Windsor Castle October 1172 I sat alone in blessed silence. I was supposed to be at prayer, but unlike Alais, I had no god to pray to. I had just heard from my spy network that Henry had word from the pope. His Holiness was cautious, nothing like the man who had set me free from Louis. This pope would wait, and bide¹ his time, to see which way the wind blew, before he moved against me. The pope no doubt knew, as I did, that though Henry had sworn to go on Crusade, he would never stir from his own borders to begin a foreign war, especially a war of someone else’s devising. It served no purpose but to waste money, and Henry had the business of the kingdom to consume him; that, and keeping his sons at bay. Richard was another matter altogether. I knew it was the secret wish of his heart to go on Crusade for the Church, to raise the banner of Christ once more over the city of Jerusalem. No doubt the pope had heard this, too. From all accounts, his spy network was almost as good as mine. So His Holiness would not move against me, or my son. All I needed to do was bide my time, and wait for Henry to tire of her. I crossed my solar to my window, where the breeze and sun touched my face. It was almost winter, but still I kept my windows unshuttered. I loved the feel of the wind, and kept them open as long as I could, mewed up as I was in my husband’s keep. I could not go far, either in hunting or in merriment. I had to keep my eye always on Henry, to see what move he might make next. I did not think on Alais. I missed her as I missed nothing and no one else, but I kept my mind from her, except when she was before me. Like the pope, I would bide my time there as well. Before long, an opportunity would present itself, and I would bring her back to me. Richard barged in without knocking, the only man alive who would have dared. He crossed the room to me, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild. For one horrible moment, I thought something might have happened to Henry, or to Alais. I was wrong. “Mother, he will discard her.” “Richard.” I raised one hand, and Amaria drew the door closed behind my son. She raised an eyebrow², and I shook my head at her, telling her that there was nothing truly to worry about, reminding her that Richard was emotional, especially where Alais was concerned. His news had to do with Alais, the only subject that could upset him during those dark days. “Richard, what ails³ you?” “Alais, Mother. She is bearing the king’s

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