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wished to marry me, not that the matter was settled. Papa
is not happy about my going so far, and it may be that my dower—it is only Bix
with no expectation of Marlowe, now that Papa has married again—will not be
enough to satisfy his family. Nonetheless—”
    “And what do you desire?” James asked curiously. He
had not known that Sir William was remarried. He could imagine how such a thing
would stick in Alys’s craw. She was too used to ruling the roost.
    “I am thinking about it,” Alys said impatiently, “and it
would help me if you would tell me what news has come from Gascony that has
thrown everyone into gloom.”
    “You remember that when the king left Bordeaux last year, a
truce had been arranged with King Louis?”
    “Has Louis broken faith?” Alys asked, truly surprised.
Henry spoke ill of the king of France, but the truth was that there was little
ill to be said of him, except in spite. In fact, Louis of France was so
consciously good and holy that Alys felt bored every time his name came into
the conversation.
    “No, no. Louis would not break a truce, not without real
provocation. You know that. However, Theobold of Champagne is now king of
Navarre and has claim, or so he says, to certain lands by Bayonne and
Oloron-Sainte Marie—”
    “I know that, James. I am no more deaf than you, and I have
heard Un—the Earl of Cornwall—detailing the complexities of Gascon relationships
near as often as you have. After all, he thought it would be his to rule.”
    “And all of us would have been better off had it been so.
You know Lord Richard could have brought that province to order. Instead, it
was—” He broke off as Alys squeezed his hand sharply.
    She was quite right. This was not the time or place to voice
such regrets, even though the king’s decision was likely to cause ten years of
chaos, until Prince Edward was old enough to administer the province. This
knowledge was in Alys’s eyes and Sir James’s, but it was unwise to pursue the
topic.
    Sir James now continued more carefully, sticking to the
news. “Theobold has chosen this moment to begin pressing his claims again.
Nicholas de Molis—you know he is seneschal of Gascony?” Alys nodded and James
went on, “De Molis has just sent to Henry to beg for men and money to hold back
the forces of Navarre.”
    “But that is impossible!” Alys kept her voice low, but her
eyes flashed with rage. “You know what Henry sucked out of us when he
returned—scutage, carucage—and Papa was there . He near died there from a
hurt in his thigh. You know no one will give the king a penny for Gascony.”
    “Of course I know it. All the lords are very angry that he
stayed so long in Bordeaux last year after the fighting was over. He said he
was reforming the government of the cities and for all I know he was, but
everyone says he was lounging in luxury—”
    “Well,” Alys pointed out, “the queen was heavy with child. I
think he was afraid to travel lest it do her hurt. And after she bore little
Margaret, Eleanor needed a time to recover herself and to be sure the child was
doing well.”
    “Not every man carries his wife to war with him nor is as
tender of her,” James said dryly.
    Alys raised her brows. “There we differ. I can see no
wrong in that. However, I do agree that there was no need to entertain quite so
lavishly while he was there, nor to support a horde of Béarnese…” James snarled
deep in his throat, and Alys cocked an eye at his suffused face. “Oho,” she
continued, “so that is why the seneschal needs money. Gaston of Béarn is
also moving.”
    “The ungrateful, treacherous—”
    “Careful, James,” Alys said, patting his hand. “You will
choke on your own spleen.”
    “It is a wonder poor Lord Richard did not choke on his. How
often did he warn Henry to have nothing to do with that pair—bitch of a mother
and cur of a son—”
    “But James,” Alys interrupted, paying no attention to the
strictures against