The Summer Queen (10 page)

‘Oh no, my lady mother,’ Alienor replied innocently. ‘The good Abbé was very clear that we should all clothe ourselves as peasants and exercise humility.’

‘Abbé Bernard made you do this?’ Adelaide’s eyebrows disappeared into her wimple band.

‘He made it known what was expected of us,’ she said and, having made a deep curtsey, swept on up the tower stairs to her chamber, raising her skirts above her bare feet and ankles to show them off.

Behind her, she heard Adelaide clucking like an old hen. Petronella was making strange noises in her throat as she strove to stifle her giggles, and the sound was so infectious that the other ladies joined in, although Constance’s was a timid echo. By the time they reached their chamber, they were almost helpless, and holding on to each other. But in the midst of laughter, wiping her eyes, Alienor felt very close to tears.

Hearing the giggles in the stairwell, Adelaide’s throat tightened with anger and chagrin at the behaviour of the young women, even her own daughter. The insolence of those pale, bare feet! The impropriety mortified her and filled her with unease bordering on fear. Had she still been Queen of France such conduct would not have been tolerated. The standards being set by this upstart foolish child from Aquitaine were lax beyond decent measure. She did not for one moment believe that the good Abbot of Clairvaux had commanded Alienor and her ladies to go barefoot – she would have the truth of that from Constance or Gisela. Something would have to be done. Adelaide rubbed her temples, feeling old and tired and beset.

‘Madam?’

She straightened her spine and faced Matthew de Montmorency, one of the court stewards.

‘Madam, I have spoken to the chamberlain, and he has sent out bread and wine to Abbé Bernard and his pupils.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘I bade him serve the refreshment in plain vessels and without a cloth for the trestle board.’

Adelaide gave a brusque nod. Bernard would appreciate the quality of the repast, and at the same time, be approving that it was humbly served. Matthew had judged it well, but then he always did. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, exhaling on a sigh. ‘I am sorely tried these days and I appreciate your forethought.’

‘Whatever you need, you have only to ask, madam.’ De Montmorency bowed. Adelaide watched his firm stride and straight back as he walked away to attend to his duties, and felt a lifting of her spirit. If only others possessed his sense of courteous propriety.

The court assembled at the city of Bourges to celebrate the Christmas feast and to crown Louis and Alienor before a great gathering of vassals and courtiers. The city was full to bursting with nobles and their retinues and as always there was a large overspill of tents and shelters to lodge those who could not be accommodated within the castle or at the inns and hostels in the city.

Alienor intended wearing her wedding dress for the coronation ceremony, but it had to be altered because she had grown taller since her marriage and her figure had developed the fuller curves of womanhood.

Set free from yet another fitting by the seamstresses, she went arm in arm with Petronella to the great hall where an informal meal had been arranged on trestles for the senior barons and vassals. Tomorrow the seating would be official, but today the still-arriving guests could mingle as they chose.

‘I wager you a gold ring that Louis’s mother will find excuses to spend time with Matthew de Montmorency,’ Petronella whispered to Alienor as they prepared to enter the hall.

‘I never wager when I’m certain to lose,’ Alienor replied. She too had noticed the flush in Adelaide’s cheeks whenever the steward was near, and had observed their frequent discussions – which always remained within the bounds of propriety. ‘I wish them well. Anything that distracts her attention from me is welcome.’

A striding nobleman crossed the sisters’ path and both parties had to stop abruptly to avoid a collision. He drew breath to remonstrate, but then his glance flicked over their rich garments and the attendant ladies, and he swept a bow instead.

‘Madam, forgive me. Let all make way for the matchless beauty of the Queen of France.’

Alienor had never seen a man so handsome. He was tall with thick, shining hair mid-way between red and gold. His skin was as pale as alabaster, and his eyes were a clear blue-green, made vivid by the contrasting darkness of the pupils. A closely trimmed auburn beard edged his jawline and gave emphasis to a firm masculine mouth. His nose was straight as an arrow and fine.

‘Sire, I do not know your name,’ she said, feeling flustered.

He bowed again. ‘I am Geoffrey, Count of Anjou. Your father rode on campaign with me in Normandy last year, God rest his soul. We had many mutual interests.’ His gaze was predatory and amused.

‘You are welcome at court, sire,’ she said, trying not to show how much his direct stare perturbed her.

‘That is good to know.’ His voice developed an edge. ‘There are times when such has not been the case, but I hope for harmony in keeping with the season.’ He bowed a final time and moved on, pausing once to dazzle a smile over his shoulder.

Petronella giggled behind her hand and nudged Alienor. ‘He’s handsome!’

Alienor felt as if Geoffrey of Anjou had stripped her to her chemise in front of everyone, even though their exchange had been one of social formality. She was intensely aware of him in the room now, and because of that was also aware of her own actions and how she might appear to others. ‘Behave, Petra,’ she hissed.

‘Is he married?’

‘Yes, to the Empress Matilda, daughter of old King Henry of England.’ Another memory came to her: of overhearing talk in her father’s hall when Count Geoffrey had written to her father proposing a marriage between herself and Geoffrey’s infant son. Her father had refused with a snort of derision at Angevin audacity. But given different circumstances, Geoffrey could have been her father-in-law, and her husband a boy not yet five years old.

Petronella gave her another dig in the side. ‘He’s still staring at us.’

‘Well, don’t look at him.’ Alienor grabbed Petronella by the hand and made her way through the gathering to join Archbishop Gofrid, knowing she would be safe with him while she recovered her composure. Even so, she could feel Geoffrey’s gaze on her, and dared not glance round to meet his knowing smile.

‘Geoffrey of Anjou …’ Louis paced the bedchamber like a restless dog. ‘I would not trust him as far as I could throw a lance, for all that he swears us his fealty and goodwill.’

The informal feasting had finished late, and some carousing was still going on in the lodgings and amid the army of tents outside the castle walls. Dressed in her chemise, Alienor sat braiding her hair before the fire. Even the thought of Geoffrey made her feel restless and hot. It was like seeing a beautiful, spirited stallion arching his crest and swishing his tail in the stable yard. All that charisma, virility and danger. What would it be like to master a beast like that – to ride it? ‘Why not?’ she asked.

‘Because he is fickle,’ Louis growled. ‘If it suits his purpose, he will renege on his oath of fidelity. He is hungry for influence and power. He wants Normandy every bit as much as that termagant wife of his wants England. Imagine if he did gain it? Where would he look next but to French territory?’ He reached the end of the room and turned. ‘I heard he approached your father about a match between you and his son.’

‘Which my father refused.’

‘Yes, but it shows he will snatch at any opportunity that comes his way.’

Alienor said nothing. Louis’s own father had hardly been noble in his motives when he seized the moment.

‘He thinks his looks and his influence will gain him whatever he desires, but he is a fool. That his father is King of Jerusalem means nothing to me.’

‘What does he want?’ Louis must have been talking to Suger and Theobald of Blois to be this agitated. His own aversion would not be so strong. The Blois faction was the natural enemy of Anjou, and Geoffrey was fighting Theobald’s brother Stephen for Normandy.

Louis snorted. ‘A marriage alliance,’ he said. ‘He was fishing for a betrothal between Constance and his son.’

Alienor was briefly startled, but not surprised when she thought beyond the person of Louis’s pale, fair-haired sister to the implications.

‘I refused him,’ Louis said. ‘It is hardly in our interests to give a man like that a leg-up to the saddle, and I would not entrust Constance to either him or that virago wife of his.’

Alienor suspected Geoffrey of Anjou would find his way to the top anyway, and from what she had heard about the Empress Matilda, she was not unlike her own mother-in-law. ‘What did he say?’

Louis scowled. ‘That he understood, but hoped I would keep his offer in mind, since circumstances often change.’

‘Did you say you would?’

Louis flicked her an irritated look. ‘I made it clear the matter was not open to discussion. I have better things to do than to waste time on a red-haired Angevin upstart.’

‘But what if his wife becomes Queen of England?’

‘God forbid,’ Louis snapped. ‘I doubt it will happen. Their cause is a lost one before they begin. Rather let Constance go to Stephen’s heir and wed into the power already on the throne.’

Alienor was thoughtful. That seemed a sensible decision, but there was something about Geoffrey that made her think Louis was underestimating him.

‘I’ll be glad to have him gone from court,’ Louis added. ‘He’s a disruptive influence. I don’t want you or any of the women to go near him, is that understood?’

‘But it is my duty to speak with your vassals and be a good hostess,’ she protested.

‘Well, speak to the old ones and to the bishops. Leave Geoffrey of Anjou alone – I mean it.’ He came to stand over her, hands on his hips. ‘Tongues are swift to wag. The Queen of France must be above reproach.’

Alienor felt a spark of excitement at Louis’s obvious jealousy. ‘Do you not trust me?’ She rose to face him.

‘I do not trust him – as I told you.’ Louis pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Do I have your word on this?’

She kissed him back, and then smoothed away his frown with her fingertips. ‘I promise I will be very careful. Are you coming to bed?’

Over the ensuing days, Alienor made sure she was indeed careful, because the thought of being alone with Geoffrey of Anjou was far too unsettling. She talked to the older vassals and the bishops. She kept company with the wives and daughters. The nearest she came to being undone was when Geoffrey held her hand during a Christmas revel dance and, at the end, kissed the inside of her wrist, grazing her skin lightly with his teeth – the implication being that she was good enough to eat – before bowing and walking away. It was all play, but far from innocent on his part. The experience sent a jolt through her body, but also made her narrow her eyes. She had a great deal to learn, but learn it she would, and one day, her knowledge would be greater than his, and she would be the one to turn him inside out as lightly as breathing.

Alienor gasped and bit her lip as Louis withdrew from her and rolled on to his back, his chest heaving with exertion. He had been rough in his lovemaking and she felt mauled, but she was coming to realise that his passions in the bedchamber were frequently driven by events that happened outside of it. She had recently finished her monthly bleed and this was the first time they had lain together in eight days. He had stayed away from her during that time, preferring not to have contact while her menstrual blood made her unclean. Instead, he had occupied himself in prayer and contemplation.

They had been married for nine months and Alienor had still not conceived. Her flux had been late at Christmas, but had proven to be nothing. Each month, when she bled, Adelaide would make pointed comments about fulfilling her duties and providing an heir for France. She herself had borne Louis’s father six healthy sons and a daughter when she was Queen.

Alienor coiled a lock of Louis’s silvery hair around her forefinger. ‘My father sometimes took me and Petronella to Le Puy to celebrate the feast of the Virgin,’ she said. ‘My grandsire presented the abbey with a belt that had once belonged to the mother of Christ. She is said to confer the gift of fertility on couples who pray at her shrine. We should go there and ask her blessing.’

He raised his brows and looked cautiously interested.

‘Charlemagne himself visited Le Puy,’ she said. ‘You promised that after our coronation we would go to Aquitaine.’

‘I did,’ he agreed, ‘but I have been busy with other duties. However, you are right; I will tell Suger.’

Alienor held her peace. At least Louis had said ‘I will tell’ rather than ‘I will ask’, and that was progress of a kind.

He sat up, and gently rubbed her cheek before looking at his thumb.

‘What?’ she asked, thinking perhaps she had a smut on her face.

‘My mother says that you dress inappropriately and paint your face and that I should be wary. But you listen to me, and give me comfort. When has she ever once done that? I do not care if it is true or not.’

Alienor looked down while she mastered her anger and irritation. She and Adelaide continued to battle for influence over Louis. Her intimacy with him gave her the upper hand, but even so Adelaide was tenacious. ‘Do you think I should behave and dress like your mother?’

A small shudder rippled through him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not want you to become like her.’

Alienor made her tone sorrowful. ‘I know it is difficult for her to give up the power and position she has wielded for so long. I honour her, but I cannot be like her.’

‘You are right,’ he said abruptly. ‘We should go to Le Puy, and pray together.’

Alienor hugged him. ‘Thank you, husband! You will not regret it, I promise!’ She leaped from the bed in her chemise and twirled around, her hair flying out in a golden veil, making Louis laugh. When Alienor was soft and doe-eyed like this, she made him feel as if he could accomplish anything, and he would have given her the world, so great was his love. Yet the depth of his feeling set up a strange friction deep inside him, especially when others expressed reservation. What if he was indeed being duped?