To Be Queen (34 page)

We had not seen much of Suger at court since we returned to Paris. He stayed at his new cathedral, and every month or so, Louis would visit him there, and take counsel from him. Suger had been ill all that autumn, but I had not understood how ill he truly was. As soon as we were brought into his presence, I saw that Abbot Suger was dying. His flesh was gray, and paper thin, like old vellum that had been used too often. His breath caught in his lungs, and rattled in his throat. Louis crossed himself when he heard it, and I did the same.

My husband knelt beside the bed of Suger, the man who, for all intents and purposes, had been his father. Suger had raised Louis in the confines of the cathedral cloister. He had taught him to be a good man, and to know God. He had never taught him to be king.

Louis wept though Suger's soul had not yet flown. Between my husband's hands was the rosary that I had given him, its diamonds, pearls, and amethysts pouring from his fingers down to meet the image of Christ.

Suger reached for Louis, and caressed his cheek. I wished that I might help my husband, though I knew I could not. He would have to bear his pain; no one could carry it for him. My father had died far from me. At least Louis got to see Suger at the last.

There was no help for Louis, and there would never be. He would simply have to rise from his father's deathbed and go on, by his own choice, as we all did. His crown and throne and scepter would not protect him. He would have to choose life, once his father's life had fled.

Suger clutched Louis' hand in his. “You must not let the Aquitaine go.”

His voice rattled as he coughed, and I thought for a moment I had not heard him correctly. When that old man's words entered my ears, and were drawn into the contours of my brain, a fury rose in me so strong that had I let it loose, it would have been my undoing.

Louis did not answer Suger, and the old abbot could not draw breath to speak again. I would have to bide my time, and discover whether Louis had heard his spiritual father's dying wish, and if so, whether he took it to heart. Louis was sentimental. But even he knew that there must be a son for France.

He would not get one from me.

I knelt by Louis, my anger tamped down. I said a prayer aloud to the Holy Mother for Her blessing on Her servant Suger. Louis wept harder at the sound of my voice, and clutched my hand. The emerald rings he had given me during my pregnancy, when he still thought Alix would be born a prince, dug hard into my flesh.

I took in that pain as the tribute it was. With Suger gone, Louis might once more learn to lean on me. When he did so, I would lead him, inexorably, to ask Eugenius for our divorce.

I saw the path laid out clearly on the chessboard before me, and my heart rose. I hid my hope behind a veil of sorrow, and held my husband's hand while his soul's father took his last breath.

Suger's death rattle echoed off the stone walls of that tiny room. He slept in a bare cell, as all his monks did. Suger surrounded himself with no gold plate, with no silver crosses. All the wealth of his cathedral he left on display outside, for the people to see.

Louis was beside himself with grief. His mind was undone by the loss of Suger, so that he could not remember the words to any prayer. So before we took our litter back to the city, I knelt in the sanctuary in his place, and lit a candle for Suger's soul.

Masses were already being sung in the great cathedral Suger had built, but we did not stay to hear them. I wanted Louis home with me, under my care, and under my eye. My husband leaned on me, as if his legs could not hold him up. Brother Francis saw this, and said nothing, but let me pass by unmolested, with Louis on my arm.

Our litter bearers saw the condition of the king, and made it back to the city by nightfall. I did not let Louis out of my sight, but brought him to my own rooms, where I placed him in my bed.

Amaria made him a cup of tea with a draught of poppy juice in it. I watched her carefully as she dosed him, for I did not want him too heavily drugged. I could have no rumors circulating in the court that, after the death of Suger, I tried to poison the king.

Louis lay sleeping, with his hand in mine. I sat by him all night. Once, his chamberlain and page came in. They saw him resting peacefully and left him in my care. Louis' household had never believed the lies told about me. They served my husband well, and saw how much he loved me. They had never hated me as his courtiers did.

I bathed Louis' face with warm water, but he wept for Suger even in his sleep. He looked like an overgrown child who had lost his way. I did not sleep myself that night, but kept the lamps lit, in case Louis was to wake and need me.

Dawn came, and he slept on, though not as heavily. I washed my face and hands and changed my gown, leaving him finally to step into my sitting room. When I stepped into my antechamber, expecting to see the Lady Priscilla and the rest of my women waiting for me, I found only Brother Francis, in his deep robes of midnight black.

“Good day, Sister Eleanor,” he said.

I almost laughed at his audacity. “I am many things, Brother Francis, but a nun is not one of them.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing low to me. “My lady queen.”

I heard the insolence in his voice, but it had always been there. I could not cure him of it now, these many years later. If I had respected him at all, perhaps it would have stung me. I could not even hate the man that morning. I was too tired.

So I dismissed Francis from my mind, pouring myself a glass of Rhenish wine, certain that the churchman had come to my rooms only to see Louis. I sipped the watered wine, a gift from the German emperor, and waited for Brother Francis to ask my leave to see the king. He asked me nothing, but stepped closer to me.

“My lady queen, I come to offer you an alliance.”

My lips quirked, but I was in control of myself and did not smile. I raised one brow.

“Indeed, Brother Francis. An alliance against whom?”

“Against the pope, my lady queen.”

I did not answer, but went to sit in my best cushioned chair. Amaria took up her place by the door leading into my bedchamber, and Francis did not so much as glance her way. I saw contempt in his eyes, not just for her, but for all women. I wondered that I had never noticed it before. I had always thought his contempt part of his hatred for me.

“His Holiness has all in his hands,” I said, my meaning ambiguous, as I meant it to be.

“The Holy See means to set you aside, my lady queen. I heard the rumors when I was last in Rome. You will be forced into a nunnery, that my lord king might marry again.”

I saw now which way this interview was tending. I called on all my powers of deception, and raised one hand to my hair.

“Brother Francis, God preserve me. Say it is not so.”

He blinked, and for a moment, I thought my lies were too overblown, that he had not been taken in. I did not look to Amaria for fear I would laugh aloud. It was not a laughing matter. This man was my rival for power in the kingdom, now that Suger was dead. As Louis' confessor, Brother Francis had my husband's ear. No doubt the false priest hoped to frighten me into becoming his creature with this talk of setting me aside. He clearly believed that to escape the convent I would do anything, even join forces with him. I knew in that moment that I would do all in my power to see Francis eclipsed in the king's graces, and forever.

It is odd indeed when what we seek opens the door into another world altogether.

“I have even heard it said, among the king's barons, that poison might find its way into your cup some evening meal. This would leave the kingdom with a vacant throne, and the Aquitaine both.”

The word
poison
caught my ear, and drove away all thought of laughter. My people had brought no word of this treachery, but I was sure that Louis' people could see it done. Or perhaps Francis meant to warn me of some plot in the Church, some plot that might remove me, as my father had been removed. Cold crept into my chest, and lodged above my heart. I almost lost my breath.

“It would not be the first time poison found its way to curse a member of your family,” Francis said.

My hand shook. I dropped my goblet, and the wine splashed onto my golden gown. The glass I had held shattered on the stone floor at my feet.

Amaria did not move to help me. She stayed still, and silent, in the hope that Francis had forgotten she was there. But I knew that I would need more witness to Francis' speech than one waiting woman.

I did not look to her, but I raised one hand to my temple as if in despair. As I did, my fingers fluttered once toward the door to my bedroom, where Louis lay, still sleeping.

Amaria moved at once, as silent as a ghost. The door between my rooms was well oiled, and draped with a thick tapestry to keep out the drafts in winter. My woman disappeared behind that tapestry, so that I was left alone with the man who had killed my father.

“Poison?” I asked.

It took no time for Francis to continue to speak, for he was overconfident, as all fools are. My woman had left and he did not heed it. He counted her as nothing, just as he counted me. Francis came close to me then, but he did not lower his voice. I saw that he was proud of all that he had done, and I had not yet learned the whole of it.

“Your father coughed blood at the last. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

My hand shook as I touched my hair. This time, I did not have to dissemble. My father's death was a wound that burned like acid. I would never be free of it. But I would hear this man's confession clearly, and from his own lips. Then I would act, as I had waited almost fourteen years to do.

I saw the tapestry at my bedroom door flutter once, as if in a draft from a window. I knew by that sign that Amaria stood behind it. I could only hope that Louis stood with her. Though it was not in my husband to dissemble or to hide, especially from a man of the Church, I fervently wished that, this once, Louis might stay hidden.

I raised my voice enough that it might be heard, even where Louis stood. I did not have to feign horror. I was steeped in it already.

“And the old king?” I asked. “Did he cough blood as well when he was poisoned?”

It was a clumsy move, but I had no way of knowing how long Louis might keep himself concealed. I hoped that my husband had enough sense to wait, and to listen to Francis' answer.

“Louis the king fell to poison, but his end was worse than your father's, or so my colleague said. He was three days dying of dysentery. Your father took only two.”

Bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. “And your colleague . . . where is he now?”

“He was taken to the Lord's grace five years ago. I have lit a candle for his soul.”

“No doubt he needs it.”

Francis heard the acid in my voice, and took one step back.

I rose from my chair, and faced my enemy. “You murdered my father, and the king's father, for the good of France?”

“For the good of the Church,” Francis said. “I wanted to make way for you and your husband to rule alone, unencumbered.”

“With King Louis the Elder dead, my father would have advised us,” I said.

“Yes. We knew we could not let William of Aquitaine live. He had made an enemy of us already.”

I saw it all then, and it took my breath. This man had been in league with the old pope, the one we had worked against before I was ever duchess. That pope had hated my father for backing his rival, and had called for my father's penance, saying that he must go either to Rome or to Santiago. Francis had followed my father to Spain and killed him there. Months later, after my wedding, our enemy pope had sent another minion of the Church to Louis the Fat. The elder king had died by poison, just as my father had.

The Church had thought to control the wealth of the Aquitaine as well as the throne of France through my young, easily led husband, and through me. Only my strength of will had kept them from it.

I could hear nothing behind the tapestry, but I knew that Louis was there.

“Why do you come to me, and tell me all this now?”

“As I have said, I have heard rumors among the courtiers that some seek your death. I would give you my protection.”

I did not laugh in his face. What protection could this bumbling fool offer me? A man so stupid that he would keep his silence for fourteen years, then reveal himself as my father's murderer? Did this baseborn cur think that I would ally myself with him? There would be time for vengeance, but I must hold my tongue and stay my hand. When I spoke, my voice was cool and calm, as if I spoke with my steward about the household accounts in Poitiers.

“And in exchange for your protection, I will help you control Louis?”

“Yes,” Francis said. “Your father is dead, and the old king, and Abbot Suger. Now my brethren in the Church and I can control France altogether.”

Louis stepped out from behind the tapestry, and Francis' face turned gray. Francis had thought my husband asleep in his own bed, or he would never have come to me. The false priest shook with fear at the sight of my husband's face.

“Get out,” Louis said, his voice hoarse with weeping. “Get out of my sight.”

“My lord king,” Francis stammered.

“I am not your lord or your king. You are a treacherous dog, not fit to live upon the earth.”

Francis ran from us, and left the door to the hallway standing open behind him. Amaria moved before I could beckon her. She would order my men-at-arms to catch the monk and hold him. My battle-hardened men, fresh from the Crusade, cared little if the prisoner they held was a man of God.

Amaria left us alone, closing the outer door behind her. Louis fell to his knees, and I knelt beside him. I took him in my arms, expecting tears, but he did not weep. Perhaps the horror of the last day had overwhelmed him. I was a strong woman, and it had overwhelmed me.