The Summer Queen (26 page)

Alienor suppressed the urge to mock the words.
Whoever goes with Louis need not fear because his soul will go to Paradise and dwell with the angels and Our Lord.
A worthy sentiment indeed, but if they went to Paradise, she suspected it might just be because Louis had gone and got them all killed. What she must do now was survive until she reached Antioch and the sanctuary and protection of her uncle Raymond.

It was so good to be back in Poitiers, if only for a short time. Alienor felt as if her body had been bound in coils of rope, wound so tightly that she could barely breathe. Now, suddenly, the end had been pulled, twirling her round, unravelling her until she was dizzy with exhilaration.

Golden sunshine flickered through the trees, burnishing the leaves of chestnut and oak with the first tints of autumn. The sky was a clear, fierce blue, and the weather perfect for the progress she and Louis were making through her lands to muster support for the crusade. Louis concentrated his efforts on churches and abbeys. Alienor spoke to her vassals, urging them to provide support for the relief of Edessa and Raymond of Poitiers, the only surviving adult male in the direct line of the Dukes of Aquitaine.

Petronella travelled with her in her household, all trace of her darker moods banished by being home under the warm southern sun. Her laughter rang out and she romped like a child, captivating Raoul all over again. It was not uncommon to come across them kissing in corners like a pair of lustful adolescents. Going for a walk one night, unable to sleep, Alienor came across them making love in the moonlit garden. Petronella’s legs were clasped around Raoul’s waist as they urged each other on with words better suited to a dockside brothel. It had been a shock to witness: raw, powerful, yet strangely beautiful. Alienor had tiptoed away without being seen, feeling wistful, even sad. Raoul and Petronella’s relationship might be volatile and imperfect, but it was real.

They came to Taillebourg, and there she received the homage of the vassals of the Charente. Geoffrey de Rancon knelt at her feet to pledge his oath, and swore that he would lead the men of Aquitaine with honour and defend her with his life on the journey to Antioch.

She raised him up and gave him the kiss of peace, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. ‘Then I shall be protected indeed.’ To know she and Geoffrey were going to be in close proximity to each other for many months, gave her a frisson of pleasure mingled with apprehension.

Having travelled as far as Bordeaux on their progress to raise funds and recruit for the crusade, Alienor and Louis returned to Poitiers. Geoffrey of Anjou arrived to pay his respects and Alienor felt a gleam of interest when he requested an audience with her. The last time she had seen the Count of Anjou had been at her coronation when she was a bride and little more than a child. The way he had looked at her had filled her with frightened excitement. These days she no longer lacked knowledge or confidence. She had become one of his kind and knew exactly how to deal with him.

On the previous occasion, he had come to pay his homage as a vassal to the young King of France. The daring red fox of Anjou, circling the edges of the court, ready to snatch at any morsels of opportunity that came his way. Now his military doggedness and prowess had rewarded him with the rule of all Normandy, and his power and prestige had risen to a level that could not be nudged aside.

‘Do you think he is here to take the Cross?’ Petronella asked, eyeing him avidly.

‘I doubt it,’ Alienor said with hard amusement. ‘His wife is fighting for her right to England and he is part of that fight. He has only just won Normandy and he is far too shrewd a player to abandon his gains.’

Petronella’s smile dimpled out. ‘I’m sure he will have a diverting answer.’

‘I am sure too,’ Alienor said with a gleam of anticipation. She was keen to match wits with him and see the differences that time had wrought. Summoning her ladies, she began making preparations for the exchange.

‘You are setting yourself up to be eaten alive,’ Petronella warned her.

‘On the contrary, I am donning my armour,’ Alienor replied, watching her ladies cascade rose petals into a large bowl of warm water. ‘A thousand petals to take the place of a sword. These are a woman’s weapons.’

Petronella licked her lips. ‘What will Louis say?’

Alienor tossed her head. ‘I have gone beyond caring what Louis will say. Let him speak as he chooses. He needs me and he needs my wealth and my vassals for this great enterprise of his.’

She perfumed her wrists and throat with the scent of roses and nutmeg. She had her women cover her hair with a veil of transparent silk gauze crowned with a coronet of pearls. Her dress was of cream silk damask, adorned by a gold belt stitched with more pearls. She slipped a ring on each hand: one a hoop of embellished gold, the other set with a large topaz, and that was all. Rather than hide behind her jewels, she wanted Geoffrey of Anjou to see the power and confidence of the woman wearing them.

Her guest was waiting for her in the great hall, standing before the hearth, and she saw him before he saw her. He was stooping to fondle the ears of Raoul’s silky grey gazehound. There was no sign of Louis, but she did not expect him yet. He had gone to pray at the cathedral, and once on his knees, he lost all sense of time. Nor would the announcement of the arrival of the Count of Anjou cause him to make haste, because time for God was more important than time for anything else.

Taking a deep breath, Alienor bade an usher bring the Count before her. The servant gave Geoffrey his message and the latter looked up and across at Alienor. This time, as their eyes met, she was ready for him and her regard was cool and steady. He did not back down, but neither did she, and she saw his glimmer of amused surprise. He still thought he was in control.

‘Madam,’ he said as he reached her, and bent his knee.

‘My lord Count,’ she replied. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘I find they are often the best kind.’ He raised his head, giving her the full effect of his gaze.

‘Well, let us hope so in this instance.’ She gave him a mischievous look. ‘I wondered, considering your ties with the Kingdom of Jerusalem, if you had come to pledge yourself to the rescue of Edessa?’

‘Madam, it is a vow I have often considered taking,’ Geoffrey replied smoothly, ‘but today I am here on other business that requires me to speak with the King.’

‘All that you say to my husband can be said to me,’ Alienor responded in a honeyed voice that nevertheless held an underlying sharpness. ‘Especially in Poitiers, where I am duchess.’

‘Indeed, madam, but it is a matter that concerns both of you.’

‘Well then.’ She extended her arm to him formally. ‘Come and take some wine and sit with me until the King returns from his devotions.’

‘Madam, I would be delighted to do so.’ He gave her one of those looks that had so devastated her when she was a girl. Now she acknowledged it with pleasure, like a cat lapping cream.

She took him outside to the garden and had the servants spread a trestle under the rich blue sky. She sent for her ladies and musicians. The former arrived in a flurry of butterfly colour, among them Petronella with her children, and leading by the hand little Marie, now almost eighteen months old and toddling. Her hair was a mass of silky gold ringlets and her eyes were deep blue like her father’s. Petronella curtseyed to Geoffrey and sent him a flirtatious look. Geoffrey responded in kind, and Petronella giggled behind her hand until she caught Alienor’s eye and sobered. Geoffrey’s gaze turned to the children, and lingered on the toddler.

The musicians arrived, wine was poured, and the pleasantries observed. Alienor lifted Marie on to her lap. Knowing she would be parted from her daughter for at least two years was so difficult that she kept trying to distance herself from the child. At times she succeeded, but then a glance, a giggle, a wave would wring her heart and her love for Marie would overwhelm her again, almost unbearable because of the terrible burden of impending loss. She wanted to give her everything, but at the same time realised how much was being taken away.

‘Like her mother she will leave a trail of broken hearts,’ Geoffrey said gallantly.

Alienor wondered if he had ever flirted with his wife, the indomitable Empress Matilda, like this. By all accounts their marriage was more of a battlefield than their political struggles. ‘And like her mother, doubtless her own heart will be broken more times than she can count before life is done with her and she learns to guard it,’ she said. At least she would be too young to remember the parting caused by the crusade. But Alienor would, and the only way not to break her own heart was to put it away and pretend she did not have one.

Geoffrey leaned towards her. ‘As soon as my son Henry is of age, I shall make him Duke of Normandy,’ he said. ‘And in the fullness of time he will be King of England, do not doubt it.’

So now they came to the reason for him being here. Alienor handed Marie to her nurse. ‘But I do have cause to doubt,’ she replied. ‘Louis’s sister is wed to King Stephen’s heir, so why should Louis or I support your endeavour?’

Geoffrey fixed her with a direct stare. ‘Because the Pope favours our cause and will block Eustace’s succession. Because Normandy is mine, and I am sure you would rather there was peace between France, Normandy and Anjou while you are absent. If France does not meddle in my affairs, then I shall not meddle in hers except to lend aid to Abbé Suger.’

Alienor ran her middle finger slowly around the rim of her goblet. ‘That will depend on what meddling entails.’

‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘How interesting.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you mean for me alone, or is my husband a part of this too?’

‘I am sure there are many propositions I could make to you alone,’ Geoffrey replied with a wicked smile, ‘but the one I had immediately in mind was of national rather than personal importance. Perhaps where England is concerned, you might want to think about putting your eggs in more than one basket?’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that Stephen’s son Eustace is wed to a French princess, but might it not be useful to wed my son to another one? That way, whichever of them becomes England’s King, you cannot lose – although of course I know the crown will go to my boy.’

Alienor ceased circling the goblet rim. ‘You are ambitious, my lord.’

‘That is no bad thing, especially when one is pragmatic about matters. When your daughter is old enough for marriage, Henry will still be a young man. There is no great age gap between them. Marie will be Queen of England.’

Alienor thought him presumptuous, but it was typical of the sort of plan he would hatch. Perhaps it was an idea worth considering too. ‘You are gambling that your son will win the crown and that I shall not bear Louis sons to inherit Aquitaine.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘You might say my dice are loaded. Henry is a young man of great ability and I have every confidence in recommending him to you, not just because of what he will inherit in terms of land, but in the potential he has within him.’

A flurry at the garden entrance heralded Louis’s arrival from his prayers. ‘I hope I may have your support in this proposal,’ Geoffrey said in a low voice as he prepared to go and make his obeisance.

‘I shall consider what you have said,’ Alienor replied courteously, giving him a gracious and enigmatic smile that told him she was the one in control now. She thought the notion had potential, but she was not going to show her hand so easily.

Alienor went to prayers with Louis that evening in the chapel of Saint Michael, and afterwards returned with him to his chamber. She glanced briefly at the crucifix on the wall facing Louis’s bed, and the bloodstained Christ hanging there in suffering. Louis’s God was everywhere, and he was not a loving one.

‘Have you received the proposal from Geoffrey of Anjou concerning the match between Marie and his eldest son?’ she asked.

Louis gave her a narrow, almost suspicious look and sat down; then he indicated that she should remove his boots, as was the duty of an obedient wife. ‘Who told you about the matter?’

Alienor knelt to perform the task while judging the tone she should take. Louis’s moods were so difficult to negotiate. At prayer he was meek and calm, almost vapid, but that could change in an instant. She could sense his hostility. ‘Count Geoffrey told me,’ she replied. ‘It seems a good match in many ways.’

Louis glowered. ‘He had a duty to tell me first – that is my prerogative as head of State and head of the household. I am his liege lord, and I will not have him tattling to women and going behind my back in this dishonourable way.’

Alienor removed his second boot. ‘I thought only of what would be best for our daughter,’ she said. ‘I gave him no answer.’

He looked away. ‘But you discussed it without my authority and without my leave.’

‘It is a queen’s duty to be a peacemaker,’ she said. ‘And to assist in such business.’

‘Your first duty is to me,’ he said tautly. ‘I will not have you dealing without my say-so. My mother warned me you were not to be trusted, and that you would go your own way, and she was right.’

‘And of course your mother is the fount of all wisdom,’ Alienor retorted. ‘Did she not have a say in the rule of France when she was wed to your father?’

‘Yes, she had a say, and most of it was meddling and false.’ His face contorted. ‘I shall not make that mistake with you.’

Alienor met his stare. ‘I am not like her. The Count of Anjou said nothing to me that I would not say to you and I made no commitments, but I think it a good match.’

Louis narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you indeed? Perhaps you are seduced by the Angevin’s glamour, but I am not. He went to you first and behind my back, and that does not make him suitable as a father-by-marriage for our daughter, or to aspire to be closer kin.’