Windsor Castle July 1172 ?? I did not sleep that night, the last night of the month of June, but paced alone beneath my windows. The French ambassador had left that morning for Bartleur, and my letter with him. I said a prayer for his safe journey, and for my father to heed¹ my request. The wind came up from the river, touching² my face as the king had done when he placed the wreath of flowers on my head. I kept that wreath. It lay drying on my table. The flowers had begun to wilt³, and soon their petals⁴ would fall. Marie Helene did not speak all that night, but watched me pace in silence. She offered me the good, sweet wine that Richard had sent from his lands in Anjou. I took one sip⁵ to please her, but the taste only pained me, reminding me of how precarious⁶ my position was as Richard’s betrothed⁷, of how dangerous it was to catch the eye of the king. Bijou stayed awake with me almost until dawn. She saw I was agitated⁸, and she paced with me, up and down the length of my room, her little legs trailing behind me or running ahead, as if it were a game we played. She finally fell asleep, watching me from the soft nest of Marie Helene’s lap. I felt the guilt⁹ of a hundred deaths on my conscience. I sat beside Eleanor all the day before, and all through the evening meal after I’d ridden out with Henry, as if I had not betrayed her, as if I had not committed treason. Perhaps even she would be in danger if the king was to know of my letter. Though she knew nothing of my treachery, she had had the raising of me. The king might hold her responsible for what I had done, for I was in her keeping. I felt guilty, too, that Richard knew nothing of my

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