The Winter Crown (57 page)

William cleared his throat. ‘If they stay here the King will come for them,’ he said.

And there was no telling what Henry would do then. He had already revealed his intention of marginalising her and seizing Aquitaine. In that case why should she support him? Better that Aquitaine go to France. ‘Find a bed for the night,’ she said. ‘And be ready to leave at dawn with my sons.’

He rose to his feet and bowed. ‘And you, madam?’ His gaze was troubled. ‘What will you do?’

She shook her head. ‘I shall not leave unless I must, but I want my boys kept safe.’ She bit her lip. ‘This is going too far and too fast, William. God protect us all from the storm.’

It was still raining at dawn, but no more than a light mizzle and the air was mild. Watching the grooms loading the packhorses Alienor was bereft but also relieved that her sons would soon be out of Henry’s reach.

Richard joined her, his cloak covered by a cape of waxed linen to keep him dry. ‘Take care,’ she said, embracing him hard. ‘Know that you are in my prayers every day.’

‘And you in mine, Mama.’

‘Look after Geoffrey.’ They were still so young. Fifteen and fourteen. That was no age to be caught up in this squabble; they were learning difficult and bitter lessons that were not beneficial, even while they were gaining experience of the world. Richard thought it all a great adventure, his face aglow and his eyes fierce.

Geoffrey, true to his nature, was enigmatic and self-contained. It was often difficult to know what he was thinking, whereas with Richard she could almost feel his every thought and movement as part of her own. If Eve was Adam’s rib, then she felt as if Richard had been formed from one of hers. She hugged Geoffrey to her heart and he gripped her lightly in return, giving little beyond convention and courtesy, and his dark grey eyes were inscrutable.

Watching them ride away into the misty rain under the watchful supervision of William Marshal, her heart was full of pain. Had she done the right thing? She no longer knew. Geoffrey did not look round, but Richard turned gracefully in the saddle to salute her, and then they were gone, swallowed up by their journey, and she was alone.

Alienor sat on her favourite seat in the palace garden, surrounded by a trellis of red Palermo roses, a gift many years ago from the King of Sicily. This place was a somnolent haven from the upheaval, discord and strife beyond the sun-drenched walls, but she knew that the moment she opened the letter sitting in her lap she would bring that turmoil into her sanctuary.

The summer had been one of sporadic warfare and uprising against Henry. In England the Earls of Norfolk, Leicester, Derby and Chester had rebelled against him. King William of Scotland had marched south and the Counts of Boulogne and Flanders had invaded the country.

In Poitiers, Alienor held court in her magnificent new great hall and sifted the news of the skirmishes and engagements, the gossip and the rumours. She stood accused of inciting the fires of revolt: her sons were not old enough to foment a rebellion on their own, so obviously she must be manipulating them and the treachery was all hers. Such righteous and biased opinions from Henry’s supporters had given her much cause for caustic mirth.

The letter bore the seal of Rotrou, Archbishop of Rouen, one of Henry’s particular friends, but a man for whom she had always had deep respect.

‘Are you going to open it?’ Isabel asked, snipping off a thread from the embroidery on which she was working.

Alienor grimaced. ‘In truth I am tempted to burn it,’ she said, but steeled herself and broke the seal. Having unfolded the parchment, she read aloud what the Archbishop had written.

‘To Alienor, Queen of England, from Rotrou, Archbishop of Rouen, and his Suffragans. Greetings in the search for peace.’

She grimaced at that.

‘Marriage is a firm and indissoluble union. This is public knowledge and no Christian can take the liberty to ignore it. What God has joined let us not put asunder. The woman is at fault who leaves her husband and fails to keep the trust of this social bond. A woman who is not under the headship of the husband violates the law of Scripture: “The head of the woman is the man.” She is created from him, she is united to him, and she is subject to his power.

We deplore publicly and regretfully that you have left your husband and what is worse, you have opened the way for the lord King’s, and your own, children to rise up against the father. We know that unless you return to your husband, you will be the cause of widespread disaster. Your actions will result in ruin for everyone in the kingdom. Therefore, Illustrious Queen, return to your husband and our king. In your reconciliation, peace will be restored from distress, and in your return, joy may return to all. Against all women and out of childish counsel, you provoke disaster for the lord King. Before this matter reaches a bad end, you should return. We are certain that he will show you every possible kindness and the surest guarantee of safety.

I beg you, advise your sons to be obedient and respectful to their father. He has suffered many anxieties, offences and grievances. Either you will return to your husband, or we must call upon canon law and use ecclesiastical censures against you. We say this reluctantly, but unless you come back to your senses, with sorrow and tears, we will do so.’

By the time she had finished reading, Alienor was shaking with fury, fear and revulsion.

Isabel was pale and wide-eyed. ‘Holy Mary!’ She reached across to touch her hand. ‘This is terrible. Is there no way around this?’

‘Oh yes,’ Alienor said grimly. ‘Henry’s way. I am being made a scapegoat here and fitted for shackles.’

A second letter had accompanied the first, this one bearing Henry’s seal and including a gift of prayer beads fashioned from amber and rock crystal. Alienor was tempted to take the jewels and hurl them in the nearest midden, but restrained herself; they were valuable and she could sell them or use them as a bribe. Henry greeted her as ‘his dear wife’, and she had to swallow bile
.

‘I rely on you to be faithful to me and do all you can to bring our sons to heel so that they may be taught the error of their ways. I do not doubt your sincerity in this matter, and yet, if you prove insincere, I shall treat you likewise.’

And then a standard salute of farewell. How had it come to this? How had she let herself be brought to this?

‘Harry will listen to me every bit as much as his father does, which is not at all,’ she said. ‘I am the one being ground to forcemeat between the two of them when it is all of their doing, not mine. They blame me for their faults.’

‘But if you went to Henry and threw yourself at his feet, you would save yourself,’ Isabel said. ‘What then could Harry, Richard and Geoffrey do except return to the family fold? If you continue to defy Henry, it is akin to jumping off a cliff.’

Alienor set her jaw. ‘So you counsel me to return to him?’

‘What is the alternative?’

Alienor looked away to where the summer light flickered through the leaves of a cherry tree, the same one she had played around as a little girl. The same one where the Archbishop of Bordeaux had told her that her father was dead and that, aged thirteen, she had become Duchess of Aquitaine.

‘The alternative is to defy him,’ she said. ‘If I go to him, it will make no difference. He will treat me the same as he has always done, and I shall still be blamed.’ She touched Isabel’s arm. ‘You should leave for your own good. Go to Touraine; it is not safe for you here. Take John and Joanna to Fontevraud for me, and Marguerite; she cannot stay here. Everyone must go.’

‘Alienor, do not do this,’ Isabel pleaded. ‘Henry is an anointed king and your husband.’

‘Harry is an anointed king too, and my son,’ Alienor retorted. ‘Henry lost the right to my loyalty when he ignored my authority in Aquitaine. He has pushed me to the edge, which is why I find it so easy to step over it now. It is all very well for you to speak of obedience to your husband, but you see it through the glow of your match to Hamelin, who can do no wrong in your eyes. Do not say he is your husband and it is your duty to obey him; that much is evident.’ She spoke these last words with a curl of her lip and bitterness surged, followed by remorse when she saw the hurt in Isabel’s eyes. ‘For your sake and mine, you must go.’

Isabel set her sewing aside and embraced Alienor, giving her a tender hug, and that made Alienor feel guiltier still.

‘Tomorrow then,’ Isabel said. ‘I will not part from you in upset and anger. You are my sister-by-marriage and you are my friend, whatever comes of this.’

Alienor’s throat tightened. ‘Say nothing more, you foolish woman,’ she said, squeezing Isabel in return. ‘You will make me weep and I cannot afford to do that. I need all my strength and I refuse to drown it in tears. My path is set and nothing you say or do will change it…’ Swallowing, she gently pushed Isabel away. ‘We shall not speak of it,’ she said. ‘Indeed, we shall celebrate instead.’

A leaving feast was hastily organised, held later in the day than the usual dinner hour to give the cooks time to prepare the dishes of sugared pastries, the stews and roasts and fruits marinated in honey. Alienor had the tables set out in the garden and horn lanterns hung from the trees. Cresset lamps pooled the tables with gold, and candles flamed on every stone plinth and surface until the garden was a twinkling arena of fallen stars in the gathering dusk.

The songs and music of Aquitaine flowed from lute and pipe and the emotive, pure voices of court minstrels and troubadours. Songs of desire and longing, of springtime and bursting hawthorn buds. Of love requited and love spurned. There were scurrilous tales too, which filled the space with laughter as people ate their food and drank the potent wines of Bordeaux from cups of Tyrian glass. There was dancing, and the children, wild with excitement, ran about shrieking and playing games of tag and hide and seek. Poignant, bittersweet moments filled for Alienor with memories of her childhood with her sister Petronella and her small brother Aigret. Once they had been the little ones chasing round the columns while the adults feasted, listened to music under the stars and talked business and pleasure. She felt the validation of tonight within those recollections and was achingly sad, knowing that in the morning it would all be gone, perhaps never to return save in memories.

‘Be good for your aunt Isabel,’ Alienor told John and Joanna as she adjusted their travelling cloaks and kissed them both. ‘I know you have made this journey before with your cousins but it is still a long way.’

Both children nodded, although John huffed with impatience, considering himself a big boy beyond need of coddling. Joanna was already looking over her shoulder at her cousins who stood waiting. Alienor felt a pang that her children were so eager to be off. Yet they were fond of their cousins and loved their aunt Isabel and that was all to the good – for them. She would not think on her own sorrow. Her sons were at the court of her former husband; their wives and their future wives were best dwelling within the safety of Fontevraud for now. She embraced the young women and exhorted them to look after each other, and was moved to see tears welling in Marguerite’s eyes.

‘Come now,’ she said briskly, ‘you are a queen; you must set an example to the others and be their strength. They will look to you for guidance.’

Marguerite sniffed and surreptitiously wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Yes, madam,’ she said in a tight voice, but raised her head and straightened her shoulders, and in that moment Alienor warmed towards her daughter-in-law.

Isabel took custody of John and Joanna, shepherding them with open arms, her cloak like the wings of a mother hen. Waiting in the courtyard, Isabel’s travelling wain was painted with the blue and gold de Warenne chequers, and the covered top had segments rolled back to allow light and air to those within while still affording a degree of seclusion. In went the children and the Young Queen. In went the small pet dogs, while the larger gazehounds were left to trot at the sides of the cart.

A strong contingent of de Warenne household knights stood ready to escort their countess and her wain north into Anjou and they too were decked out in the de Warenne blue and gold.

Alienor gave Isabel an emerald ring that Isabel had long admired. In return, Isabel presented Alienor with a soft woollen blanket in shades of lavender and misty green fashioned from cloth woven on her own Yorkshire lands.

‘I wrap myself in this when I am cold and I cannot sleep, and it always comforts me,’ she said. ‘I want you to feel the same and think of me when you use it.’

Alienor swallowed. It was a humble piece of cloth but what it stood for was priceless. ‘Assuredly I shall,’ she said with tears in her eyes.

‘May God keep you,’ Isabel said, ‘and may I see you soon in happier circumstances.’

‘And you, my sister.’

Alienor stood in the courtyard until the travelling cart and its escort had rumbled from sight, and then she folded the blanket around her shoulders, crossing her arms over her heart, and returned to her hall. With everyone gone, the vast space was one of lost footsteps where only hers scuffed on the flagstones with no one to hear.

The season’s wheel rolled through summer to autumn in Poitou, but the colder days were slow to make their impression and the leaves stayed green on the trees long into September before slowly yielding to crisp, dry gold.

Messengers arrived with news and rode out again with bulging satchels. Verneuil had burned to the ground. Alienor learned that Henry had sold one of his gold crowns and was hiring Brabançon mercenaries in huge numbers to exert his will and quash rebellion wherever it rose. As a result of his speed and expenditure, he had secured his rule in Maine and Anjou as far as the Poitevan border. England was in a state of flux but the rebels had failed to prevail. Indeed, Henry’s bastard son Jeoffrey, far from embracing his role as Archdeacon of Lincoln and turning to the clergy, was proving to be a competent general and had secured victories over the English insurgents. Negotiations at Gisors for a peaceful solution had broken down because Harry, Richard and Geoffrey refused to yield to their father’s demands. The young Earl of Leicester had gone so far as to threaten violence to Henry, matters had become so heated.