‘From Anjou,’ Louis said, breaking the letter open. As he read the lines, his expression grew sombre. ‘Geoffrey le Bel is dead,’ he said. Handing the note to Alienor, he started to quiz the messenger.
Alienor read the parchment. It had been dictated by Henry and, although courteous, gave the barest details. The messenger was relaying the meat of the story: that Geoffrey had been taken ill on his way home after bathing in the Loire, and was to be buried in the cathedral at Le Mans.
‘I cannot believe it.’ Alienor shook her head. ‘I know he was not altogether well in Paris, but I did not think he was sick unto death.’ She felt a welling of deep sorrow, and tears filled her eyes. She and Geoffrey had been rivals, but allies at the same time. She had enjoyed matching wits with him and had basked in the glow of his admiration. Flirting with him had been one of her pleasures and he had been so beautiful to look upon. ‘The world will be less rich for his passing,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘God rest his soul.’
Louis dismissed the messenger and murmured the obligatory platitudes, but there was a glint in his eye. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we shall have to see about the new young Count of Anjou, and whether the boy has the mettle to cope with his responsibilities. I thought him an ordinary youth when he came to court with his sire.’
Alienor said nothing, partly because she was struggling to absorb the shocking news, and partly because this changed everything. She was also wondering how ordinary a youth Henry actually was.
‘It can only be good for France to have an inexperienced youngster to deal with.’
‘He loved his father dearly,’ Alienor said. ‘That much was clear when they came to Paris. He must be sorely grieving.’
‘As well he should.’ Louis turned away to talk to his nobles. Alienor made her excuses and retired to her allotted chamber. Calling for writing materials, she sat down to pen a letter to Henry, telling him how sorry she was and that she would pray for his father. She commended Henry’s fortitude and hoped to express her condolences to him in person on a future occasion. The tone of the letter was courteous and conveyed nothing that could be misconstrued as inappropriate, even by the likes of Thierry de Galeran, whom she had no doubt would read her correspondence if he got the chance. She sealed the letter and bade her chamberlain give it to the messenger from Anjou. Pouring herself a cup of wine, she sat down before the hearth and gazed into the red embers, thinking that if she did marry Henry, she would be facing Louis squarely across a political chessboard, and would need every iota of skill and good fortune to survive.
Alienor entered Poitiers riding a palfrey with a coat dappled like pale ring mail. La Reina perched on her gauntleted wrist, white feathers gleaming. The sky was as blue as an illumination and the sun, despite encroaching autumn, was strong enough to be hot. Alienor felt a wonderful sense of freedom, of coming home, as her vassals flocked to greet her. At first there was no sign of Geoffrey de Rancon, but she could see several Taillebourg and Gençay barons among the gathering. And then she glimpsed him in the throng, recognising immediately the dark wavy hair and tall, straight posture. He turned and her rising heart sank again as she saw it wasn’t Geoffrey at all, but a much younger man – a youth almost.
He approached her and knelt with bowed head. ‘Madam, my lord father sends his apologies for his absence and hopes to meet with you shortly. A slight illness has kept him from riding out to greet you, and I have come as his namesake and in his stead.’
Alienor knew Geoffrey would not have stayed away for a ‘slight’ illness. Nothing short of catastrophe would have prevented him from being here today and she felt a frisson of anxiety. There was nothing she could do here though, trapped in a public situation with a young man who had no notion of the depth of the bond between herself and his father. ‘Then I wish him a swift recovery and I hope to see him soon,’ she said and bade him rise.
He inclined his head but she saw the doubt in his eyes. They were both speaking in platitudes and knew it.
Once again Alienor held court in her great hall in Poitiers. A silk hanging powdered with gold stars canopied the thrones where she and Louis sat side by side. La Reina perched on a tall stand at Alienor’s side, symbolising her authority. Alienor had not been to Poitiers since before the long journey to Jerusalem, and although the decoration in the hall was rich, the entire place needed refurbishment. Some of the mortar had seen better days and after the wonders of Constantinople and Jerusalem, it seemed parochial and small. Once she was free of the marriage, she vowed to herself she would build a new one to better represent the standing of Aquitaine among the courts of the world.
Louis retired early to his prayers, his mood sour. Alienor suspected it was because her vassals had greeted her with cheers and snubbed him. The joy with which the talk of an annulment was being received was a blow to Louis’s pride. His jealousy filled Alienor with amused contempt and she held court with relish. The more Louis scowled, the more she flirted and exercised her wit and power. She knew her vassals were pondering what would happen once the marriage was annulled. Already men were vying to be castellans of the fortresses that Louis’s French garrisons were giving up. Alienor was entertained by the overtures made to her by barons eager for their share, but she neither hinted at nor promised anything she was unprepared to give and she remained cautious. If Geoffrey was as indisposed as the hints suggested, she could not rely on him as she had hoped. She decided to make a visit to Taillebourg her next priority.
Alienor and Louis arrived at Taillebourg on a wet morning in early October. The great fortress guarding the Charente crossing shone as if it were clad in mail, and the river was a sheet of beaten steel, reflecting the heavy sky. The rain was fine and felt like moist cobwebs on Alienor’s face as they rode under the entrance arch and into the courtyard. Geoffrey’s son had ridden ahead the day before to make all ready, and he hastened to welcome them and bid them enter out of the rain. His sisters Burgundia and Bertha were present too with their husbands. Burgundia was tall like their father with his dark hazel eyes. Bertha was plump and merry with dimples in her cheeks, although her customary sparkle was subdued as she knelt to Alienor.
The great hall was spruce and cared for. A lively fire burned in the hearth; the floor rushes had a sweet, clean aroma. Fresh candles burned in the sconces to augment the weak grey light from outdoors. Alienor gazed round the room and felt memories pressing in on her, demanding acknowledgement. She had played chess with Geoffrey in this hall and joyed in music and dance with him and his family. She had seen his children lying in the cradle and wept for them all when Geoffrey’s wife had died in childbirth. Later, she had looked at Geoffrey with a young woman’s first awareness in the spring, and he had taken her hand. Then her father had died and her world had crumbled. Last time she had come to Taillebourg was as Louis’s bride.
She and Louis were shown to separate chambers this time. There was not even the pretence of unity. Alienor was relieved that her allotted room was not the one of her wedding night but a smaller chamber with warm red hangings and a brazier to keep out the chill from the river. Soft lamplight gave the room a welcoming feel. A selection of books stood on a hinged chest-seat, arranged to catch the best of what light there was should she wish to read. As Marchisa was helping her to remove her cloak, the eldest daughter Burgundia brought a brass bowl of warm scented water for washing.
‘I was sorry to hear your father has been unwell,’ Alienor said. ‘Dare I hope he is any better?’
Burgundia looked down, concentrating on not spilling the contents of the bowl. ‘Your visit will much improve his spirits, madam,’ she replied. ‘He has talked about it often and it heartens him.’
Alienor washed her face and hands, and dressed very carefully. She donned an undergown of the finest linen, delicately embroidered, and then a dress of green silk with hanging sleeves stitched with pearls and emeralds, and a gold belt decorated the same. She had Marchisa coil her hair in a net of gold mesh and perfumed her wrists, throat and temple with some scented oil that Melisande had given her in Jerusalem. Lastly, she pinned to her gown the eagle brooch Geoffrey had sent her. Toilet complete, she drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and went to see him.
Geoffrey’s son was present in the chamber, together with various officers of the household. Geoffrey himself sat in a chair by the clear light of the window embrasure. He too had dressed for the occasion and wore an embellished tunic of deep red wool. As Alienor entered the room, he rested his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself to his feet.
She strove to conceal her shock at the sight of this skeleton clad in a parchment-thin covering of yellow flesh. He trembled with the effort of standing upright.
‘Madam,’ he said weakly. ‘Forgive me that I cannot kneel to you.’
Alienor stretched out her hand to him. ‘There will be no talk of forgiveness between us,’ she said. ‘We have known each other too long for that to be necessary. Please – sit.’
Gripping the table at the side of the chair for support, Geoffrey eased himself down and gasped. His son produced a cushioned chair for Alienor, facing his father. ‘Why did you not tell me you were so sick?’ Alienor demanded.
Geoffrey gave a languid wave of his hand. ‘Because I hoped I would improve. I still hope with God’s blessing to do so because there comes a time when there is nothing left but hope, whether for recovery or salvation. If that is gone, what remains but a void? I knew you would come, and I prayed to be given the grace to see you again.’
Alienor’s throat closed. This was unbearable. She wanted to throw her arms around him, and could not because of the public situation. ‘I am here now.’ She covered his hand with her own, the gesture appearing concerned and compassionate to the eyes of witnesses, but meaning so much more.
‘My son will serve you well. I have had him in harness ever since my return from Antioch and he is both skilled and diligent.’
Alienor glanced at the young man and he bowed to her, his complexion ruddy. ‘I am sure you will be a credit to both your father and to Aquitaine,’ she said, and then, turning back to Geoffrey, lowered her voice a note. ‘There are things I would say to you of a private nature between friends.’
Geoffrey gestured to his son. ‘Leave us,’ he said. ‘I will summon you if it becomes necessary.’
Since the lord’s chamber was public during the daytime, the young man’s ‘leaving’ meant withdrawing out of earshot but not quitting the room.
‘I do not know what to say.’ She continued to pitch her voice low, dreadfully aware that they might be overheard. ‘I am filled with great sadness. I hoped to have you for many more years to come.’
He gave a wan smile. ‘You will always have me,’ he said. ‘Nothing has changed. We have always spent more time apart than together, have we not?’
‘Not from choice.’
‘But it is the way of the world.’
She noticed how cold his hands were, and the effort he was making to breathe. ‘It does not make it easier to bear.’ She looked down and bit her lip. ‘I have received an offer of a second marriage when this one is annulled.’ She paused to steady herself, then raised her head and said, ‘Henry, Duke of Normandy, has asked me to accept his suit.’
Geoffrey gazed at her with yellow-shot eyes and his expression did not change. ‘And what did you say?’
‘I gave no answer. I wanted to discuss it with you, but I can see you need to rest.’
Geoffrey gathered himself. ‘I have enough strength to talk with you even if my light is dwindling,’ he said with dignity and leaned back in his chair. ‘He is much younger than you.’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Not long into manhood, although already in the thick of the fray. He came to Paris with his father.’ Knowing that Henry’s father was so recently in his grave brought the spectre of mortality further into the room. ‘I did not know what to make of him. He was circumspect and quiet much of the time, but I think it was a deliberate ploy. It does not accord with what I hear of him from others who say he is brisk and confident in all things. I am not sure of him, and that makes me hesitate.’
And I thought I would have you at my side, to advise me, but it is not going to be.
‘His father was eager to have the match agreed, but he has always wanted to unite Anjou and Aquitaine – and he was careful, as you would expect. If Louis had caught even the edge of a notion about their plan, he would have had them skinned alive.’
Geoffrey drew a laboured breath. ‘If you do marry the young man, Louis will not forgive either of you for as long as he lives.’
Alienor raised her chin. ‘I do not care for Louis’s opinion in this. As his wife I have often feared his moods and been disgusted by the way he has treated me, but as a political opponent, he does not frighten me. He is not my equal.’
‘Indeed not.’ Geoffrey gave a wry smile. ‘You have time to think on the matter and to observe the Duke’s progress.’
She nodded. The word ‘time’ was another that filled her with grieving.
‘You will have to make a match with someone,’ he said. ‘And there are few enough of worthy status.’
She swallowed. ‘You know my thoughts on that.’
‘Indeed I do, but we both know it would not be the right road for Aquitaine, and it is a path that cannot be taken now anyway.’ His head drooped as if it was too heavy for his neck to support, and there was a grey tinge to the sallow hue of his skin.
‘I will make sure your son is given the attention and support he needs,’ she said, striving to keep her voice steady. ‘I will do my best for him as I know he will do his best for me and for his father.’ She removed her hand gently from his. ‘I think you should rest awhile.’
Geoffrey forced his head up. ‘You will visit me again before you leave?’
‘Of course; you do not need to ask.’ She stood up and lightly touched the side of his face in a gesture that to others was the affection of the Duchess towards a loyal vassal in difficult circumstances, but in her heart it was a deep cut. This was not a good place to bid farewell.