He thrust his face at her. “Try to stop me, Eleanor!”
“Papa, wait.” Nora leaned over the side of the wagon. “We want to go to Poitiers.”
The King said evilly, “What you want.” Two men had dismounted, were coming briskly toward the wagon. He never took his gaze off her mother.
The Queen’s horse bounded up between the men and the cart. Leaning closer to the King, she spoke in a quick low voice. “Don’t be foolish, my lord, on such a small matter. If you push this too hastily, you will never get them back. Alais has that handsome dowry; take her.”
“Mama, no!” Nora stretched her arm out. Alais flung her arms around her waist.
“Please—please—”
The Queen never even looked at them. “Be still, Nora. I will deal with this.”
“Mama!” Nora tried to catch hold of her, to make her turn and look. “You promised. Mama, you promised she would come with us!” Her fingers grazed the smooth fabric of her mother’s sleeve.
Eleanor struck at her, hard, knocking her down inside the wagon. Alais gave a sob. The King’s men were coming on again, climbing up toward them. Nora lunged at them, her fists raised.
“Get away! Don’t you dare touch her!”
From behind, someone got hold of her and dragged her out of the way. The two men scrambled up over the side of the wagon and fastened on the little French princess. They were dragging her up over the side. She cried out once and then was limp, helpless in their arms. Nora wrenched at the arm around her waist, and only then she saw it was her mother holding her.
“Mama!” She twisted toward Eleanor. “You promised. She doesn’t want to go.”
Eleanor thrust her face down toward Nora’s. “Be still, girl. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Behind her, the King was swinging his horse away. “You can keep that one. Maybe she’ll poison you.” He rode off after his men, who had Alais clutched in their grip. Other men were lifting out Alais’ baggage. They were hauling her off like baggage. Nora gave a wordless cry. With a sharp command, her father led his men on out the gate again, taking Alais like a trophy.
Her arm still around Nora’s waist, Eleanor was scowling after the King. Nora wrenched herself free and her mother turned to face her.
“Well, now, Nora. That was unseemly, wasn’t it.”
“Why did you do that, Mama?” Nora’s voice rang out, high-pitched and furious, careless who heard.
“Come, girl,” her mother said, and gave her a shake. “Settle yourself. You don’t understand.”
With a violent jerk of her whole body, Nora wrenched away from her mother. “You said Alais could come.” Something deep and hard was gathering in her, as if she had swallowed a stone. She began to cry. “Mama, why did you lie to me?”
Her mother blinked at her, her forehead crumpled. “I can’t do everything.” She held out her hand, as if asking for something. “Come, be reasonable. Do you want to be like your father?”
Tears were squirting from Nora’s eyes. “No, and not like you, either, Mama. You promised me, and you lied.” She knocked aside the outstretched hand.
Eleanor recoiled; her arm rose and she slapped Nora across the face. “Cruel, ungrateful child!”
Nora sat down hard. She poked her fists into her lap, her shoulders hunched. Alais was gone; she couldn’t save her after all. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t really liked Alais much. She wanted to be a hero, but she was just a little girl, and nobody cared. She turned to the chest and folded her arms on it, put her head down, and wept.
Later, she leaned up against the side of the wagon, looking down the road ahead.
She felt stupid. Alais was right: she couldn’t be a king, and now she couldn’t even be a hero.
The nurses were dozing in the back of the wagon. Her mother had taken Johanna away to ride on her saddle in front of her, to show Nora how bad she had been. The drover on his bench had his back to her. She felt as if nobody could see her, as if she weren’t even there.
She didn’t want to be a king anyway if it meant being mean and yelling and carrying people off by force. She wanted to be like her mother, but her old mother, the good mother, not this new one, who lied and broke promises, who hit and called names. Alais had said, “Your mother is wicked,” and she almost cried again, because it was true.
She would tell Richard when he came back. But then in her stomach something tightened like a knot: if he came back. Somehow the whole world had changed. Maybe even Richard would be false now.
“You’ll be a Crusader,” he had said to her.
She didn’t know if she wanted that. Being a Crusader meant going a long, long way and then dying. “Be good,” Richard had said. “Be brave.” But she was just a little girl. Under the whole broad blue sky, she was just a speck.
The wagon jolted along the road, part of the long train of freight heading down toward Poitiers. She looked all around her, at the servants walking along among the carts, the bobbing heads of horses and mules, the heaps of baggage lashed on with rope. Her mother was paying no heed to her, had gone off ahead, in the mob of riders leading the way. The nurses were sleeping. Nobody was watching her.
Nobody cared about her anymore. She waited to disappear. But she didn’t.
She stood, holding on to the side to keep from falling. Carefully, she climbed up over the front of the wagon onto the bench, keeping her skirts over her legs, and sat down next to the drover, who gawked down at her, a broad, brown face in a shag of beard.
“Now, my little lady—”
She straightened her skirts, planted her feet firmly on the kickboard, and looked up at him. “Can I hold the reins?” she said.