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
