Gripping his other hand, she pressed it to her womb where new life was growing. And then she bowed her head and prayed.
She woke several hours later with the dawn filtering through the shutters, its grey light touching the sword and lighting a steely gleam along the blade. Her mouth was parched and her eyes felt hot and gummy. Henry’s hand was cold and for one terrible moment she thought his soul had flown his body in the night. His eyes were open, staring at her.
‘An almost king,’ he croaked. ‘What kind of insult is that?’
Alienor gasped, her breath leaving her as if snatched from her chest by an unseen force. She touched his cheek and it was gently warm under her palm. ‘The worst kind,’ she said shakily once she had drawn another breath. ‘I hope I never have to apply it to you.’ She held a cup of watered wine to his lips. ‘Will you drink?’
He took a clumsy sip, spilling the liquid down his chest. She dabbed it away with a napkin. His heartbeat no longer thundered against his ribcage and his skin was cool to the touch where it was exposed to the air. She pulled up the bedclothes.
‘Christ’s bones,’ he wheezed. ‘My chest feels as if it is full of rusty nails.’
‘You terrified us,’ she said. ‘We thought you were going to die.’
‘I dreamed I was drowning, but the sea was made of fire,’ he said. ‘And I dreamed I was being ripped apart by an eagle and fed to its young, but they were my young too.’ He drank again, this time more steadily, and then he looked at the sword down by his right hand. ‘What is this doing here?’
‘I brought it to you last night to help you fight because nothing else seemed to be helping – not all the prayers and supplication and entreaty. I could see you leaving my reach and I did not want to lose you. The sword drew you back.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘You came so very close, my love. You do not know, but those who watch over you did.’
She knew the fight was not over. One moment of lucid awakening did not signal a full recovery. They would have to be very careful with him in the days to come, and she knew he would not be an easy patient.
Henry was sleeping again when the Empress arrived, but Alienor was able to report that he had eaten some sops of bread in milk and his fever had abated. The sword had been locked in its chest and the bedclothes neatly folded over Henry’s torso.
‘Thank God!’ Matilda made the sign of the Cross on her breast and eased on to a stool at the bedside. ‘I prayed all night to the Virgin that his fever would break, and she took pity and listened to a mother’s entreaties!’
Alienor bit her tongue and did not tell her about the sword.
‘How frail we are.’ The Empress used the long sleeve of her gown to wipe her eyes, and then she straightened her spine and she rallied, her expression becoming proud and autocratic. ‘I will watch over him now. You go and sleep, my daughter.’
Alienor looked at the Empress’s dark-circled eyes and pale, dry lips. ‘You have not slept either,’ she said.
‘That does not matter; I have often gone for days without sleep in my life. You are with child and you must take care for both your sakes. It is my turn now.’
While Henry recuperated, Alienor spent her time at his bedside. For one who was usually so exuberant and brimming with energy, he was content to let time and rest render their cure. She fed him meals in bed, tempting him with tasty morsels of meat on skewers, little marrow tarts and custards. She told him amusing tales and brought musicians to play for him, especially his favourite harpist. She read to him from all manner of books, both serious tomes involving the law and judiciary, and lighter tales from history and myth. Being widely read, he already knew many of them, but was content to hear them again, saying he loved the sound of her voice, and the exotic accent of Poitou in her Norman French. She played chess with him, and they tallied even scores. She told him what was happening at court and they discussed a future campaign against Toulouse, planning strategies like an extension of their games of chess.
Day by day Henry improved. His appetite returned and he took up business again, summoning his barons and knights to his chamber and dealing with them for as long as his energy lasted. There came a morning when Alienor arrived to find him absent and his attendants making up the bed and clearing the crumbs of a meal from the table by the embrasure.
‘My lord said he was going out for a ride,’ said Henry’s chamberlain, ‘and that if you asked for him, he would see you and the Empress at the dinner hour.’
She knew then that all was back to normal, and although she was relieved and delighted that Henry was back to full health, a part of her regretted the loss of the moments spent together in this chamber enjoying mutual pursuits, because once again he would be too busy throwing himself at the life he had so nearly lost to find the time for his wife.
In the cold October morning, Alienor sipped the ginger tisane Marchisa had made for her while her women dressed her in warm robes. It was the first morning in several months that she had not felt sick on rising. Her belly, still flat a week since, now showed a soft curve, and her new gown of bright brown wool was gathered at the front around a red braid belt to emphasise that area.
Henry had come to bed late and risen early, his energy so abundant that it was impossible to believe six weeks ago he had almost died. Today he was setting out to deal with the matter of a rebellious vassal at Torigny, and although she would have liked to keep him by her for at least another week, she knew the limits of what was possible.
She sent Emma to fetch little William and his nurse, but the woman arrived minus her charge. ‘Madam, the Duke has taken him,’ she said. ‘He said something about the stables.’
Alienor called for her cloak and went down to the yard where she found Henry trotting his palfrey, Grisel, around the area, with William perched in front of him. The baby’s squeals of delight rang out as he grabbed for the reins and his father’s face was bright with laughter and pride. Henry was dressed to leave, his tunic topped by the padded garment usually worn under his mail, but used now as protection against the sharp wind. Little William was wrapped in his father’s cloak. Seeing Alienor, Henry reined about and trotted over to her.
‘I was giving our heir an early riding lesson,’ he said. ‘He learns fast.’
‘Of course he does,’ Alienor said. ‘He will be on a destrier by the time you return … unless of course you want to take him with you?’
‘Not until he can fasten his braies to his hose, put up a tent, and learn to be silent at the appropriate time,’ he chuckled, handing the baby down into her arms. William began yelling and strained himself towards Henry and the horse. Alienor kissed him, but swiftly bundled him over to his nurse.
Henry dismounted and took Alienor’s hands. ‘I hope to be back in Rouen before the Feast of Saint Martin,’ he said.
‘Have a care to yourself.’ She stroked the back of his hand where he had snagged himself on a thorn bush during a hunt two days ago. ‘I will hold you in my prayers.’
‘And I will keep you and our sons in mine.’ He touched her belly and then, cupping her face, kissed her. The gesture was sincere, but she could see his mind was on the open road and that he had already left her.
Alienor’s visits to the Empress at the abbey of Bec Hellouin were a thing of duty rather than a desire to spend time in the company of her mother-by-marriage, but today had been bearable thus far. Little William had recently taken his first steps and Matilda had been encouraging him in his newly acquired skill, brimming with pride as he toddled between herself and Alienor.
Alienor was taking a soothing footbath, the water imbued with herbs and scented oil. Little William wanted to splash in the water, but the Empress enticed him away with a piece of bread and honey.
Alienor put her hand to her belly. ‘The new babe keeps the same hours as his father,’ she said wryly. ‘I thought William was active, but this one is never still.’
The Empress smiled and lifted her grandson on to her knee to eat the food. ‘I wondered when you made this marriage with my son whether the advantage was worth the risk,’ she said. ‘You had a certain reputation, even if it was unwarranted gossip, and only two daughters from a marriage of fifteen years, but you have done well – thus far.’
Alienor felt a surge of irritation. The woman’s sensibilities were a strange paradox. She was thoughtful enough to offer the pleasure of a relaxing footbath, but then destroyed the gesture by her blunt and patronising attitude. ‘I wondered too whether the advantage was worth the risk,’ she replied. ‘Whether I was looking at a boy trying to fill a man’s shoes, but thankfully my doubts have been assuaged, just as yours have.’
The Empress started to look offended, but suddenly a glint of wintry humour softened her expression. ‘I think we have both come to an understanding, daughter,’ she said.
Which was not the same as liking, Alienor thought, but it would suffice.
There was a sudden commotion at the door where Emma had opened it to a panting messenger, who gasped out that he brought news of great import.
Alienor and the Empress exchanged fearful glances. The Empress gave her grandson to his nurse and Alienor hastily dried her feet and donned a pair of soft shoes. Dear God, what if Henry had been taken ill again? What if he had been injured – or worse?
The messenger, wind-blown from his journey and splattered with mud, came forward and knelt to the women. ‘Mesdames,’ he said, addressing both of them, ‘I bring news from my lord the Archbishop of Canterbury.’ He swallowed and gathered himself. ‘King Stephen died of a bloody flux at Dover four nights since …’ He held out a packet bearing the seal of Theobald of Canterbury.
The Empress grabbed it from him and broke it open. The parchment shook in her hand as she read what was written. ‘I have waited so long for this,’ she said, covering her mouth. ‘So very long. I knew the day would come, but now …’ Her chin trembled. ‘Henry was little older than my grandson when I began the fight. All these years … all these long, long years.’ Silent tears spilled down her face.
Alienor was stunned. She had expected Stephen to live for several more years yet – enough time to deal with Toulouse and raise her children in the warmth and joy of the south. Instead, she must turn and face a different prospect. She did not know the English. She did not know their ways or their tongue beyond a few words. She had thought she would come to it when she was Matilda’s age, and that by then she would be ready. She swallowed hard and set her jaw. Within her the quickening child turned and somersaulted. The messenger was still kneeling and she bade him stand. ‘Does my lord know?’ she asked. ‘Have messages gone out to him?’
‘Yes, madam, at the same time I came to you.’
‘Go and find food and refreshment. Take some rest and be ready to ride again when you are summoned.’
‘Madam.’ He bowed and left the room.
The women gazed at each other in the still moments of irrevocable change. The tears were still wet on Matilda’s face, highlighting the broken veins and ravages of advancing years. ‘I have been pushing against this for so long,’ she said. ‘It is like having your shoulder to a wheel and then suddenly the cart draws free, and you stumble into thin air.’ She went to the window, throwing the shutters wide on the grey October afternoon. ‘My son is a king,’ she said. ‘At last, he will wear the crown that was stolen when he was two years old.’
Alienor struggled to absorb the immensity of the news. Once more she would be a queen. When she married Henry they had talked of empires on their wedding night, but his coming into his birthright meant that now it was real.
Alienor accompanied the Empress to give thanks to God in the cathedral at Rouen. Gleaming on the altar was the imperial crown that Matilda had brought from Germany almost thirty years ago – a heavy object of burnished gold set with a mosaic of gemstones of differing colours and dimensions, from emeralds no bigger than a baby’s fingernail to a sapphire the size of a small clenched fist.
‘I would have worn this at my own coronation,’ Matilda said, ‘but now it belongs to my son, and to William in due course.’
Such was the aura of weight and power emanating from the crown that Alienor shivered. It would take a strong man to wear this, and a stronger woman to stand at his side.
As the women left the cathedral, the bells began to peal and were answered by all the churches across Rouen until the sky rang with joyous clamour.
Standing in a fisherman’s shelter on the harbourside Alienor drew her fur-lined cloak closely around her body and stared out across a sea the colour of a dull hauberk. There was sleet in the wind and the waves were brisk, crested with white foam. Henry’s small fleet rocked at anchor amid a steady traffic of barrels and boxes, chests and sacks that
were being borne from hand to hand up the gangplanks and stored on board the vessels. One ship longer than the others, an
esnecca
with sixty oars, flew a red and gold banner from her mast. Servants were putting the final touches to a pavilion to provide shelter on the crossing. She watched Henry bustling about on deck, checking this, poking into that, making sure that all was to his satisfaction.
They had been stranded in Barfleur for six weeks while the wind blew in the wrong direction and winter storms made the crossing more of a risk than leaving England to its own devices. Now the wind had changed and the seas, while still vigorous, had settled enough to embark. To catch the tide, they needed to be gone within the hour.
A flurry on the quayside announced the arrival of the Empress. She was dressed in full regal splendour as if for the highest court occasion, and the effect was both magnificent and incongruous against the wide seashore and battering weather. The wind flapped her veil and blew her jewel-encrusted gown against her spare, upright body.
‘Madam.’ Alienor curtseyed to her.
The Empress inclined her head. ‘So,’ she said. ‘It is finally time.’ Her jaw was rigid with tension.
Alienor nodded but said nothing. In the weeks that they had been waiting for the weather to turn, Matilda had made it clear she would never set foot in England again. It was a place too full of hard and bitter experience. ‘You have no memories of England,’ she had said to Alienor. ‘It is your turn to go and make them – and may they all be good ones.’ She had not smiled. ‘The people want a new young king and his fecund wife. They want summer out of winter. I am wise enough to know that, and to send the new green shoots into England with my blessing but without my presence.’