Canterbury Papers Read Online Free Page B

absently through a few of the new manuscripts that had come in from Córdoba. It was from Eleanor that I had learned to love the poetry of the Arabs in Hispania.
    Then I began walking, restlessly, my fingers searching the golden jeweled pendant I wore. I felt the cool cut of the ruby set deep within it and the gold filigree of the setting. I could make out, too, the fine engraving on the back. Duke William had brought the jewel back from his captivity in Córdoba. It found its way to his granddaughter Eleanor, then to Richard, and then to me. The engraving was one line of Arabic poetry from the great poet Ibn al-Faridh: DEATH THROUGH LOVE IS LIFE. In a way the intensity of the sentiment, its many-layered meaning, reminded me more of Eleanor than of Richard.
    A scratch at the door interrupted my reverie and alerted my maids to the arrival of the courier. They scurried to admit him. Tom had to bend his frame to enter, and I could see that Mimi and Justine were impressed by his height and by the mysterious shuttered eye unadorned by any patch.
    After I dismissed my maids, I gave Tom my hand to kiss. Then I walked over to the table that contained my beloved manuscripts and, half sitting against it, folded my arms and regarded him well. Tom remained where I had left him, waiting.
    â€œYou’ve come for my answer.”
    â€œYes, Your Grace.” Tom was a perfect king’s man. Neither obsequious nor lacking in respect, he simply stood, tall as a lance and just as quiet. He spoke now in the king’s English, no trace of his Celtic origins.
    â€œDo you know what this letter contains?” I asked.
    â€œAs to its general contents, yes. As to its particulars, I have not read it.” Tom had the kind of face and demeanor that led one to believe he truly had not broken that royal seal to satisfy his curiosity. But then he had no need to do so if Eleanor had explained the contents to him.
    â€œI understand that your mistress Queen Eleanor is on her way to Hispania right now, to fetch the Princess Blanche for the wedding here in Paris.”
    â€œThat is true.”
    â€œSince she is gone, who will receive my answer to this request?” I prodded him, partly in jest.
    A ghost of a smile flickered across his lower face.
    â€œIf you agree to the task that the queen has set for you, there is no need for a reply. I am instructed to accompany you to England.”
    â€œAnd if I choose not to undertake this unusual and”—I lifted my brows—“somewhat dangerous task? Who gets that report?”
    â€œIn that case I return to Fontrevault Abbey and report to the Abbess Charlotte.”
    â€œMy aunt Charlotte? Is she a party to this?” I had no need to pretend surprise.
    â€œI do not know. I only know that Queen Eleanor said if you refused her request, I should inform the abbess.” He coughed here, hesitating. “My lady, as you know, Queen Eleanor has been a guest at Fontrevault Abbey for nearly five winters. During that time the queen and your aunt have become … quite close.”
    â€œI see.” I paced to the window and opened the shutters, looking down on the Seine below. Boatmen, ordinary people bundled in dark cloaks and red scarves, were polling their barges toward the palace docks and calling to one another. Across the river on the right bank, groups gathered on corners near the food stalls as the noon hour approached. The sight of Paris on a common day, going about its business, centered me. In a way it reduced the agitation that had been building since I’d read Eleanor’s letter the night before. I found then the courage to ask my next question.
    â€œI suspect that you do not know the nature of the information your mistress has promised me when I finish her task.” I tried to sound casual, but I could feel my face flush. “Therefore I suppose there is no purpose in asking you for some … that is, … any indication … of what the