Devil's Consort (3 page)

‘Lady. I have heard much of your beauty. The rumours were not false. Your eyes are as fine and rare as … as emeralds.’

His flush deepened. I saw myself reflected in his eyes and knew that he was much taken with me. But that was not the reason for the ripple of surprised pleasure that stirred the fine hairs at my nape. Oh …

His flattering words were not in Latin!

How this man had courted me. And I had not at first noticed. He had gone to the considerable trouble to learn at least some words in my own language, the
langue d’oc
of the south, the official language of Aquitaine, rather than the
langue d’oeil
that Louis would speak in his Frankish kingdom.

‘You honour me,’ I murmured, failing to hide my astonishment.

‘I have tried. I learned the phrases on my journey here,’ he admitted with a soft laugh. ‘But my conversation would be limited. Perhaps we should revert to Latin. God give you good health, my lady.’

And so we slid smoothly into Latin again because we must, but the gesture to me was a fine one.

Louis kissed my fingers again, then my cheeks,
enveloping me in a cloud of sweet perfume. His lips were gentle on my skin. So he had bathed and anointed himself before coming to me. My pleasure deepened.

‘Forgive me that I did not come sooner,’ Louis explained. ‘I ordered a Mass to be said. I had to give thanks to God for my safe arrival.’

‘You are certainly well protected,’ I observed, with an eye to his guards.

‘My father and Abbot Suger—my father’s chief counsellor who has accompanied me at my father’s orders—both insisted. They must guarantee my safety in dangerous territory.’

It was said completely without guile, despite the covert slur on the state of law in my lands, neither was it the reply I had expected—but, of course, his father would be concerned. ‘Of course.’ I raised my hand to indicate a table with two low chairs set for us in a window embrasure. ‘Here is wine, my lord. Please sit and be at ease.’

We sat. At a signal my servants approached to pour the wine and uncover gold dishes of candied fruits and sugared plums. Louis accepted the cup from my hand.

‘Let us drink to our union.’ I raised mine to my lips. ‘May it be long and fruitful, to the advantage of both France and Aquitaine. As sweet as the sugarplums.’ I gestured to the bowl.

‘It will be my greatest delight.’

Louis took a small sip before pushing the cup aside.
He declined the sweetmeats. His gaze was fixed on my face. Again an uneasy silence fell between us.

‘What is it?’ I asked. I did not care to be stared at quite so fixedly.

He shook his head, formally grave. ‘I can’t believe my good fortune. If my brother had lived, he would have wed you. His misfortune is my gain. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. How can I not love you?’

My breath caught on a little laugh of surprise at his lack of worldliness. ‘I am deeply grateful.’ It was impossible to respond in any other fashion to so ingenuous an admission after ten minutes of acquaintance.

Louis was unaware. ‘I have brought gifts for you, lady, to express my esteem.’ He motioned forward one of his servants, indicating that he lift the lid of a little gold-bound coffer. ‘My father considered these to be a suitable gift for a young bride.’

His father considered …

If I was disappointed I did not speak it. Neither did I show my initial reaction to the choice of adornment for a new bride. In the coffer coiled a heavy chain of gold. A brooch to pin a mantle. Heavy matching bracelets. Valuable without doubt, set with magnificent cabochon gems, as large as pigeon’s eggs, but heavy, as suitable for a man as for a woman. And somehow northern, without finesse or the delicacy of form that I knew. Chains of gold, I thought, to tie me to the marriage. I promptly buried the thought and expressed my thanks.

‘Rubies are the most prized of jewels,’ Louis informed me ingenuously. ‘They preserve the wearer from the effects of poison.’

Poison? Did he expect me to be poisoned in my own domain? Or in Paris? It was in my mind to ask him. And rubies, for a red-haired woman. How unfortunate. And then not least—why had the Prince not chosen them himself for the woman he would marry?

How could a gift have been so unacceptable on so many levels?

‘I will value them,’ I replied graciously. My upbringing had been superb. ‘I have a gift for you too, my lord.’

I had thought long and hard about it. What to give a man on the occasion of our marriage. Not a sword—far too warlike. A stallion? Perhaps. I had rejected jewels. Then I had decided on something lasting, of beauty, an object of great value that would remind Louis of this moment every time his glance fell on it.

It stood on the table beside the wine flagon, wrapped about in silk. With a twist of my wrist I loosed the shroud to reveal a truly spectacular piece of workmanship from our own treasury in Aquitaine. It was old and very rare, a vase of roc crystal, decorated with gold filigree work, inset with pearls. The crystal shone with inner fire in the sunlight.

Louis touched it with one finger, his face solemn. ‘It is beautiful, but no more beautiful than you, lady.’

And that was it. He neither touched it nor looked
at it again. Was it not to his taste? How could such a thing of exquisite workmanship not please? It cried out to be handled, the crystal facets stroked and warmed between palms and fingers. I felt a frown gathering and struggled to smooth it out.

He does not look at it because he cannot take his eyes from your own face! You should be gratified indeed.

True enough.

Louis took my hand again, holding it strongly between his as if he needed to urge me. ‘We’ll wed immediately. I must return home to Paris—as soon as we can settle our affairs.’

Oh! So soon! My days in Aquitaine were fewer than I had supposed. ‘I had hoped to show you the hospitality of Aquitaine, my lord,’ I suggested. ‘We can take our time. Do you not wish to know your new land, your new subjects? What need to hurry so?’

Louis leaned forward so that his face was close to mine, lowering his voice. For one brief moment I thought he was actually going to kiss me, and stiffened at his boldness. No such thing.

‘Are your lords so peaceful and welcoming, then, to a Frankish prince?’ he asked, his breath warm on my cheek. ‘I do not think so. Abbot Suger is wary of staying longer than necessary.’

‘My lords are not hostile,’ I remarked carefully, unsettled by his openness, reluctant to admit to the lukewarm acceptance he would receive. ‘It is just that they don’t know you.’

Louis smiled immediately. ‘Then I’ll speak with them and win them over. I’ll be a fair ruler. I know they’ll accept that.’

Was he quite so innocent? So guileless?

‘They’ll come and swear fealty to you,’ I assured him. ‘They have been summoned.’

And pray God they buried their sour temper and bent the knee or we’d have trouble on our hands. How would this gentle, unassuming man deal with open defiance?

‘Then we’ll await their coming. Two weeks, my lady, but no longer. My father is ill. I am instructed to return by Abbot Suger.’

I chose my reply carefully. Soft acquiescence until I knew him better. ‘Then we will leave in two weeks, my lord, as you wish.’

Louis rose to his feet, drawing me with him with a hand to my arm. ‘There’s no need for concern, lady.’

‘Concern?’

‘I can understand your trepidation at being taken so far from your home. Neither have you your mother to give you advice.’

‘I don’t fear it, sir.’ My voice had more of an edge than I had intended.

‘We’ll make you welcome in Paris. My own lady mother is keen to meet you. I trust you’ll not be lonely there. I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy in any degree.’

My reaction at what I had considered to be a slight
to my maturity softened. Here was care for my well-being, where I had not expected it. It wrapped around my heart, a warm hand, that the Prince should even consider my isolation in a foreign land, in an unfamiliar court.

‘I would bring my women with me, sir. My sister.’

‘Of course. It’s my wish that you be comfortable,’

Whatever else this prince was, he was kind, generous. I curtsied deeply. ‘Tonight we hold a feast in your name, my lord.’

He placed his hand on his heart and bowed. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

And then as the Prince departed, surrounded by his bodyguard, I was left to sort through those first impressions. A mixed bag, for sure.

He had great charm, a winning smile. He was good to look at—but Prince Louis was not his own man, his actions, even his choice of gift under the thumb of his father. How … disappointing! I had expected a more forceful personality from a Frank, with their reputation for drawing swords first and asking questions later. Louis had not even worn a sword.

I ate one of the neglected sugarplums, licking the sugar from my fingers, considering the weight of jewellery in the casket.

Could this Louis Capet protect my lands for me? Hard to imagine at first sight. Louis was no war stallion, forsooth! More a gentle palfrey. I suspected that, if it came to a fight, the rebel Count of Angoulême
would trample him into the dust of Aquitaine before the Prince had buckled on his weapons.

I sighed.

But perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps there were advantages to be gained here. If the Prince came readily to his father’s hand on the bridle, why should he not come equally readily to mine? Could I not replace Fat Louis’s influence with my own? Surely it was not an impossibility? Since the Prince admired my person and my face so greatly, could he not be persuaded to listen to me and take my advice? I would tutor him in how to deal with my vassals. I would educate him in ruling Aquitaine. I would make myself indispensable to Louis Capet.

I smiled as I ate another plum.

Prince Louis might not be the worst husband in the world.

I stood and brushed the sugar from my sleeves. As I prepared to leave the chamber, waving my women to go before me so that I could fall into step with Aelith, it caught my eye. Louis had left the vase. There it stood, the sun still creating tiny rainbows within its crystal. Conscious of a little knot of disappointment, I instructed a servant to wrap and pack it carefully for the long journey to Paris. Then I closed the lid on the French casket. I supposed I would have to wear the gift for my wedding but I would not choose to wear it again. Still, I had hoped that Louis would have admired the vase …

‘Well?’ Aelith.

‘He’s good to look at. He’s thoughtful and considerate.’

‘He’s as pretty as a girl. So your husband will protect your lands for you, will he?’ As ever, my sister was not slow to voice her opinions. ‘Will this boy do it, do you think?’

‘Why should he not?’

‘He’s milk and water compared to our father!’

A flash of my eye silenced her. The fact that she had mirrored my own misgivings did not comfort me. I wanted a hawk. An eagle. I feared I was being matched with a dove.

‘He’s young.’ My reply was diplomatic. ‘We’ll grow together. And I will be at his side to strengthen him.’

‘I think your pretty prince is a virgin, lady.’ Bernart tapped an impudent rhythm against the belly of his lute.

I was feeling beleaguered here. Were Louis’s shortcomings as obvious to everyone as they were to me? I hoped not. To be the object of pity was more than I could tolerate.

‘Perhaps he is a virgin still. He is a perfect knight.’ I tried for magnificent sangfroid.

‘But will he be able to couch his lance?’ Aelith smirked, squeezing my hand.

A jest as old as time. I think I laughed with her.

I did not laugh later.

July, 1137:

The Ombrière Palace, Bordeaux.

‘W
ELL
, he’s come. Or at least his entourage has—I can’t see the royal banners. Aren’t you excited? What do you hope for?’

Aelith, my sister, younger than I by two years and still with the enthusiasms of a child beneath her newly developing curves, battered at me with comment and questions.

‘What I hope for is irrelevant.’ I studied the busy scene.

I had got Louis Capet whether I liked it or not.

I had thought about nothing else since my father’s deathbed decision to place me under the hand of Fat Louis—the King of France, no less—had settled my future beyond dispute. I wasn’t sure what I thought
about it. Anxiety at the choice vied with a strange excitement. Queen of France? It had a weighty feel to it. I was not averse to it, although Aquitaine was far more influential than that upstart northern kingdom. I would be Duchess of Aquitaine and Queen of France. I need not inform my newly espoused husband which of the two I considered to be the more important. Although why not? Perhaps I would. I would not be disregarded in this marriage.

I was Eleanor, daughter and heir to William, the tenth Duke of Aquitaine, the eldest of my father’s children, although not born to rule. Not that I, a woman, was barred by law from the honour, unlike in the barbaric kingdom of the Franks to the north, but once I had had a younger brother who had been destined to wear the ducal coronet. He, William—every first-born son was called William—was carried off by a nameless fever, the same as relieved my mother Aenor of her timorous hold on life. Leaving me. In the seven years since then I had grown used to the idea. It was my right to rule.

But I was nervous. I did not think I had ever been nervous before: I had had no need, as my father’s heir. My lands were vast, wealthy, well governed. I had been brought up to know luxury, sophistication, the delights of music and art. I was powerful and—so they said—beautiful. As if reading my mind, my troubadour Bernart began to sing a popular verse.

I smiled. The Queen of Joy indeed. My looking glass confirmed what could be mere flattery, the greasy, self-seeking compliments of a penniless minstrel towards his patroness. But I was not ingenuous. Alone, unprotected, unwed, there would be a limit to my powers. I needed a husband with a strong sword arm, and powerful loins to get an heir on me—for him and for myself. A puissant lord who would stand with me and secure the future for Aquitaine, a man who could lead men and demand the obedience of the power-hungry lords who would snatch what was mine. A man who would be a fit mate for such as I.