eleanor was moving; she reached Boy Henry in a few strides, and as he leapt to his feet, she hurried him off. A crowd of her retainers bustled after her.

Nora stood fast. She realized that she was holding her breath. Johanna had finally gotten up and wrapped her arms around Nora’s waist, and Nora put her arms around her sister. Geoffrey was running after the Queen; Richard paused, his hands at his sides, watching the King’s temper blaze. He pivoted and ran off after his mother. Nora gasped. She and Johanna were alone, in the middle of the field, the crowd far off.

The King saw them. He quieted. He looked around, saw no one else, and stalked toward them.

“Go on—run! Everybody else is abandoning me. Run! Are you stupid?”

Johanna shrank around behind Nora, who stood straight and tucked her hands behind her, the way she stood when priests talked to her. “No, Papa.”

His face was red as meat. Fine sweat stood on his forehead. His breath almost made her gag. He looked her over and said, “Here to scold me, then, like your rotten mother?”

“No, Papa,” she said, surprised. “You are the King.”

He twitched. The high color left his face like a tide. His voice smoothed out, slower. He said, “Well, one of you is true, at least.” He turned and walked off, and as he went, he lifted one arm. From all sides his men came running. One led Papa’s big black horse and he mounted. Above all the men on foot surrounding him, he left the field. After he was gone, Richard trotted up across the grass to gather in Nora and Johanna.

“Why can’t I—”

“Because I know you,” Richard said. “If I let you run around, you’ll get in trouble.” He lifted her up into the cart, where already Johanna and the French girl sat. Nora plunked down, angry; they were only going up the hill. He could have let her ride his horse. With a crack of the whip, the cart began to roll, and she leaned back against the side and stared away.

Beside Nora, Alais said, suddenly, in French, “I know who you are.”

Nora faced her, startled. “I know who you are too,” she said.

“Your name is Eleonora and you’re the second sister. I can speak French and Latin and I can read. Can you read?”

Nora said, “Yes. They make me read all the time.”

Alais gave a glance over her shoulder; their attendants were walking along behind the cart, but nobody close enough to hear. Johanna was standing up in the back corner, throwing bits of straw over the side and leaning out to see where they fell. Alais said quietly, “We should be friends, because we’re going to be sisters and we’re almost the same age.” Her gaze ran thoughtfully over Nora from head to toe, which made Nora uncomfortable; she squirmed. She thought briefly, angrily, of this girl taking Mattie’s place. Alais said, “I’ll be nice to you if you’re nice to me.”

Nora said, “All right. I—”

“But I go first, I think, because I am older.”

Nora stiffened and then jumped as a cheer erupted around her. The cart was rolling up the street toward the castle on the hill, and all along the way, crowds of people stood screaming and calling. Not for her, not for Alais; it was Richard’s name they shouted, over and over. Richard rode along before them, bareheaded, paying no heed to the cheers.

Alais turned to her again. “Where do you live?”

Nora said, “Well, sometimes in Poitiers, but—”

“My father says your father has everything, money and jewels and silks and sunlight, but all we have in France is piety and kindness.”

Nora started. “We are kind.” But she was pleased that Alais saw how great her father was. “And pious too.”

The sharp little face of the French princess turned away, drawn, and for the first time her voice was uncertain. “I hope so.”

Nora’s heart thumped, unsteady with sympathy. Johanna was scrabbling around on the floor of the cart for more things to cast out, and Nora found a little cluster of pebbles in the corner and held them out to her. On Nora’s other side, Alais was staring down at her hands now, her shoulders round, and Nora wondered if she were about to cry. She might cry, if this happened to her.

She edged closer, until she brushed against the other girl. Alais jerked her head up, her eyes wide, startled. Nora smiled at her, and between them their hands crept together and entwined.

They did not go all the way up to the castle. The cheering crowd saw them along the street and onto a pavement, with a church on one side, where the cart turned in the opposite direction from the church and went down another street and through a wooden gate. Over them now a house loomed, with wooden walls, two rows of windows, a heavy overhang of roof. Here the cart stopped and they all got out. Richard herded them along through the wide front door.

“Mama is upstairs,” he said.

They had come into a dark hall, full of servants and baggage. A servant led Alais away. Nora climbed the steep, uneven stairs, tugging Johanna along by the hand. Johanna was still hungry and said so every step. At the top of the stairs was one room on one side and another on the other side, and Nora heard her mother’s voice.

“Not yet,” the Queen was saying; Nora went into the big room and saw her mother and Boy Henry at the far side; the Queen had her hand on his arm. “The time is not yet. Don’t be precipitous. We must seem to be loyal.” She saw the girls, and a smile twitched over her face like a mask. “Come, girls!” But her hand on Boy Henry’s arm gave him a push away. “Go,” she said to him. “He will send for you; better you not be here. Take Geoffrey with you.” Boy Henry turned on his heel and went out.

Nora wondered what “precipitous” meant; briefly she imagined a cliff, and people falling off. She went up to her mother and Eleanor hugged her.

“I’m sorry,” her mama said. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Mama.”

“Don’t be afraid of him.” The Queen took Johanna’s hands and spoke from one to the other. “I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not—”

Her mother’s gaze lifted, aimed over Nora’s head. “What is it?”

“The King wants to see me,” Richard said, behind Nora. She felt his hand drop onto her shoulder.

“Just you?”

“No, Boy and Geoffrey too. Where are they?”

Nora’s mother shrugged, her whole body moving, shoulders, head, hands. “I have no notion,” she said. “You should go, though.”

“Yes, Mama.” Richard squeezed Nora’s shoulder and he went away.

“Very well.” Eleanor sat back, still holding Johanna by one hand. “Now, my girls.” Nora frowned, puzzled; her mother did know where her other brothers were, she had just sent them out. Her mother turned to her again. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Mama, I’m not afraid.” But then she thought, somehow, that her mother wanted her to be.

Johanna was already asleep, curled heavy against Nora’s back. Nora cradled her head on her arm, not sleepy at all. She was thinking about the day, about her splendid father and her beautiful mother, and how her family ruled everything, and she was one of them. She imagined herself on a big horse, galloping, and everybody cheering her name. Carrying a lance with a pennon on the tip, and fighting for the glory of something. Or to save somebody. Something proud, but virtuous. She caught herself rocking back and forth on her imaginary horse.

A candle at the far end cast a sort of twilight through the long narrow room; she could see the planks of the wall opposite and hear the rumbling snore of the woman asleep by the door. The other servants had gone down to the hall. She wondered what happened there that they all wanted to go. Then, to her surprise, someone hurried through the dark and knelt by her bed.

“Nora?”

It was Alais. Nora pushed herself up, startled, but even as she moved, Alais was crawling into the bed.

“Let me in, please. Please, Nora. They made me sleep alone.”

She could not move to make room because of Johanna, but she said anyway, “All right.” She didn’t like sleeping alone, either: it got cold, sometimes, and lonely. She pulled the cover back, and Alais crept into the space beside her.

“This is an ugly place. I thought you all lived in beautiful places.”

Nora said, “We don’t live here.” She snuggled back against Johanna, and without waking, her little sister murmured and shifted away, giving her more room, but Alais was still jammed up against her. She could smell the French girl’s breath, meaty and sour. Rigid, she lay there wide awake. She would never fall asleep now.

Alais snuggled into the mattress; the ropes underneath creaked. In a whisper she said, “Do you have boobies yet?”

Nora twitched. “What?” She didn’t know what Alais meant.

“Bumps, silly.” Alais shifted, pulling on the covers, banging into her. “Breastses. Like this.” Her hand closed on Nora’s wrist and she pulled, brushing Nora’s hand against Alais’ chest. For an instant, Nora felt a soft roundness under her fingers.

“No.” She tried to draw her hand out of Alais’ grip, but Alais had her fast.

“You’re just a baby.”

Nora got her hand free, and squirmed fiercely against Johanna, trying to get more room. “I’m a big girl!” Johanna was the baby. She struggled to get back the feeling of galloping on the big horse, of glory, pride, and greatness. She blurted out, “Someday I’m going to be king.”

Alais hooted. “Girls aren’t kings, silly! Girls are only women.”

“I mean, like my mother. My mother is as high as a king.”

“Your mother is wicked.”

Nora pushed away, angry. “My mother is not—”

“Sssh. You’ll wake everybody up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just everybody says so. I didn’t mean it. You aren’t a baby.” Alais touched her, pleading. “Are you still my friend?”

Nora thought the whole matter of being friends to be harder than she had expected. Surreptitiously, she pressed her palm against her own bony chest.

Alais snuggled in beside her. “If we’re to be friends, we have to stay close together. Where are we going next?”

Nora pulled the cover around her, the thickness of cloth between her and Alais. “I hope to Poitiers, with Mama. I hope I will go there, the happiest court in the whole world.” In a flash of temper she blurted out, “Any place would be better than Fontrevault. My knees are so sore.”

Alais laughed. “A convent? They put me in convents. They even made me wear nun clothes.”

Nora said, “Oh, I hate that! They’re so scratchy.”

“And they smell.”

“Nuns smell,” Nora said. She remembered something her mother said. “Like old eggs.”

Alais giggled. “You’re funny, Nora. I like you a lot.”

“Well, you have to like my mother too, if you want to go to Poitiers.”

Again, Alais’ hand came up and touched Nora, stroking her. “I will. I promise.”

Nora cradled her head on her arm, pleased, and drowsy. Maybe Alais was not so bad after all. She was a helpless maiden, and Nora could defend her, like a real knight. Her eyelids drooped; for an instant, before she fell asleep, she felt the horse under her again, galloping.

Nora had saved bread crumbs from her breakfast; she was scattering them on the windowsill when the nurse called. She kept on scattering. The little birds were hungry in the winter. The nurse grabbed her by the arm and towed her away.

“Come here when I call you!” The nurse briskly stuffed her headfirst into a gown. Nora struggled up through the mass of cloth until she got her head out. “Now sit down so I can brush your hair.”

Nora sat; she looked toward the window again, and the nurse pinched her arm. “Sit still!”

She bit her lips together, angry and sad. She wished the nurse off to Germany. Hunched on the stool, she tried to see the window through the corner of her eye.

The brush dragged through her hair. “How do you get your hair so snarled?”

“Ooow!” Nora twisted away from the pull of the brush, and the nurse wrestled her back onto the stool.

“Sit! This child is a devil.” The brush smacked her hard on the shoulder. “Wait until we get you back to the convent, little devil.”

Nora stiffened all over. On the next stool, Alais turned suddenly toward her, wide-eyed. Nora slid off the stool.

“I’m going to find my Mama!” She started toward the door. The nurse snatched at her and she sidestepped out of reach and moved faster.

“Come back here!”

“I’m going to find my Mama,” Nora said, and gave the nurse a hard look, and pulled the door open.

“Wait for me,” said Alais.

The servingwomen came after them; Nora went on down the stairs, hurrying, just out of reach. She hoped her Mama was down in the hall. On the stairs, she slipped by some servants coming up from below and they got in the nurses’ way and held them back. Alais was right behind her, wild-eyed.

“Is this all right? Nora?”

“Come on.” Gratefully she saw that the hall was full of people; that meant her mother was there, and she went in past men in long stately robes, standing around waiting, and pushed in past them all the way up to the front.

There her mother sat, and Richard also, standing beside her; the Queen was reading a letter. A strange man stood humbly before her, his hands clasped, while she read. Nora went by him.

“Mama.”

Eleanor lifted her head, her brows arched. “What are you doing here?” She looked past Nora and Alais, into the crowd, brought her gaze back to Nora, and said, “Come sit down and wait; I’m busy.” She went back to the letter in her hand. Richard gave Nora a quick, cheerful grin. She went on past him, behind her Mama’s chair, and turned toward the room. The nurses were squeezing in past the crowd of courtiers, but they could not reach her now. Alais leaned against her, pale, her eyes blinking.

In front of them, her back to them, Eleanor in her heavy chair laid the letter aside. “I’ll give it thought.”

“Your Grace.” The humble man bowed and backed away. Another, in a red coat, stepped forward, a letter in his hand. Reaching for it, the Queen glanced at Richard beside her.

“Why did your father want to see you last night?”

Alais whispered, “What are you going to do?” Nora bumped her with her elbow; she wanted to listen to her brother.

Richard was saying, “He asked me where Boy was.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He was drunk.”

The Queen was reading the new letter. She turned toward the table on her other hand, picked up a quill, and dipped it into the pot of ink. “You should sign this also, since you are Duke now.”

At that, Richard puffed up, making himself bigger, and his shoulders straightened. The Queen turned toward Nora.

“What is this now?”

“Mama.” Nora went up closer to the Queen. “Where are we going? After here.”

Her mother’s green eyes regarded her; a little smile curved her lips. “Well, to Poitiers, I thought.”

“I want to go to Poitiers.”

“Well, of course,” her Mama said.

“And Alais too?”

The Queen’s eyes shifted toward Alais, back by the wall. The smile flattened out. “Yes, of course. Good day, Princess Alais.”

“Good day, your Grace.” Alais dipped into a little bow. “Thank you, your Grace.” She turned a bright happy look at Nora, who cast her a broad look of triumph. She looked up at her mother, glad of her, who could do anything.

“You said you’d protect us, remember?”

The Queen’s smile widened, and her head tipped slightly to one side. “Yes, of course. I’m your mother.”

“And Alais too?”

Now the Queen actually laughed. “Nora, you will be dangerous when you’re older. Yes, Alais too, of course.”

On the other side of the chair, Richard straightened from writing, and Eleanor took the letter from him and the quill also. Nora lingered where she was, in the middle of everything, wanting her mother to notice her again. Richard said, “If I’m really Duke, do I give orders?”

The Queen’s smile returned; she looked at him the way she looked at no one else. “Of course. Since you are Duke now.” She seemed to be about to laugh again; Nora wondered what her Mama thought was funny. Eleanor laid the letter on the table and the quill jigged busily across it.

“I want to be knighted,” her brother said. “And I want a new sword.”

“As you will, your Grace,” her mother said, still with that little laugh in her voice, and gave him a slow nod of her head, like bowing. She handed the letter back to the man in the red coat. “You may begin this at once.”

“God’s blessing on your Grace. Thank you.” The man bobbed up and down like a duck. Someone else was coming forward, another paper in his hand. Nora bounced on her toes, not wanting to go; the nurses were still waiting, standing grimly to the side, their eyes fixed on the girls as if a stare could pull them within reach. She wished her mother would look at her, talk to her again. Then, at the back of the hall, a hard, loud voice rose.

“Way for the King of England!”

Eleanor sat straight up, and Richard swung back to his place by her side. The whole room was suddenly moving, shifting, men shuffling out of the way, flexing and bending, and up through the suddenly empty space came Nora’s Papa. Nora went quickly back behind the Queen’s chair to Alais, standing there by the wall.

Only the Queen stayed in her chair, the smile gone now. Everybody else was bent down over his shoes. The King strode up before Eleanor, and behind him the hall quickly emptied. Even the nurses went out. Two of her father’s men stood on either side of the door, like guards.

“My lord,” the Queen said, “you should send ahead; we would be more ready for you.”

Nora’s Papa stood looking down at her. He wore the same clothes he had the day before. His big hands rested on his belt. His voice grated, like walking on gravel. “I thought I might see more if I came unannounced. Where are the boys?” His gaze flicked toward Richard. “The other boys.”

The Queen shrugged. “Will you sit, my lord?” A servant hurried up with a chair for him. “Bring my lord the King a cup of wine.”

The King flung himself into the chair. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” His head turned; he had seen Nora, just behind the Queen, and his eyes prodded at her. Nora twitched, uncomfortable.

“My lord,” Eleanor said, “I am uncertain what you mean.”

“You’re such a bad liar, Eleanor.” The King twisted in the chair, caught Nora by the hand, and dragged her up between their two chairs, in front of them both. “This little girl, now, she spoke very well yesterday, when the rest of you ran off. I think she tells the truth.”

Standing in front of them, Nora slid her hands behind her back. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed once. Her mother smiled at her. “Nora has a mind. Greet your father, dear.”

Nora said, “God be with you, Papa.”

He stared at her. Around the black centers, his eyes were blue like plates of sky. One hand rose and picked delicately at the front of her dress. Inside the case of cloth, her body shrank away from his touch. He smoothed the front of her dress. Her mother was twisted in her chair to watch. Behind her, Richard stood, his face gripped in a frown.

“So. Just out of the convent, are you? Like it there?”

She wondered what she was supposed to say. Instead, she said the truth. “No, Papa.”

He laughed. The black holes got bigger and then smaller. “What, you don’t want to be a nun?”

“No, Papa, I want—” To her surprise, the story had changed. She found a sudden, eager courage. “I want to be a hero.”

Eleanor gave a little chuckle, and the King snorted. “Well, God gave you the wrong stature.” His gaze went beyond her. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, my lord,” Richard said in a cool voice.

The King laughed again, so that his teeth showed. He smelled sour, like old beer and dirty clothes. His eyes watched Nora, but he spoke to her mother.

“I want to see my sons.”

“They are alarmed,” the Queen said, “because of what happened with Becket.”

“I’ll deal with Becket. Keep out of that.” The servant came with the cup of wine and he took it. Nora shifted her feet, wanting to get away from them, the edges of their words like knives in the air.

“Yes, well, how you deal with Becket is getting us all into some strange places,” her mother said.

“God’s death!” He lifted the cup and drained it. “I never knew he had such a hunger for martyrdom. You saw him. He looks like an old man already. This is a caution against virtue, if it turns you into such a stork.”

Her mother looked off across the room. “No, you are right. It does no service to your justice when half the men in the kingdom can go around you.”

He twisted toward her, his face clenched. “Nobody goes around me.”

“Well,” she said, and faced him, her mouth smiling, but not in a good way. “It seems they do.”

“Mama,” Nora said, remembering how to do this. “With your leave—”

“Stay,” her father said, and, reaching out, took her arm and dragged her forward, into his lap.

“Nora,” her mother said. Beyond her, Richard took a step forward, his eyes wide. Nora squirmed, trying to get upright on her father’s knees; his arms surrounded her like a cage. The look on her mother’s face scared her. She tried to wiggle free, and his arms closed around her.

“Mama—”

The Queen said, her voice suddenly harsh, “Let go of her, sir.”

“What?” the King said, with a little laugh. “Aren’t you my sweetheart, Nora?” He planted a kiss on Nora’s cheek. His arms draped around Nora; one hand stroked her arm. “I want my sons. Get my sons back here, woman.” Abruptly, he was thrusting Nora away, off his lap, back onto her feet, and he stood up. He crooked his finger at Richard. “Attend me.” His feet scraped loud on the floor. Everybody was staring at him, mute. Heavily, he went out the door, Richard on his heels.

Nora rubbed her cheek, still damp where her father’s mouth had pressed; her gaze went to her mother. The Queen reached out her arms and Nora went to her and the Queen held her tight. She said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” Her voice was ragged. She let Nora go and clapped her hands. “Now we’ll have some music.”

Feathers of steam rose from the tray of almond buns on the long wooden table. Nora crept down the kitchen steps, staying close by the wall, and swiftly ducked down under the table’s edge. Deeper in the kitchen, someone was singing, and someone else laughed; nobody had noticed her. She reached up over the side of the table and gathered handfuls of buns, dumping them into the fold of her skirt and, when her skirt was full, swiftly turned and scurried back up the steps and out the door.

Just beyond the threshold, Alais hopped up and down with delight, her eyes sparkling, her hands clasped together. Nora handed her a bun. “Quick!” She started toward the garden gate.

“Hey! You girls!”

Alais shrieked and ran. Nora wheeled, knowing that voice, and looked up into Richard’s merry eyes.

“Share those?”

They went into the garden and sat on a bench by the wall, and ate the buns. Richard licked the sweet dust from his fingers.

“Nora, I’m going away.”

“Away,” she said, startled. “Where?”

“Mama wants me to go find Boy and Geoffrey. I think she’s just getting me away from Papa. Then I’m going to look for some knights to follow me. I’m duke now, I need an army.” He hugged her, laid his cheek against her hair. “I’ll be back.”

“You’re so lucky,” she burst out. “To be duke. I’m nobody! Why am I a girl?”

He laughed, his arm warm around her, his cheek against her hair. “You won’t always be a little girl. You’ll marry someday, and then you’ll be a queen, like Mama, or at least a princess. I heard them say they want you to marry somebody in Castile.”

“Castile. Where’s that?” A twinge of alarm went through her. She looked up into his face. She thought that nobody was as handsome as Richard.

“Somewhere in the Spanish Marches.” He reached for the last of the buns, and she caught his hand and held on. His fingers were all sticky.

“I don’t want to go away,” she said. “I’ll miss you. I won’t know anybody.”

“You won’t go for a while. Castile—that means castles. They fight the Moors down there. You’ll be a Crusader.”

She frowned, puzzled. “In Jerusalem?” In the convent, they had always been praying for the Crusade. Jerusalem was on the other side of the world, and she had never heard it called Castile.

“No, there’s a Crusade in Spain too. El Cid, you know, and Roland. Like them.”

“Roland,” she said, with a leap of excitement. There was a song about Roland, full of thrilling passages. She tilted her face toward him again. “Will I have a sword?”

“Maybe.” He kissed her hair again. “Women don’t usually need swords. I have to go. I just wanted to say good-bye. You’re the oldest one left at home now, so take care of Johanna.”

“And Alais,” she said.

“Oh, Alais,” he said. He took her hand. “Nora, listen, something is going on between Mama and Papa, I don’t know what, but something. Be brave, Nora. Brave and good.” His arm tightened a moment and then he stood and walked away.

“When will we be in Poitiers?” Alais said happily. She sat on a chest in the back of the wagon and spread her skirts out.

Nora shrugged. The carts went very slowly and would make the journey much longer. She wished they would let her ride a horse. Her nurse climbed in over the wagon’s front, turned, and lifted Johanna after her. The drover led the team up, the reins bunched in his hands, turned the horses’ rumps to the cart, and backed them into the shafts. Maybe he would let her hold the reins. She hung over the edge of the wagon, looking around at the courtyard, full of other wagons, people packing up her mother’s goods, a line of saddled horses waiting.

The nurse said, “Lady Nora, sit down.”

Nora kept her back to her, to show she didn’t hear. Her mother had come out of the hall door, and at the sight of her everybody else in the whole courtyard turned toward her as if she were the sun; everybody warmed in that light. Nora called, “Mama!” and waved, and her mother waved back.

“Lady Nora! Sit!”

She leaned on the side of the wagon. Beside her, Alais giggled and poked her with her elbow. A groom was bringing the Queen’s horse; she waved away someone waiting to help her and mounted by herself. Nora watched how she did that, how she kept her skirts over her legs but got her legs across the saddle anyway. Her Mama rode like a man. She would ride like that. Then, from the gate, a yell went up.

“The King!”

Alais on the chest twisted around to look. Nora straightened. Her father on his big black horse was riding in the gate, a line of knights behind him, mailed and armed. She looked for Richard, but he wasn’t with them. Most of the knights had to stay outside the wall because there was no room in the yard.

Eleanor reined her horse around, coming up beside the wagon, close enough that Nora could have reached out and touched her. The horse sidestepped, tossing its head up. His face dark, the King forced his way through the crowd toward her.

She said, “My lord, what is this?”

He threw one wide look all around the courtyard. His face was blurry with beard and his eyes were rimmed in red. Nora sat quickly down on the chest. Her father spurred his horse up head to tail with her mother’s.

“Where are my sons?”

“My lord, I have no notion, really.”

He stared at her, furious. “Then I’ll take hostages.” He twisted in his saddle, looking back toward his men. “Get these girls!”

Nora shot to her feet again. “No,” the Queen said, forcing her way between him and the wagon, almost nose to nose with him, her fist clenched. “Keep your hands off my daughters.” Alais reached out and gripped Nora’s skirt in her fist.

He thrust his face at her. “Try to stop me, Eleanor!”

“Papa, wait.” Nora leaned over the side of the wagon. “We want to go to Poitiers.”

The King said evilly, “What you want.” Two men had dismounted, were coming briskly toward the wagon. He never took his gaze off her mother.

The Queen’s horse bounded up between the men and the cart. Leaning closer to the King, she spoke in a quick low voice. “Don’t be foolish, my lord, on such a small matter. If you push this too hastily, you will never get them back. Alais has that handsome dowry; take her.”

“Mama, no!” Nora stretched her arm out. Alais flung her arms around her waist.

“Please—please—”

The Queen never even looked at them. “Be still, Nora. I will deal with this.”

“Mama!” Nora tried to catch hold of her, to make her turn and look. “You promised. Mama, you promised she would come with us!” Her fingers grazed the smooth fabric of her mother’s sleeve.

Eleanor struck at her, hard, knocking her down inside the wagon. Alais gave a sob. The King’s men were coming on again, climbing up toward them. Nora lunged at them, her fists raised.

“Get away! Don’t you dare touch her!”

From behind, someone got hold of her and dragged her out of the way. The two men scrambled up over the side of the wagon and fastened on the little French princess. They were dragging her up over the side. She cried out once and then was limp, helpless in their arms. Nora wrenched at the arm around her waist, and only then she saw it was her mother holding her.

“Mama!” She twisted toward Eleanor. “You promised. She doesn’t want to go.”

Eleanor thrust her face down toward Nora’s. “Be still, girl. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Behind her, the King was swinging his horse away. “You can keep that one. Maybe she’ll poison you.” He rode off after his men, who had Alais clutched in their grip. Other men were lifting out Alais’ baggage. They were hauling her off like baggage. Nora gave a wordless cry. With a sharp command, her father led his men on out the gate again, taking Alais like a trophy.

Her arm still around Nora’s waist, Eleanor was scowling after the King. Nora wrenched herself free and her mother turned to face her.

“Well, now, Nora. That was unseemly, wasn’t it.”

“Why did you do that, Mama?” Nora’s voice rang out, high-pitched and furious, careless who heard.

“Come, girl,” her mother said, and gave her a shake. “Settle yourself. You don’t understand.”

With a violent jerk of her whole body, Nora wrenched away from her mother. “You said Alais could come.” Something deep and hard was gathering in her, as if she had swallowed a stone. She began to cry. “Mama, why did you lie to me?”

Her mother blinked at her, her forehead crumpled. “I can’t do everything.” She held out her hand, as if asking for something. “Come, be reasonable. Do you want to be like your father?”

Tears were squirting from Nora’s eyes. “No, and not like you, either, Mama. You promised me, and you lied.” She knocked aside the outstretched hand.

Eleanor recoiled; her arm rose and she slapped Nora across the face. “Cruel, ungrateful child!”

Nora sat down hard. She poked her fists into her lap, her shoulders hunched. Alais was gone; she couldn’t save her after all. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t really liked Alais much. She wanted to be a hero, but she was just a little girl, and nobody cared. She turned to the chest and folded her arms on it, put her head down, and wept.

Later, she leaned up against the side of the wagon, looking down the road ahead.

She felt stupid. Alais was right: she couldn’t be a king, and now she couldn’t even be a hero.

The nurses were dozing in the back of the wagon. Her mother had taken Johanna away to ride on her saddle in front of her, to show Nora how bad she had been. The drover on his bench had his back to her. She felt as if nobody could see her, as if she weren’t even there.

She didn’t want to be a king anyway if it meant being mean and yelling and carrying people off by force. She wanted to be like her mother, but her old mother, the good mother, not this new one, who lied and broke promises, who hit and called names. Alais had said, “Your mother is wicked,” and she almost cried again, because it was true.

She would tell Richard when he came back. But then in her stomach something tightened like a knot: if he came back. Somehow the whole world had changed. Maybe even Richard would be false now.

“You’ll be a Crusader,” he had said to her.

She didn’t know if she wanted that. Being a Crusader meant going a long, long way and then dying. “Be good,” Richard had said. “Be brave.” But she was just a little girl. Under the whole broad blue sky, she was just a speck.

The wagon jolted along the road, part of the long train of freight heading down toward Poitiers. She looked all around her, at the servants walking along among the carts, the bobbing heads of horses and mules, the heaps of baggage lashed on with rope. Her mother was paying no heed to her, had gone off ahead, in the mob of riders leading the way. The nurses were sleeping. Nobody was watching her.

Nobody cared about her anymore. She waited to disappear. But she didn’t.

She stood, holding on to the side to keep from falling. Carefully, she climbed up over the front of the wagon onto the bench, keeping her skirts over her legs, and sat down next to the drover, who gawked down at her, a broad, brown face in a shag of beard.

“Now, my little lady—”

She straightened her skirts, planted her feet firmly on the kickboard, and looked up at him. “Can I hold the reins?” she said.