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The Rebel Princess

Chapter One

Chambers of the Princesse Alaïs

The announcement of the courier surprised me. I was sitting at my long oak table, preparing to mix a new bar of ink with water, when the sharp knock interrupted. The door opened, letting in a blast of the cool October air along with my maid, Mignonne. I put down the pitcher with an unsteady hand. Perhaps this was what I had been waiting for.

"My lady, there is a message for you. The runner says it is urgent."

"Well, send him in then." I was unable to keep the excitement from my voice. All morning I had been restless, unable to focus on my needlework, pacing my chamber. The feeling that something was about to happen had been gathering in me since the previous evening. This could be, at last, a letter from William, with news of his next visit. Or it may be something else, something not so pleasant. I knew I must have patience. This gift of mine, some called it second sight, could not be hurried. Everything would be revealed.

I arranged myself in my largest carved chair, with the heavy tapestry cushions. I sat upright, no smile upon my face. For underneath the excitement lurked a sense of foreboding.

Mignonne soon returned with a young man, still breathing heavily from his ride. He was tall and thin, and moved awkwardly as if he had just grown last week and his body had not yet adjusted to its new height. The young man wore a cloak too thin for our brisk northern air, and I did not recognize the colors of his livery. He immediately removed his cap and went down on one knee.

"Rise, young man. Tell me your business," I said, motioning him up.

"Your Grace .. . umm Princesse Alaïs, I have a message for you from my mistress. She bade me ride here with all due speed."

"And who is your mistress, lad?" I prompted more gently, for I could see the youth was inexperienced in matters of court formality.

"Joanna, Countess of Toulouse, Your Grace," he said, bobbing his head. A flush came over his cheeks. "She begs to be remembered to you, and sends you this letter. And I was to give it to no one else but you."

The youth pulled a roll of well-mashed parchment from within his tunic, and handed it to me. I could see his hand was shaking, perhaps with cold, or with the responsibility of delivering his burden to the sister of the king of France. My heartbeat had slowed. It was not to be news from William after all.

Mignonne, who had been standing aside during this exchange, took the parchment and carried it to me. She made a nice courtesy as she handed it to me, and I saw with some amusement her glance slide to the youth, as if she were instructing him on what to do next. He followed her example with a low, awkward bow, and I summoned a smile for him.

"Mignonne, take this young man below. Be sure he has food and drink and a place to lay his head. It seems he has traveled far, and done his mistress's bidding well. Get him a warmer cloak, as well." I turned to the youth. "I'll see that you are properly rewarded for your work, young man. Meanwhile, you should eat your fill and get some rest." And I brushed the air with my hand, a signal to my maid to make a hasty exit.

The youth bowed again and backed away from me, his long legs uncertain whether to kneel or flee. He tripped, causing Mignonne to grin, but then she caught my glance and immediately became sober. In a moment, they were gone. I slipped from my chair and went to the table, where a sharp knife lay.

I had not had word from Joanna of England since she had married Count Raymond of Toulouse some years earlier. She was Eleanor and Henry's daughter, and had been my dearest friend when we were young. She was the favorite sister of my betrothed, Richard later king of England, and stood by me in the turmoil that surrounded the breaking of that promise.

Joanna's letter also took me by surprise because I had expected any message would be from William. I thought for certain that my unsettled feeling that morning meant that I would finally hear from him. He had not returned at Eastertide, as he had promised. Nor had he come at Whitsuntide. And the long summer, unusually warm, had dragged by without news of him or Francis for months. Now, here was this unexpected communiqué, not from him, but from my long-ago friend.

I slit the red sealing wax with my knife, and unrolled the parchment. My disappointment was matched by my curiosity. Why a letter from Joanna after all these years? And why had she employed the young, untested page, rather than sending the letter through ordinary couriers that came regularly to my brother the king from the court at Toulouse?

As I read the letter, I began to understand.