Melisande looked troubled. ‘You are set on this?’
‘I already have deputations at Rome working on my behalf.’
‘What will you do if your annulment is granted?’ The Queen of Jerusalem shook her head. ‘You will be an irresistible marriage prize to someone. You will be immensely wealthy and still with many years of childbearing ahead of you. What ambitious noble would not snap you up and devour you?’
‘I have loyal protectors,’ Alienor replied with bravado. ‘I shall do what I must.’
‘Then I wish you well. The world is a murky place, as well you know, and it is wise to look ahead and to plan for more than one situation.’
‘I have always tried to do so,’ Alienor replied. ‘I was taken by surprise in Antioch. I underestimated my enemy and it was my downfall.’
Melisande gave her a sidelong glance. ‘You must be aware of the rumours about you and your uncle in Antioch. I do not for one moment believe them, because I know what it is to have defamatory tales spread about your moral reputation by those intent on bringing you down, but the smear remains.’
‘Yes, I have heard the gossip,’ Alienor said with stiff composure and drew back a little, because Melisande was touching on ground that was still too raw to bear a footfall.
‘You should bear a son, and become a widow,’ Melisande said. ‘That is the best power you will ever have as a woman, believe me – unless you become a nun of your own volition. And even then, sons grow up and demand power in their own right. They will fight you for it, even as a husband will take it from you. That is the way of the world.’
‘What comfort am I supposed to take from that?’ Alienor asked, her throat tight with suppressed emotion.
‘I was not offering you comfort,’ Melisande replied coolly, ‘but if you are going to plan ahead, you should take these things into account so that you may deal with them should they arise.’
‘My heir is a daughter,’ Alienor said.
My sons have died.
‘As I was to my father, and as you were to yours.’ Melisande leaned forward in emphasis. ‘You are still young enough to have a different life.’
Alienor took a drink of wine and steadied herself. ‘I intend to,’ she said.
Louis celebrated the Nativity in Bethlehem under a cold star-glittered sky, kneeling at the shrine covering the site of the stable where the Christ child had been born. Tears of exalted rapture streamed down his face. Alienor celebrated at his side, although it was almost more than she could bear, this joy for the birth of a holy infant, when her own son lay in an unmarked grave, never to be acknowledged except by her. She was tired of being a guest of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Much as she enjoyed Melisande’s company, she was ready to leave. All the commands, all the arrangement, all the government was by another’s will and it was not her home. Louis remained obsessed with his pilgrimages. Like a little child craving sweets, he was greedy for more even though he had had a surfeit.
The French army had broken up in September and the troops had begun wending their way home. Louis’s brother Robert had set out with most of the French contingent, leaving a nucleus of soldiers and servants – enough for an entourage, but not an army. Louis said he would follow shortly, but the intent went no further than words and was soon forgotten.
Alienor paced her chambers in Jerusalem like a prisoner, albeit that she had every comfort. She went to the souks and the bathhouses. She attended the local shrines; she prayed at the sepulchre. She read, embroidered, played chess, wrote numerous letters and marked time. Still Louis made no effort to return home. There were more shrines and holy places to see and others to revisit to fix them in his mind. While he was thus occupied he did not have to think about what was waiting for him: the hardships of governance and the decisions about the future. He hid himself amid the glories of God and made them his only reality.
Suger sent letters urgently requesting Louis’s return, and Louis cast them to one side after barely scanning the contents. Alienor had received letters too, from her nobles and clerics, and although Suger had not written to her, she knew full well what was happening.
‘Suger is losing control,’ she said, pinning Louis down to a conversation before he could disappear on yet another excursion. ‘There is no reason for us to stay here. You have seen every site of importance and numerous others more obscure. France will descend into chaos if you do not return, and Aquitaine too.’
‘You exaggerate,’ he growled with a dark look. ‘Suger is an old woman; he fusses too much, but he is still capable of holding all together.’
‘No,’ Alienor said. ‘Suger is an old man beginning to fail. It is your duty to rule France, not his. And I have a duty to my people in Aquitaine – how can I fulfil that duty while I am here? How much longer can we govern from a distance, Louis? Your brother Robert is threatening to seize the regency from Suger and your mother is egging him on. Raoul of Vermandois sits on the fence. Even if we set out today, by the time we arrive in Paris, we will have been gone for three years. And we won’t set out today, or tomorrow, or the next day, or even next week, and all the time your rule at home falls into chaos. How long since Suger wrote to you?’
‘Do not badger me,’ Louis snapped. ‘There is time enough, and Christ must come first.’
‘Then in all that time enough, tell me when shall we leave? At least I can begin to make preparations.’
‘Easter,’ he said. ‘I shall celebrate Easter in Jerusalem, and then I shall see about departing.’
‘That is more than two months away.’
‘Then it gives you time to prepare,’ he said coldly. ‘I refuse to go until then. I worshipped in Bethlehem at His Nativity. Now I shall celebrate His death and resurrection in the time and place where it happened.’
He had the stubborn glint in his eye that told her she would get nowhere by arguing. ‘When we reach Rome, I shall still have my annulment,’ she said.
Louis shrugged. ‘If the Pope agrees, then let it be done.’ His tone was indifferent, but there was tension in his jaw. She knew Suger kept advising him not to agree to an annulment. People would say that a man who could not keep his wife or beget heirs was a poor warrior and a weak excuse for a king; and when a king was not virile and in command, then the country suffered. To her advantage was the fact that Louis was ambivalent about Suger’s advice. An annulment would mean a fresh start, and to offset the loss of Aquitaine, Louis could find a new queen with a good dowry and whatever affinity she brought to the match.
When he had gone, Alienor called for parchment and quills, and wrote to Geoffrey de Rancon. It took several months for correspondence to reach Aquitaine and the same the other way, and she had to be certain there was nothing within her letters to give her away. It was the same with him. He wrote her reports that on the surface were no more than the words of a loyal vassal discussing business with his liege lady, but they were both adept at reading between the lines.
She had told him of the loss of the child and he had grieved. He was doing his best to hold Aquitaine steady during her absence, but was finding Suger and French meddling a trial. He thought of her often, and prayed for her return, and a positive outcome in Rome. He had accompanied his most recent letter with a brooch bearing the symbol of an eagle enamelled in jewel colours with its wings outspread. She wore it every day and she touched it now before dipping her quill in the ram’s horn of dark ink and writing that she would be home by the time the next harvest filled the barns, and that, God willing, she would be free.
Alienor gazed at the sun-sparkle on the sea as the Sicilian galley ploughed white furrows through the deep sapphire water. A stiff breeze filled the sails and they were making swift headway towards their intended destination of Calabria. The cook was frying freshly caught sardines on deck and preparing to serve them with hot flatbread flavoured with garlic and thyme.
By narrowing her eyes, Alienor could make out the other vessels in the French fleet. Louis’s ship was naturally the largest, and flew a blue and gold fleur-de-lis pennant from the top of the mast. Her own vessel, bearing both the fleur-de-lis and the eagle of Aquitaine, was smaller but she was glad not to be sailing with Louis. Being in his company was like having a stone in her shoe.
They had been at sea for four days and it would be another fortnight before they reached Calabria, ruled by their ally King Roger of Sicily. And then from Calabria to Rome and the blessed relief of annulment.
The cook slid the sardines on to a platter and added a sprinkle of herbs. A squire presented the dish to Alienor and she had just taken the first, delicious bite when they heard a shout from one of the other vessels and horns sounding across the water.
She hastily chewed and swallowed. ‘What is it?’
The crew began shouting to each other and hastened to trim the sails, seeking to gain more speed. The cook took a jug of water and doused his fire. ‘Greeks, madam,’ he said tersely.
Filled with alarm, Alienor set her food aside. The Greeks were at war with the Sicilians, and since Louis had declared himself Sicily’s ally and their ships belonged to King Roger, they were open targets. Emperor Manuel Komnenos had promised a reward should any captain take the King and Queen of France hostage and bring them to him in Constantinople.
Alienor stepped aside as the crew hauled on the sail. They were on the outer edge of the convoy and, despite the efforts of the sailors, they were being left behind except for one other vessel. The others, rather than turning to fight, were breaking out the oars and running for all they were worth.
Tight-lipped she watched the enemy bearing down on them. The newcomers had more oars and were closing the gap so swiftly that there was nothing to be done. The Greek ships shone with bronze cladding at their prows, formed into the shape of elongated animal snouts. When primed, the tube at the end of the snout would blaze out deadly Greek fire.
‘I would rather throw myself overboard than go back to Constantinople,’ Alienor said to Saldebreuil, who was standing beside her, his hand on his sword hilt.
‘Madam, it will not come to that. Help will come.’
‘It had better.’ Briefly she put her face in her hands. Once again she was powerless because she could do nothing to avert what was happening.
The Greeks soon overhauled their smaller galley, forcing them to surrender. The Greek shipmaster was delighted at his prize and although he treated Alienor with deference, she could sense his smug satisfaction as he ‘welcomed’ them aboard his own vessel.
‘The King of France will make you pay for this,’ she said. She felt like a hissing cat cornered by a large dog.
He was highly amused when her words were translated to him. ‘Oh no,’ he said with a grin. ‘He will pay me!’ And patted the coin pouch at his hip to make his meaning clear.
Alienor retired to the deck shelter provided for their use. Some of the crew from her galley were taken prisoner and locked in irons. Others were left on board their own ship with the mast removed and all oars but six thrown overboard. Saldebreuil’s sword was confiscated; however he had managed to conceal a short dagger down the side of his boot.
Alienor’s possessions were treated as booty by the Greek captain. A beautiful ivory-cased mirror and comb that Melisande had given her disappeared into his baggage, as did a crimson silk dalmatic embroidered with golden eagles.
‘Sons of whores,’ Saldebreuil muttered. ‘I will slit their throats while they are sleeping.’
‘You will do no such thing!’ Alienor hissed. ‘You would be caught and we would all suffer. I cannot afford to lose you on top of everything else. Mark who takes what so we can retrieve it later.’
‘I will geld the one who has my sword,’ Saldebreuil said, his dark eyes gleaming.
They were sitting in a morose huddle when another shout went up and suddenly the Greeks were hoisting sails and running to their oar benches. The ship shuddered as the rowers began to pull, propelling her forward in long sweeps, gaining momentum with each surge. Alienor stood up and shaded her eyes. They were being pursued and even as the Greeks had caught her galley with ease, so they in their turn were being overhauled.
Saldebreuil stood up beside her. ‘Well, here’s an interesting pass,’ he said. ‘The big fish swallows the little fish, and then the whales swallow all.’
She looked up at him. ‘Do we want to be swallowed by a whale?’
‘Yes if it’s a Sicilian one.’ He narrowed his gaze and said softly, ‘Twenty biremes of a hundred oars apiece, and they’ll be carrying Greek fire. This ship only has sixty oars and the men have already fought once today. They’ll be on us before sunset.’
The Greek captain had Alienor’s knights put in fetters and chained to the sides of the ship, and set a soldier to guard their group. ‘What a unique experience to tell my grandchildren, should I live long enough to beget their father,’ Saldebreuil said, rattling his iron bracelet. ‘Does it become me, madam?’
‘Be quiet, you fool,’ she snapped.
‘It doesn’t then.’ His smile flashed. ‘I must needs be rid of this jewellery swiftly in that case.’
Alienor met his gaze and then glanced the slight bulge at the top of his boot.
The Sicilian biremes caught the Greek ships as the sun began to sink towards the horizon. An evening wind had got up, making the waters choppy, and clouds were chasing in from behind their pursuers, threatening a summer storm. Their ship, unable to outrun her pursuers, turned to fight. Alienor pressed her lips together as the Greek galley wallowed on the water. The crew at the bows was preparing the Greek fire to spew out of the bronze snout at their enemy and Alienor inhaled an alien smell: oily, greasy, chest-squeezing.
The two groups of ships closed on each other and spouts of flame roared from the brass tubes. Amid a chaos of bellowed orders, ships tacked frantically to avoid being hosed by deadly fountains of fire. Sails turned to blazing rags of red and gold, matching the sky. Men became living torches and leaped into the sea, where still they burned as the unquenchable Greek fire spread over the water like a fallen sunset.