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 hem¹ 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 scent² of their perfume. There was a dressing³ room with a fine clothespress, though as yet I had no gowns to place in it. The tapestries⁴ on the walls were old but well brushed, and the bedstead was large, its rosewood posts carved with trailing flowers. I fingered the carving⁵, 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 watchful⁶, a woman who thought long before she spoke⁷. 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

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