The stone walls of the castle exuded a bitter chill from the winter without. Although indoors, Eleanor was wrapped in furs. She was, once again, at Windsor for her annual visit.

Christmas over, the family's coldness surpassed that of the icy winds. It was the last day of 1184 and the New Year held no promise for Eleanor. Tomorrow, Henry would have her returned to her Tower prison in Sarum.

She followed the guard along the narrow corridors. At Henry's quarters, a heavy wooden door swung open, beyond which stood Henry facing a fire, his back to her.

She stood, rigid. Eleanor of Aquitaine would be damned if she'd enter his room unannounced.

Henry turned. "Well, come in, woman! You're letting the heat out."

A smile rose slowly to her lips. Fingers appeared from beneath her furs, gestured to him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" He stomped across to her, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the room.

"Thank you, dear Henry," she purred.

He appeared drawn, his hair grayed, finally looking his age, she was delighted to see. Years of drinking and wenching had drained him, closed the ten years difference in their ages. The children she'd borne him had worn away her years, as his battles and court intrigues had worn away his. She smiled inwardly, relishing the knowledge that many of his problems stemmed from their own children.

"It's almost the New Year, Eleanor. Can we not end this nightmare now? Divorce me so we can live in peace. We detest each other, so why prolong this hell?"

"Because I detest you," Eleanor answered lightly. "If we divorced, my sons would be in danger and my followers would feel betrayed." She stroked his tunic. "More's the pity. You loved me once."

"Never!"

"Enough to impregnate me nine times!"

He turned brusquely away, thoughtful. "What would you do if I gave you your freedom?"

Eleanor's heart surged with longing. How cruel he was, and how cunning. "I should probably have you killed," she said with a lilt. "With a jeweled dagger, most likely. Nothing but the best for Europe's mightiest King."

Henry shrugged. "It is as I expected. I suppose we shall have to continue these charades until one of us is dead."

Eleanor chuckled. "Darling Henry, you won't escape me that easily. We will continue to meet at Windsor throughout history, lovers forever, like Abelard and Heloise — with a vengeance."

The bells throughout Windsor tolled the New Year.

Henry sighed. "Go now, prepare for the festivities. We're late. As decreed, we shall enter together — fooling no one."

Eleanor crossed to take his hands in hers. "We are so alike, dear Henry. How can we help but love one another, no matter how much we deny it. Happy New Year." She kissed his cheek, saw a smile soften his face, a glimmer light his eyes.

Eleanor left, warm with the elation that she'd cherish throughout the New Year — while she continued to plot Henry's downfall.

Originally from New York City, Allen McGill lives, writes, acts and directs theatre in Mexico. His published fiction, non-fiction, poetry, plays, etc., have appeared in print as well as on line: NY Times, The Writer, Newsday, flashquake, Herons Nest, Cenotaph, TempsLibres, Autumn Leaves, Poetic Voices, Frogpond — many others.

Copyright 2002 by Allen McGill

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