Windsor Castle May 1172 As Alais left the hall, Henry’s eyes followed her. Richard did not sit again until she was gone, but it was Henry I watched from the corner of my eye. As I did so, I raised one hand, and my footman stepped forward with my wine. He refilled my goblet¹ from my private silver urn². At Henry’s court, to take care to avoid poison, I drank my own wine. Also, one could never trust Henry’s steward³ at Windsor to keep decent wine at table, as Henry himself drank only mead⁴. I let Amaria spread the gossip that I drank a special draft for my health, but all knew why I took care at Windsor. There were many at Henry’s court who did not wish me well. Only after I had drunk deep and taken a last morsel⁵ of squab did I turn to Henry I was pleased to see him fawn⁶ over my daughter, as if she were some housemaid that he might take up against a wall. I thought of Rosamund, and wondered if she had spies in my court, as I would have, had I been in her place. I wondered if those spies would carry tales to her of Alais that night, and if so, how my old rival might receive them. The thought made my smile deepen, and it seemed Henry was caught in the light of my eyes. For all his attentions to Alais, now that she was gone, he had eyes only for me. I smiled my old, wicked smile, and Henry laughed, raising his tankard. The musicians began to play the first measure of the first dance. Henry rose to his feet, and I wondered which woman he would choose to partner him. He walked, not down the steps to the dance floor, but across the dais to me. “My lady Eleanor, would you honor me?” Henry held out his hand to me. He pitched his voice low so that the court could see him approach me but could not hear his words. Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened to the love that once had been between us, the great love that I had cast aside a crown for, more than a lifetime ago. “My lord Henry, it is you who honor me.” I, too, kept my voice low, to keep the matter private between us as I laid my hand in his. Of course, nothing for a king is ever private. I had lived as a queen since the age of fifteen. I had long since grown used to the eyes of others always on me. He said nothing more, but led me onto the dance floor. The musicians stopped playing when Henry offered me his hand, so shocked were they to see us together. We had not danced with one another in years, since Henry first touched Rosamund de Clifford. The musicians Henry employed were ill trained and had not the sense to start playing again as soon as we took the floor. But Henry and I had heard the first bars of the song, and knew what steps it called for. It was a dance we had enjoyed long ago, when we had both been happy. Henry met my eyes, as if in

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