Jesu!’ Startled, the King dropped his helm, tightening his reins as he fought to bring the animal back under control.
‘Have you no sense?’ Isabella snapped.
I thought better of replying and steeled myself for the King’s reproof. Without a word he snapped his fingers to his page to pick up the helm and the trampled flower. I looked at him in fear.
‘My thanks, lady.’
He bowed his head solemnly to me as he tucked the crumpled petals into the gorget at his throat. My belly clenched, my face flamed to my hairline. Proud, haughty, confident, he was the King of England yet he would treat me with respect when I had almost unhorsed him.
‘Our kitchen maid cannot yet be relied upon to act decorously in public!’ Isabella remarked, setting up a chorus of laughter.
But the King did not sneer. Urging his horse closer to the gilded canvas, the fire dying from his eyes as the energy of battle receded, he stretched out his hand, palm up.
‘Mistress Alice, if you would honour me.’
And I placed mine there. The King kissed my fingers.
‘The rose was a fine gesture, if a little wayward. My horse and I both thank you, Mistress Alice.’
There was the rustle of appreciative laughter, no longer at my expense. I felt the heat of his kiss against my skin, hotter than the beat of blood in my cheeks.
I am learning to dance. ‘Holy Virgin!’ I misstepped the insistent beat of the tabor and shawm for the twentieth time. How could I excel at tallying coins, yet be unable to count the steps in a simple processional dance? The King’s hand tightened to give me balance as I lurched. He was a better dancer than I. It would be hard to be worse.
‘You are allowed to look at me, Mistress Alice,’ he announced when we came together again.
‘If I do, I shall fall over my feet, Sire, or yours. I’ll cripple you before the night is out.’
‘I’ll lead you in the right steps.’ I must have looked askance. ‘Do you not trust me, Alice?’
He had called me by my name, without formality. I looked up, to find his eyes quizzical on my face, and I missed the next simple movement.
‘I dare not,’ I managed.
‘You would refuse your King?’ He was amused again.
‘I would when it would be to his benefit.’
‘Then we must do our poor best, sweet Alice, and count the broken toes at the end of the evening.’
Sweet Alice? Was he flirting with me? But no. That was not possible. I exasperated him more than I entertained him.
‘By God, Mistress Alice. You did not lie,’ he stated ruefully as the procession wound to its end. ‘You should issue a warning to any man who invites you.’
‘Not every man is as brave as you, Sire.’
‘Then I’ll remember not to risk it again,’ he said as he handed me back to sit at Philippa’s side.
But he did. Even though I still fell over his feet.
The Queen did not forbid me to dance with the King, but she appeared to find little enjoyment in the occasion.
The Queen has given the King a lion. Ah, yes! The affair of the lion! Observing the damsels with scorn where they huddled, hiding their faces, retreating from its roars in mock fear, keen to find a comforting arm from one of the King’s gallant knights, I walked towards the huge cage where I might inspect the beast at close quarters. I was not afraid, and would not pretend to be so. How could it harm me when it was imprisoned behind bars and locks? Its rough, tawny mane, its vast array of teeth fascinated me. I stepped closer as it settled on its haunches, tail twitching in impotent warning.
‘You’re not afraid, Mistress Alice?’ Soft-footed, the King stood behind me.
‘No, Sire. What need?’ We had returned to formality and I was not sorry. Was he not the King? ‘The girls are foolish, not afraid. They just wish to …’
‘They wish to attract attention?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
We looked across to where the fluttering damsels received assurance and flattery.
‘And you do not, Mistress Alice? Does not some young knight take your critical eye? Is there no one you admire?’
I thought about this, giving his question more consideration than perhaps was intended, appraising the wealth of strength and beauty and high blood around me.
‘No, Sire.’ It was the truth.
‘But you admire my lion.’
‘Oh, I do.’
The lion watched us with impassive hatred. Were we not the cause of its imprisonment? I considered its state, and my own past experience. Both kept under duress, without freedom. Both existing on the whim of another. But I had escaped by miraculous means. There would be no miracle for this lion. This poor beast would remain in captivity until the day of its death.
‘Does nothing fill you with terror? Other than horses, of course.’
He had unnerved me again. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But it’s a fear you’ll never know, Sire.’
‘Tell me, then.’
Before I could collect my wits I found myself explaining, because he was regarding me as if he really cared about my fears. ‘I am afraid of the future, Sire, where nothing is permanent, nothing is certain. Of a life without stability, without friends or family, without a home. Where I am nobody, without name or status.’ I paused. ‘I don’t want to be dependent on the pity or charity of others—I have had enough of that. I want to make something of myself, for myself.’
Holy Mother! I looked fixedly at the lion. Had I really admitted to all that? To the King?
‘It’s a lot to ask,’ he replied simply. ‘For a young woman in your situation.’
Much as Countess Joan had observed, with far less courtesy. ‘Is it impossible?’
‘No. That was not my meaning. But it’s a hard road for a woman alone to travel.’
‘Must I then accept my fate, like this poor imprisoned beast?’
‘Are we not all governed by fate, mistress?’
Aware that his attention was turned from lion to me, and that the conversation had taken a very personal turn, I sought for an innocuous reply. ‘I don’t intend ingratitude, Sire. I’m aware of how much I owe the Queen.’
‘I didn’t know that you saw your future in so bleak a light.’
‘Why would you, Sire? You are the King. It is not necessary that you either know or care.’ For that is how I saw it.
‘Am
