Odo de Deuil led the way into the palace and climbed the twisting stairs of the Maubergeonne Tower to the private chambers. They heard the footsteps of the squire in the stairwell dashing up to warn his lord. Louis’s guards pushed past the chaplain and ran up after the young man, seizing him and clubbing him to the ground outside a heavy wooden door as he yelled a warning. Panting from his climb, Father Odo gripped the wrought-iron latch ring, twisted it and pushed the door wide open.
A brazier burned in the hearth. An empty padded bench stood before it with a wine jug and cups on a table close by. Further into the room was a bed and Petronella was in it, clad in her shift with the laces untied and her breasts exposed. Raoul de Vermandois, wearing shirt and hose but no tunic, stood over her, preparing to defend her with his drawn sword.
Louis made a choking sound. Alienor stared in horrified shock, because there was no mistaking the evidence, and she was responsible for having allowed the fox into the chicken coop. Petronella had stifled a scream at the intrusion, but now gazed at everyone in brazen defiance, making no effort to cover herself.
‘Drop your sword,’ Louis snarled. ‘Would you show steel to your king?’
Raoul swallowed and, throwing the weapon aside, fell to his knees. ‘Sire, I can explain …’
A shudder ran through Louis. ‘You are very good at explaining,’ he said icily, ‘and I have always been foolish enough to listen to you and trust you, while all the time you have been betraying me and God. I do not want to hear what you have to say, because my eyes see very well what duplicity you have wrought. This is treason. What I must decide now is what to do with you.’ He turned to Alienor, his voice thick with rage. ‘Madam, deal with your sister.’ He pointed a finger at the soldiers. ‘Until further notice, my lord of Vermandois is under house arrest and will speak to no one but his confessor. See to it.’ Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.
Alienor glared at Raoul. ‘I trusted you,’ she said with loathing. ‘I asked you to protect Petronella, and instead you have desecrated her. May you rot in hell forever.’ She stepped to one side so that she could look at her sister who had still not covered herself. ‘I trusted you too.’
Petronella’s expression was hard with defiance. ‘I love him.’ Her voice was fierce. ‘You don’t know anything about love.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ Alienor replied bitterly. ‘Because I love you, and you have just broken my heart.’
Petronella’s chin wobbled and she made a small, desperate sound in her throat. Raoul turned to her and gently draped her cloak around her shoulders. ‘You cannot stay here, my love,’ he said. ‘They will not allow it, and, one way or another, this must be sorted out. Go with the Queen. All will be well, trust me.’ He looked at Alienor. ‘Do not blame her, madam. It is my fault.’
Alienor could not bring herself to answer him because she was choked with rage and shame, much of it on her own account. She should have seen this coming; she should have realised. ‘Come,’ she said brusquely to Petronella. ‘If you do not of your own will, the guards will force you.’
Petronella was trembling, but she drew courage around her like the cloak and, leaving the bed, walked from the room and past the assembled gathering of clergy with her head carried high. Alienor followed her, and she too ignored the clergy. They were vultures, who had only been awaiting the opportunity to feast at the kill.
‘Do you know what you have done?’ Alienor demanded of Petronella once her chamber door had closed behind them. ‘How are we ever going to mend this scandal? I could shake you until your teeth rattle!’
‘I love him.’ Petronella said again and folded her arms inside the cloak, hugging herself. Her voice cracked. ‘And he loves me.’
‘You only think you love him,’ Alienor said harshly. ‘You are a child, and he has seduced you.’
Petronella’s voice grew shrill. ‘It isn’t like that, it isn’t! And I’m not a child!’
‘Then stop acting like one! How long has this been going on under everyone’s nose? How long have you been practising this deceit? That night at Talmont – that cloth. You had been with him, hadn’t you?’
‘What if I had?’ Petronella lifted her chin. ‘It was the best night of my life. He cares about me. You don’t. You only care about your own reputation as Queen.’
Each statement of Petronella’s struck Alienor like a blow. ‘Irrespective of my reputation as Queen, Raoul of Vermandois was in a position of trust; he violated that trust and broke his honour and yours. He is old enough to be your grandsire, let alone your father. You allowed Aimery de Niort to be your scapegoat and to be punished for something he did not do.’ Alienor’s voice burned with disgust. ‘What do you think our father would have said if he knew about this? Do you think he would approve?’
‘He went away and left us! If you are talking of ancestors, then our grandparents did not stop to worry what anyone would think. They lived and made love as they chose!’
‘And others have paid for it ever since – including you for following their example.’
‘Better I should be like them than that my juices should dry up for want of use.’
Alienor’s hand cracking against Petronella’s cheek was a shocking punctuation to the exchange. The feel of the blow tingled through Alienor’s palm as the mark turned from white to red on Petronella’s face. Shaking, Petronella stared at her with eyes full of hatred, misery and furious bravado. In that moment, Alienor saw a wounded creature run to bay and doing its utmost to take its slaughterers down with it. ‘Have we come to this as sisters?’ Alienor whispered. ‘To be enemies? Surely we have enough of those already without ripping each other apart.’
The battle light died from Petronella’s eyes. She gave a wrenching sob, then another and another, as if small pieces were being torn from her body.
‘Petra …’ Alienor could not bear to see her sister in such pain. She drew her into her arms and held her tightly, tears running down her own face as Petronella sobbed. Her sister was so damaged, so vulnerable. Gelding was too merciful a punishment for Raoul de Vermandois.
Once the worst of the storm had passed, Alienor drew Petronella to the hearth, gave her a napkin to wipe her tears and poured them both wine. ‘What were you thinking?’ she asked. ‘It was bound to surface sooner or later. You could not keep something as great as this a secret.’
‘We were living in the moment,’ Petronella sniffed. ‘The future didn’t matter.’
‘The future always matters.’
Petronella raised her right hand and held it out to Alienor, palm open. ‘Why can’t you just let us be? Raoul and I can go away somewhere together. You can settle us somewhere in Aquitaine. There are people who will look after us. No one will know.’
Alienor felt heartsick and frustrated. ‘Of course people will know. You are living on dreams. Just because you forget the world does not mean that the world forgets you. You and Raoul de Vermandois cannot just disappear into the countryside like a pair of peasants.’
Petronella said mutinously, ‘You are Queen of France; you can arrange things. You have your life and your husband. Why should I not have mine?’
Alienor stared at Petronella in disbelief. ‘Raoul is not free to marry. He is wed to the niece of Theobald of Champagne. He has a child. What you have done is to commit fornication and adultery.’
‘He does not love his wife; he never goes home to her.’
‘Being with Raoul is not the way to happiness.’
‘How do you know the way to happiness?’ Petronella demanded. ‘Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you are happy with Louis?’
‘My situation is not yours, and what is between me and Louis is not the issue.’
‘Hah!’ Petronella rose from the bench and paced the room, rubbing her arms. ‘Do what you will, but I shall never change my mind.’
It was all such a mess, Alienor thought. She had believed at the outset that she was containing a minor scandal, a girl’s peccadillo, but this was enormous and beyond concealment. She supposed she could send Petronella to the nunnery at Saintes, but it would be like throwing a wildcat into a dovecote. If only she had seen what was going on under her nose, but it was too late now. The damage was done.
The court, much subdued, arrived in Paris after a week of steady travel on hard autumn roads. Raoul was kept under guard, permitted to ride his own horse but shunned by Louis. They had had strong words on that first night at Poitiers, or rather Louis had bellowed and Raoul had stayed silent in shame, and since then they had not spoken. Taking their lead from Louis, the rest of the court spurned Raoul, so that although he rode among them, he might as well have been invisible – and this a man who was the heart and soul of long journeys with his stories and humour. Petronella was kept under close guard, travelling in a litter well away from Raoul’s part of the progress.
On their arrival in Paris, Raoul was escorted to a chamber and put under house arrest while Petronella was brought to Alienor’s apartments under close supervision and given no opportunity to have any sort of contact with her lover. Her manner remained stubborn and unrepentant, but Alienor heard her weeping behind the closed bed curtains and, despite her vow to remain unmoved, her heart ached for her fragile sister.
‘Louis, may I have a word alone?’ Alienor said.
He raised his head from the document he was reading. ‘About what?’
‘The matter in hand.’
He hesitated, and then ordered everyone to leave the room.
Going to the window, Alienor gestured to the cushioned embrasure seats. ‘Will you sit with me?’ A flagon stood close by and she poured wine into two goblets.
He sighed and tossed the scroll on to the trestle. ‘What is it?’ He folded his arms and made no move to join her.
She sipped her wine. They had brought it back with them and it tasted of Bordeaux. ‘I have been thinking what to do about Petronella and Raoul. They cannot stay under lock and key for the rest of their lives.’
Louis shrugged. ‘Tell me why I should loosen the reins? They have sinned grievously against God and they have betrayed us both. If you have come to make excuses for them, then your journey is wasted.’
His priggish reply irritated her. ‘Whatever blame we apportion, it does not solve the problem. I agree that they should do penance, but I also think they should be allowed to return to some kind of life. You need Raoul in council, and Petronella cannot live out her days at the top of the Great Tower.’
Louis examined his fingernails. Eventually he heaved a sigh and, leaving his chair, joined her at the window. ‘If Raoul and your sister will shrive themselves and spend time in repentance and contemplation of their sin, I will see what can be done.’
‘Thank you.’ Alienor lowered her eyes, knowing it best to yield a little to sweeten his mood. She suspected Petronella would not be in the least repentant, but if she could pretend remorse, then perhaps there was a way through. After a moment she said thoughtfully, ‘It would be much simpler if we were ordinary folk not watched by all. Petronella and Raoul could be wed and no harm done.’
Louis frowned at her. ‘Raoul has a wife. He is not free to marry.’
‘He conveniently forgot that fact when he seduced my sister,’ she said acidly. ‘He may have a wife, but he has long lived apart from her.’
‘She is the niece of Theobald of Champagne.’
‘Yes, and Theobald has defied you twice and treated you as if you are of no consequence. If they married, Petronella would be safe with her chosen man and you would not have to send Raoul away. The criticism would have to be quelled, but eventually people would have no choice but to accept the match.’
Louis gnawed his thumb knuckle.
‘All you would have to do is arrange an annulment for Raoul so he and Petronella could wed,’ she said, her tone soft and persuasive. ‘It solves our dilemma.’
Louis’s frown deepened. ‘That may be so,’ he said slowly, ‘but we shall have to find bishops willing to annul the marriage.’
‘I have thought of that. The Bishop of Noyon is Raoul’s cousin, and Laon and Senlis will also be willing to assist.’ Bishops who could be bribed, in other words, or who had an interest. The knowledge hung between them like a bad odour, but she was determined to do everything in her power to make this right for Petronella. There would be opposition, but once Louis had decided, she could count on him to see this through. His motivation might have more to do with slighting Theobald of Champagne than securing Petronella’s future, but that did not matter.
‘Very well, I shall write to them,’ he said curtly, ‘but we should say nothing until plans are finalised. It will do your sister and Raoul no harm to spend time repenting without knowledge of this.’
‘As you wish.’
‘You had this all planned before you came to me, didn’t you?’
She looked up at him and put her hands on his chest. ‘Only a little,’ she said. ‘I had been worrying about it, that is all, and I wanted to talk to you. I knew you would know what to do.’
With a gleam in his eyes he set his hands to her waist and kissed her. The notion of slighting Theobald of Champagne through his niece filled him with a sense of power and royal righteousness that translated into a sudden strong sexual urge. And besides, he needed to put his wife in her place.
Alienor responded willingly to his excitement, because she had got him to do her will; she had solved the problem of Petronella and Raoul, and perhaps this time she would conceive.
Cold rain had turned the crowded streets of Paris into a vile, sulphurous-smelling sludge. No one could go about their business without miring their shoes and clothes. Even if puddles were skirted and leaped over, the noisome splatter from the press of general traffic was unavoidable.
At the palace, the shutters were open to admit the daylight, but they also brought in the stink from the city coupled with that of musty stone, damp from a cold, wet autumn.
Wrapped in a warm mantle lined with the pelts of Russian squirrels, Alienor sat before a brazier in her chamber holding a document with several seals dangling from cords at the base; despite the dismal day and the stench, she was smiling.