by Anne O'Brien
Louis brows knit. ‘What’s that?’
‘My lord of Anjou’s half-brother, Lord Baldwin …’ How satisfying this was. If it came to duplicity, Geoffrey had met more than his match in me. ‘The Lord Baldwin is King of Jerusalem. And so will come under direct attack from the Infidel if we do not stop them.’ I looked at the Count, wide-eyed. ‘Louis and I go to safeguard my father’s brother Raymond of Poitiers in Antioch. Would you not do the same for your brother? Would you not, in God’s holy name, fight to keep your brother from possible death?’
The Count’s fingers clenched round the cup before he eased them out. ‘I fear not.’
‘I think you should reconsider.’ Louis was now doubly shocked.
‘I cannot.’
It was only a hairsbreadth short of rudeness
‘If Count Geoffrey is concerned for his duties as Seneschal of Poitou …’ My concern was magnificent, my gaze lambent. I lingered on the pause, looking from Louis to the Angevin and back again. ‘We could appoint another seneschal for Poitou if the Count wishes to take up his obligations in the Holy Land. Do reconsider, my lord of Anjou. We would value your company with us. What is earthly power—a mere Seneschal of Poitou—in the balance with God’s approval and the promise of reward in heaven? There are other men I would trust with Poitou in your stead if you felt God’s call.’
At last I smiled directly into Geoffrey of Anjou’s bland, furiously governed face.
What a beautiful, not-so-thinly-veiled little threat.
After that, the meal came to an unsurprisingly abrupt end. The Count of Anjou’s manner was tight with anger as he left the chamber with the briefest show of respect. I thought I had made an enemy there but it did not disturb me. His son managed a more respectable bow and I thought his eyes sought out mine before he strode after his father to the door.
I would not comply, turning my back on the pair of them, nothing but two ruthless, self-serving wolves, with nothing to choose between them.
And yet I found myself regretting Henry Plantagenet’s disappointment—but he was young and would find another bride who would bring him power and status, even if he did not achieve it for himself. I thought he would. It was a marriage I would have liked for my daughter, but not at the cost of my freedom to choose.
The outcome for me was entirely satisfying. How I enjoyed it.
The Angevins departed, with nothing to keep them longer. Returned to my cold existence, I was left to bury myself once again in crusading matters, with my own consanguinity lurking on the edge of my consciousness, pricking at me like a spur. Geoffrey’s emerald? I took it from my jewel casket, handling it with distaste, on a whim holding it out to Agnes.
‘Take it.’ I smiled at the surprise on her face. ‘In recompense for all you do for me. It will go well with the russet of your gown, and I have too many jewels to wear.’
I held it out on the palm of my hand, so that it glinted in the light with the fire as only emeralds could. Then, before she could take it, I closed my fingers over it.
‘Majesty?’
‘No.’ I lifted a string of agates from the box instead. ‘No, these will be better. The gold and brown will be more becoming to your colouring.’
As Agnes accepted with a curious glance, I replaced the emerald in the little coffer. I would keep it—but I would not wear it again. I would keep it as a warning against deceitful men who would use and manipulate. I had come off best, but it did not do to be complacent. I remembered the boy’s cunning placement of the chess pieces. A knight to take a queen? Never!
I would never put myself in so invidious a position again.
The final result, apart from Count Geoffrey’s ignominious defeat, amused me, filled me with exhilaration. Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, so it’s said. I wouldn’t dispute it, but still I got my own way.
‘Your Majesty.’ Abbot Suger was addressing Louis as I stepped into one of the audience chambers, and he continued unaware. ‘I have reconsidered. I think you should take her Majesty with you to Outremer.’
‘I thought you opposed me over it.’
‘I did, Majesty. Now I think it would be best for all of us if she were with you, under your eye.’
‘Well, if you think—’
‘I do. You can’t trust her at home alone. Take her with you, Majesty.’
I pretended not to hear, and by the time I’d reached Louis’s side, they were discussing some minor point of finance.
All in all, a neat little victory. Over Anjou. Over Abbot Suger and Louis. I had got my way and I was going to Outremer.
With grateful condescension, I congratulated the Abbot on his appointment as Regent in our absence. I suppose he deserved some recompense.
CHAPTER TEN
THE Cité palace waited for me, a grey, hunched beast to enclose me in its maw. The good weather had broken and the damp drizzle matched my mood. My chambers were clammy with the pervading odour of mildew, as if I had been gone for longer than a matter of weeks. What extreme piety had Louis embarked on in my absence? Had he taken residence in a hermit’s hut on the banks of the Seine? The King, I was informed, was at Notre Dame. I shivered as my life closed around me. Day after day after endless day in this dank warren of a palace stretched before me. My spirits were lower than at any time I remembered as my bones absorbed the chill. This was reality. This was my life.
Keeping my mantle close-wrapped, I gave my women orders to unpack and dispose of my possessions, whilst I sat on my bed and looked at the emerald, and not for the first time since I had left Poitou. The glow in its green depth gave me no comfort, and never could.
‘It’ll not bring him back.’ Agnes was as plain-speaking as ever.
‘No. And I would not want him.’
Handing the jewel to Agnes, I instructed her to place it in my jewel coffer. I would not look at it again. I must turn my mind to my life here in Paris.
Still gripping the mantle to my chin, I visited the royal nursery to see my daughter. She had grown, a healthy child who clutched at my braids as she pulled herself upright in her crib. Her hair was still fair like Louis’s, with none of the red-gold of mine, and her eyes had remained the clear blue inherited from her father. When I picked her up she whimpered a little. She would, of course. She had little knowledge of me.
‘I think I have found a bridegroom for you, Marie,’ I informed her.
She stared back as if she understood, the tears drying on her cheeks.
‘You will like him. He is called Henry and he has enough energy in him to set fire to the tapestries on your walls. Marriage to Henry will never be dull.’ She gnawed on my fingers with the suspicion of a tooth in her gums. ‘When you are older you will meet him. And when you are his bride you will leave home and all you know and love and go and live in Anjou. It is the lot of all women. But at least I can promise you that you will never be near-dead from boredom!’
When the child began to fuss, I gave her back into the arms of her nurse.
Returned to my chamber, I saw that all had been put to rights. Now what? I would not sigh. I would not brood. Instead I would mark my return. I spun round to search out my steward and order a feast, with music and song. And there was Louis, standing in the doorway, sweat gleaming on his neck as if he had arrived in a great rush.
‘Louis …’
I tried not to compare him with Geoffrey. Difficult not to. Impossible not to. Still playing the monk, Louis was thinner and less appealing than ever, his face marked with dark hollows beneath his eyes, almost gaunt, in fact. Hair still shorn, his jaw and cheekbones angular, I could see the tendons harshly prominent in his neck where it emerged from his hair shirt. I forced myself not to close my eyes but I looked away. The extreme emaciation and the total obsession of saintly Bernard was not far away.
‘Eleanor!’
The fervour in his voice caused me to look back, to look carefully. Since Vitry, Louis was rarely fervent. Beneath the pale, strained features there was animation. And excitement.
His eyes shone with some inner thought, the habitual shroud of self-loathing and abject penitence ripped apart.
‘Louis. I have just returned—’
‘Yes,’ he interrupted, advanced on me. ‘I have news.’
There was even a flash of hectic colour along his cheekbones. Something had stirred his blood and he could barely contain his words. Perhaps God and all his angels had granted him a personal audience.
‘Good news, I presume.’
‘The best.’
He gripped my hands and leaned to kiss my cheek. His palms were hot, clammy. His lips against my skin burned moistly as if a fever gripped him. I could feel the beat of his heart shudder through his body, and felt a pang of concern.
‘Louis … Are you well?’ I asked, placing my hand on his forehead, then pulling him with me to sit on the edge of my bed. ‘You have a fever.’ I narrowed my eyes, making a more detailed reconnaissance of his body. Even clothed as he was, he was distressingly thin. ‘Have you eaten today?’
‘No. This is one of my fast days. I fast three days a week.’
By the Virgin! ‘It’s too much. You are ill—’
‘No! Listen to me!’ His hands squeezed my fingers until I hissed in pain. ‘It’s Outremer.’
‘What about Outremer?’
I knew of it, of course, its history. Outremer, the name given to the Latin kingdoms established in the Holy Land, after the victory of our knights over the Turks in the First Crusade. My own family history was firmly connected with it. My grandfather had gone crusading there. Raymond had travelled to be Prince of Antioch.
‘It is in danger, Eleanor. Great danger.’ Louis’s fingers gripped harder. ‘The Turkish leader Zengi has declared war. News has reached me.’ Now his nails dug into my flesh in his urgency. ‘An army of Saracen Turks led by Zengi has captured the city of Edessa. Do you not see? This opens the way for them to capture Antioch—and then the kingdom of Jerusalem.’
That took my attention, of course. Raymond under threat of imminent attack.
‘All the conquests of the First Crusade, all the victories, will be undone,’ Louis continued. ‘The Christian shrines will come under Turkish rule and we will be banned from them.’
‘Well, yes. But I don’t see—’
‘I should go.’ Louis announced it, like a peal of bells, his voice ringing from the walls. ‘Think about it, Eleanor. Think of what I could achieve in God’s name.’ The words tumbled from him. ‘I should raise a mighty army and go to their relief. I should deliver the Christian states of Outremer from the Infidel.’
An invasion of the Holy Land? A new Crusade? My blood chilled. Louis’s lack of success in warfare had been spectacular. The thought of him taking on the Turks filled me with horror. ‘But, Louis, you must think about this …’ I released my hands from his, cupping his shoulders, trying to make him concentrate on me, on good sense.
There was no reasoning with him.
‘I have thought. I would make reparation for Vitry. I would make reparation for my sins.’ His voice lowered as if he recounted a secret, leaning close to me, eyes glittering unnervingly. ‘I have always dreamed of carrying the Oriflamme of France, our sacred banner, to the Holy Land. When I was ten years old I made a vow to honour my poor dead brother Philip who should have been King. I vowed to take the Oriflamme on a pilgrimage and place it on the altar of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Here’s my chance. It is ordained by God, and he will forgive me my sins. I will raise an army.’
‘Is it wise?’
‘It is the way to my salvation.’
Such conviction, but without hope of fulfilment, of course. ‘I’m sure that one day you’ll find a way to your salvation, Louis,’ I soothed. Such an outrageous plan. I doubted Abbot Suger would agree. I stroked his back as a mother might pacify her restless child.
‘I’ll do it, Eleanor!’ Suddenly his arms were strong round me and he was kissing me, full of nervous determination, urging me back onto the bed. ‘I can already taste the sweetness of victory,’ he murmured against my temple. ‘It’s a magnificent idea.’
‘No, Louis …’ Holy Virgin! I did not want this.
‘Yes! I will lead a new Crusade!’
I tried to push him away, and thought I had succeeded, but Louis simply stripped away his monkish robe, unaware of the ugliness of his mortified flesh. The abrasions from the hair shirt were things of horror. I could count every rib, the bones of his spine stood out in clear profile while the jut of his hip bones was almost obscene.
‘And you are as beautiful as the day I met you, Eleanor. I have missed you. You will give me inspiration for my Great Quest.’
Oblivious to my shrinking flesh, Louis was kneeling beside me, over me, pushing up my skirts. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, submitting to him because I must. Hands rough with need, he did nothing to rouse desire in me. A rapid, grunting possession that emptied his seed in me was the best that could be said for it. I dared not make the comparison between this and my body’s delight in the Angevin’s caresses.
Louis did not notice my lack of enthusiasm. At least it was quick.
Pushing himself away, he retrieved his hair shirt and robe from the floor and shrugged into them, mercifully hiding his thin flanks and wasting flesh. He smiled at me. ‘I pray that you will bear another child, Eleanor. A son this time. If I do not return from the Holy Land, if I die there, it would be good to leave France with a male heir.’
‘Pray God I shall. I’ll do my best.’ I pulled my skirts into order, cringing at the sticky remnants of his pleasure.
In truth I did not expect anything to come of Louis’s new obsession, rejecting it as the product of a disordered mind, brought on by too much fasting and long hours in prayer. I gave it no thought, and when my bleeding returned with its habitual regularity, I forgot the whole episode. Louis’s prayers for a son had gone the same way as his vision of holy restitution, leading an army towards the gilded domes of Jerusalem.
I was wrong.
‘My lord!’ Clearing his throat, part exhilaration, a greater part nervousness, Louis rose to his feet. The Great Hall at Bourges swam with colour and clamour: the remnants of feasting. Christmas Day. A day of joyous celebration.
‘My lords!’ Louis raised his hands to demand silence. He looked like a half starved jackdaw amongst a flock of bright and keen-eyed hawks. Not even for Christmas had he made the effort to appear kingly but appeared in a drab tunic with unspectacular decoration. When all eyes were on him, some interested, some sceptical, not a few disdainful, he made his announcement. ‘I have to tell you of the secret in my heart.’
His face was flushed, but not from wine, his eyes flitting restlessly over his subjects. Here was Louis trying to sell his dream of a crusade to his jaundiced barons. From within his robe Louis produced a document with a heavy seal. I tried to smother a sigh.
‘This is from His Holiness the Pope.’ He glanced round to get the measure of his audience. They were not roused at the prospect, whatever it was. A number buried their noses in their cups and belched. ‘His Holiness exhorts me to raise an army and deliver the states of Outremer from the Infidel. He urges me to go on Crusade.’
Silence. What did he expect? A shout of joy at the prospect?
Louis continued, eyes searching the sea of blank faces for encouragement. ‘I will launch a crusade to liberate the city of Edessa from the Turk, and protect Jerusalem. I want you to join with me, to give me your knights and your silver and come with me. It will be a penance. It will bring us expiation for our sins. God will smile on us and grant us forgiveness.’
Silence. Apart from the clearing of a throat, the shuffle of feet or a scratching hound.
God’s wounds, Louis! This is about as appealing as a dish of cold pottage. Give them a cause to fire their blood!
‘We will go crusading to the Glory of God!’ Louis exhorted. ‘I have promised His Holiness that France will lead the conquest. Are you with me, my lords? You will pave your paths to heaven
and God’s salvation.’
The faces remained closed to him, Louis’s vassals as well as my own from Aquitaine. I watched them, and read in them the same contempt that stirred me. Penance and salvation was no way to their hearts. Louis sat down heavily, at a loss.
‘What will it take to persuade them of the rightness of this Great Cause?’
Some faith in your ability to lead an army to victory would go a long way, I thought. They’ll remember Toulouse and Champagne. I’d not leap to follow you to Outremer.
‘Now, if I had the ability of your grandfather, Duke William …’ Louis was muttering. ‘To move men to give their lives and pockets for the cause of the Cross.’
‘Duke William made it sound exciting,’ I responded with flat honesty. ‘You made it seem as enticing as an offal pudding.’
‘It is a holy mission! It is not frivolous, Eleanor. It is the chance of a lifetime!’
A chance of a lifetime.
Oh! An idea curled in my mind. A vision so desirable. Suddenly a vast horizon opened before me. An adventure, a gilded opportunity … An escape! My heart leapt, a single heavy bound against my ribs. Before I knew it I was on my feet on the dais.
‘My lords.’ I had their attention, some astounded, some disapproving, all intrigued. ‘His Majesty speaks of the value to your souls. I would speak of something quite different.’ I could hear my voice. Clear, feminine, persuasive. Certainly not weak. I looked around the hall, drawing these puissant barons to me. Oh, yes. I had their attention. I raised my hands, palms up in heartfelt plea. ‘I would speak to you of the earthly glory of such a venture. As you are all aware, Duke William of Aquitaine acquitted himself well in the Crusade. His songs tell of the bravery and magnificent exploits of the knights who gave themselves to the cause. Do you not recall? Their spectacular march through the lands of Europe, armour gilded by the sun, banners unfurled.’ My voice warmed, became more vibrant as I painted the picture I wished them to see. ‘Do you not recall the tales of their pride and superb achievements? Of the days of high adventure? Men still sing the praises of those first Knights of the Cross. Would you not wish for that? For your wives and children to know you too as heroes and adventurers?’