The Autumn Throne (56 page)

Joanna staggered to the laver basin and was sick, retching and sobbing. Alienor went to support her, an arm across her back. Joanna was taller than she was now, and it seemed a strange thing to be holding someone so much more robust. ‘Come now, come now. For the child’s sake do not upset yourself. You must lie down and rest.’

Joanna rallied, stifling her tears and wiping her eyes and face on the towel above the laver. ‘I cannot.’ Her voice was scratchy with tears. ‘I do not know which way to turn. My husband is at war somewhere in the field and nowhere is safe. I had placed my hopes on Richard but …’ She made a helpless gesture.

‘You have succour here with me,’ Alienor said firmly. ‘John will help you. For now you are safe and do not have to worry about your immediate welfare. Perhaps if you went to Fontevraud and rested while I finish what I must do here.’

Joanna returned to her chair, and was consoled enough to take refreshment and prop her feet on the footstool. Alienor did not want to talk about Richard. It was too painful and she was anxious about Joanna’s situation.

Joanna shook her head. ‘I never thought on the day I became Countess of Toulouse that I would find myself fleeing with nought but my immediate baggage, and this new babe less than five months in my womb. God pray that my son is safe. I left him in Toulouse with his nurse.’

‘You are overwrought. He is succoured, and so are you, and that is all that matters for now. John will aid you, and you have my protection for as long as you need.’

Joanna swallowed. ‘You are a rock, Mama. When all else is torn away by storms, you will still be standing.’

Alienor felt
the burden of Joanna’s trust settle upon her like another load on a pack horse. ‘You are my daughter,’ she said. ‘I will always stand in the storm for you.’

As Joanna made her way to Fontevraud, Alienor rode to Tours and there knelt to pay Philippe of France homage for Aquitaine. She had never met Philippe before and would not have done so now unless forced by circumstance. She esteemed him as a rival and an astute political player, but it did not make her loathe him any the less. She would never forgive what he had done to Richard. It was burned into her, soul-deep. She could not trust him an inch; he was without honour.

Outside the cathedral in Tours the summer heat beat down like a smith’s hammer upon the anvil, but it was shadowed and cool within the sheltering stone walls. Philippe had a look of Louis about the mouth and jaw. He was slim like his father but did not have his height, and both eyes and hair were light brown, the latter receding to show a shiny pink scalp beneath. No one would have marked him out as a king in a crowd of people; only his fine clothes and rings revealed his rank. But when she looked into his face, she met the expression of someone who only played to win – inscrutable and soulless even while professing pleasantry as he greeted her.

Alienor slowly knelt before him to pay homage for Aquitaine and stifled a gasp at the pain from her stiff joints. She was sick with bitterness that he should be alive while her beautiful Richard was dead. There was no justice in the world. But at least in making this oath and remaining Duchess of Aquitaine she could keep John safe and close the door on Arthur’s claim to Aquitaine. While she lived and held the sovereignty, there was no question.

Having stooped to give her the kiss of peace, Philippe was solicitous and helped her to her feet with courtesy and concern. But then he could afford to bide his time, and that knowledge was also part of her bitterness. She well recognised his ploy. Making it seem to others that she was ailing and frail served
to lessen her authority and hinted that she might soon die. Alienor accepted his help but stood tall and walked at his side with regal dignity to give the lie to such hints.

Philippe’s son Louis was present to mark the ceremony – a handsome youth of twelve years who greatly resembled his grandsire of the same name. Although wary of his father, she found herself liking the youth. He was ungainly because of his age but well-mannered and polite, and Philippe was clearly immensely proud of him.

At the formal banquet after the oath taking, Alienor sat at Philippe’s side, and it was almost as difficult as the time she had had to keep company with Heinrich of Germany, who was now thankfully dead. She made a pretence of enjoying the food, even though it almost choked her to swallow. Tomorrow it would be over. Tomorrow she could return to Fontevraud to see how Joanna was faring before going to Rouen to await John’s return from his coronation in England.

Philippe presented her with a tender morsel of venison. ‘It is a pity there has never been a marriage alliance between our houses that has endured. My father always wished us to be united and have peace from strife – as I do too.’

Alienor held the meat daintily between her forefinger and thumb. How she was going to eat it she did not know. She had never welcomed such an alliance herself. Having once been married to Philippe’s father, she had wanted to sever all ties of blood. Henry had never seen it that way. He had viewed it as an opportunity to seize in both hands. She thought of how Philippe had briefly chased Joanna in Sicily and concealed a shudder of distaste. ‘Perhaps God did not mean it to be,’ she said.

‘Mayhap,’ Philippe acknowledged, ‘but I was thinking that a marriage alliance now would help to heal what has gone before.’

Alienor somehow dealt with the sliver of venison. ‘Between whom, my lord?’

Philippe cut another slice of meat from the haunch. ‘Between my son and one of your Castilian granddaughters. It is a
generation removed and you might have fewer objections to such a match?’ He glanced at his heir and smiled. Louis remained politely silent, although his gaze was watchful.

‘Such a decision is not up to me, but to my son,’ Alienor said impassively.

‘But even now your word carries wisdom and weight.’

‘Even now?’ Alienor raised her brow at him in bleak amusement. ‘My flame has not burned out yet, my lord.’

‘Indeed I meant no insult,’ Philippe responded smoothly. ‘The point I was making was that you might or might not choose to speak, and your decision on the matter would make a difference to what happened.’

‘Perhaps,’ she replied, having served warning that kneeling to him did not mean she was beaten down. ‘I shall say nothing for now save to acknowledge you have mooted the idea. I will decide later whether to think upon it.’

Philippe inclined his head. ‘As you wish.’ There was humour in his gaze and speculation, as if something he had taken for granted had sprung a hidden surprise.

As soon as she could, Alienor made a graceful exit from the meal. ‘I beg your leave to retire,’ she said. ‘I have some long journeys ahead of me and an early start on the morrow.’

Philippe was content to bid her goodnight, but looked taken aback when she asked that his son should light her to her chamber instead of one of the squires. ‘If I am to think on certain matters, then I might find such a service instructive,’ she said as she rose to leave, attended by Richenza.

Philippe eyed her warily, but gestured with an open hand. ‘Of course. I trust that neither of you will lead the other astray. Louis, attend the Queen and see her safely to her chamber.’

Louis left his place at the table, bowed to Alienor, and summoned a servant to go before them with a lantern.

‘I have never been to Aquitaine,’ he told her as they walked side by side. ‘I would like to see it. My tutors often speak of places beyond my father’s domains, and then I wonder about them – not just Aquitaine.’

‘Well,
perhaps you will get your wish.’ Alienor wondered if he was plotting somewhere in his adolescent mind to expand the French dominions, just as Henry as a youngster had once plotted his own rule which now, ten years after his death, was gradually imploding.

‘I hope so.’ He gave her a half-shy, half-assessing look. ‘My father told me you were a good horsewoman.’

‘How would he know that?’ Alienor demanded with surprised amusement.

‘He says you went to the Holy Land with my grandfather who said you were as sturdy in the saddle as any man.’

Alienor laughed. ‘Yes, that was true once upon a time.’ She rather liked the youth who seemed genuinely interested and curious even if he had been sired by a snake. Perhaps Philippe had not meant it as a compliment that she had mannish tendencies, but the boy had phrased it as one. She suspected he was sharply political like his father, but he had a mind of his own.

At her chamber door she thanked him for his escort and he bowed to her and departed. ‘A personable youth,’ Alienor remarked to Richenza, and thought it a pity that she would not live to see the kind of man he would become if God spared him to grow up.

‘What did you think of the marriage suggestion, Grandmère?’

Alienor pursed her lips. ‘That it bears thinking about, but not just now.’

At Fontevraud Joanna had rested during Alienor’s absence, and since she felt much improved, was determined to accompany her mother to Rouen.

Alienor told Joanna about the French offer of marriage with Castile.

Joanna raised her eyebrows. ‘Will you advise John to pursue it?’

‘It will depend what France offers in return. It is John’s
decision to make, not mine. I have other matters to deal with when I am in Rouen.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Joanna said sombrely, ‘I know.’

Alienor thought about the casket sitting before the altar in the abbey church. Richard’s heart had been embalmed with preservatives, herbs and precious spices and encased in a rock crystal reliquary before being sealed in lead. Just a few months ago it had beaten within her son’s body, giving him life, driving him forward. In Rouen she would see to its interment beside his brother’s tomb and she was dreading the duty, but it must be done. And then she would return to Fontevraud and begin work on the effigies. It was time.

Alienor studied her remaining son thoughtfully. John had been crowned King of England two months ago and now, in his feast hall at Rouen, wore a golden diadem set with sapphires and rubies, reminding everyone of the fact that he was King, including himself. He was in a magnanimous mood because Alienor had just ceded her rights in Aquitaine to him, reserving her sovereignty.

The assembled barons sat at a lavish banquet at which no expense had been spared. Silver gilt goblets, spoons and dishes adorned the dais table with its white linen cloth. Dishes of roast meats and fish from sea and stream were arranged down the middle of the board, interspersed with boats of colourful piquant sauces and loaves of fine white bread. Numerous varieties and hues of wine had been provided, from a red as dark as pitch to the palest Poitevan gold, and one from Normandy that sparkled on the tongue.

Occasionally
John sent morsels from the high table to be presented to the less exalted retainers lower down the hall, and a couple of times he ordered the squires to take baskets of plain bread and loops of smoked sausage to the crowds loitering outside in hope of alms.

John had been delighted to see Joanna and was feting her at the table, sharing his dish and cup, calling her his dearest sister and promising that as soon as he was able he would come to her aid in the matter of Toulouse. Joanna basked in John’s attention, and as they indulged in banter and reminisced about their childhood, Alienor delighted to see them bonding as adults.

William Marshal sat close to Alienor. John had rewarded him with the title of Earl of Pembroke for his support immediately following Richard’s death and he was riding a crest of golden favour. He flirted gently with Alienor, making her laugh, and resurrecting echoes of the past when she had felt young and desirable. He was solicitous of her welfare, but not in a way that suggested she was an old woman, and she loved him for that.

‘I have to thank you for supporting my son,’ she said. ‘Without you and the Archbishop of Canterbury, his path would have been much less certain.’

William directed an attendant to refill her cup with more sparkling wine. ‘He is our rightful lord and a man full grown. I knew it was your wish and the late King’s, madam.’

‘It is not over yet. Aquitaine is stable for now, but the rest is in a state of flux. There is conflict over the Vexin, and the King of France will continue supporting Arthur in order to try and weaken us. I have done what I can in speaking with Philippe and doing homage for Aquitaine, but John must address the situation himself.’

‘I will do my best to advise the King, madam, but he has his own notions of procedure.’

Their conversation ended as William was called upon to sing, and he had perforce to rise and oblige the request. His
voice had deepened with the years, but the tone was clear and true as he sang a composition written by Alienor’s own grandsire, a poet of renown. The exquisite melody, the verses describing the joys of spring lifted Alienor’s heart and made her tearful but in an uplifting way, particularly when he came to the last verse and sang with his eyes on hers: