To Be Queen

by Christy English

  A man in black stepped out from behind the altar then, and I recoiled instinctively. It was Brother Francis, the lead priest in Louis’ entourage, the man who had accepted the gift of fruit from my table with a smile earlier that night, as if tribute from a duchess were his due.

  Louis’ priest smiled at me, a calculating smile that seemed to speculate on what he might gain from catching me alone with the heir of France. I saw that I would have to send this one a bag of gold on the morrow, to buy his silence.

  I bowed to Francis, knowing him for the first time as an enemy. I pushed the priest from my mind, as I had pushed the Baron Rancon from my mind half an hour before.

  I focused on the young king at my side, on the man who would be my husband.

  “Do sleep sometime tonight, my lord king. Tomorrow, we ride out on a hunt.”

  Louis turned pale at my words. I thought for a moment he was afraid to hunt with me, but he swallowed hard and nodded. “As you say, my lady. Until tomorrow.”

  I curtsied to him, and moved to go. I expected to feel my betrothed’s eyes on me as I went, as I would have felt any other man’s. But when I turned back at the door, Louis faced the cross above his head. He still knelt, his rosary between his hands, his lips moving in silent prayer. Brother Francis stood over him, as a black crow over a carrion feast, waiting to hear his confession.

  Chapter 7

  Palace of Ombrière

  Bordeaux

  July 1137

  MOST OF MY BARONS BEGAN TO ARRIVE THE NEXT DAY. THEY all came to the great hall to bend their knee to me and to my betrothed. We had to cut our hunt short in order to greet them. I was sorry, but I saw after only a few minutes in the saddle that though Louis was a competent horseman, he did not care for hunting.

  When I showed him my hawk, newly tamed to my hand, he shrank from the great bird as from an apparition. His eyes were shadowed with sleeplessness, his pale face almost gray with fear. I handed the bird off to my groom at once, but it took many moments for Louis to regain his color.

  That afternoon, we sat on my dais in my father’s hall, the great hall that had become my own. Petra sat behind us to remind the barons that if I was to die, the duchy would go not to France but to her.

  As each baron stepped forward, I asked him about his fields and crops, his peasants, and his wars. Each was surprised, some pleased and some not, that I knew him and all his doings so intimately. They each bent their knee to Louis, but only after first having spoken to me.

  As the fourth baron approached the dais, I began to realize that Louis was still saying my name with his heavy Parisian accent. Though we all spoke French out of courtesy to him, he could not make his tongue and lips form the word Alienor. The flavor of the langue d’oc did not sit easily on his tongue for even that one word.

  Louis did not notice, but my barons began to frown, and to take offense. My men were touchy, and needed careful handling, but Louis would be my husband. Here was one way I might establish his authority, while losing nothing but my name. I did not consider the price, for it was a personal matter only. As to the duchy, Louis’ authority was my authority, once I went away.

  “The Duchess Eleanor greets you,” I said to Baron Rancon.

  The memory of our meeting the night before lived still in the dark brown of his eyes. My own lust rose, as I sat there with Louis beside me.

  Geoffrey of Rancon saw the desire on my face. He also understood when I insisted on the new pronunciation of my name. He was the first after Louis to speak my name as I would bear it for the rest of my life.

  “My lady Eleanor, you grow ever more beautiful.”

  Rancon behaved as if he had just arrived, as if he had never seen me the night before, sneaking out of the castle keep.

  I laughed at his words, and the sound carried to the far end of the hall, warming the cold stone. I had never before drawn out my laughter, and let it caress all who heard it. All the men in the room stopped their conversations, and turned to me.

  “And your tongue is ever silver, my lord. It puts me in mind of the contest a year ago, when you won a dance from me with a song.”

  I pitched my voice to fill the great hall without strain. Though I kept my eyes on Rancon, I saw that all my other barons and their wives turned to listen. I had never commanded in my own hall before, without my father standing by. It was a heady moment, but in spite of the warmth of the Baron Rancon’s hand on mine, I kept my wits.

  “It was more than a year ago, Your Grace,” Rancon said.

  “Indeed. How well you remember.” I smiled at him, and made him feel for a moment as if my smile were for him alone, though of course it was not. Louis shifted beside me on his borrowed cushions.

  “My lords and ladies, I call for a song. Tonight, in this hall, my lords and knights will sing for me. Each man must compose a new song, using my given name: Eleanor.”

  My barons, who had been rapt to this point, began to shift on their feet, and cast glances at one another.

  “Among our people, we have the most artistic and talented knights in this land. Indeed, I would stake a claim that my lords might set a poem to music that would rival any man’s in Christendom.”

  Though my praise was flowery, and calculated to draw them in, I did not lie. The Court of Love had begun in my grandfather’s time. Though many great castles now fed and housed countless troubadours, the best songwriters in Europe still came to our halls. And my barons stood to sing with them, bringing songs and tales they had written themselves. I had set my court a challenge, and as I watched, they drank it down.

  I infused my voice with just a hint of laughter. “And if you take care with the scansion of my name, you might use your songs again, to woo your own ladies.”

  There was a long pause, during which I thought they had slipped my nets. But then they laughed, not because what I said had much wit, but because it was the simple truth. The only reason my men wrote poetry at all was to coax their ladies into their beds.

  Baron Rancon and Louis were the only two men in the hall who did not laugh. Louis, no doubt, because he did not get the joke; Rancon because his eyes had still not left my face. I had used him to enforce the new pronunciation of my name, and he did not like it. But I knew he would not question me, there in front of all my men.

  I lowered my voice, so that only he and Louis could hear me. “And will you sing again this night, my lord? Will you raise your voice in song for me?”

  I knew I was pushing my luck, but I could not seem to stop myself. I still wanted this man. Even now, as I looked at his great wide hands, I remembered how they had felt on my body.

  I reminded myself that my husband-to-be sat beside me, feeling lost and out of place, for Rancon and I had begun to speak in the langue d’oc, a language Louis did not understand.

  Baron Rancon answered me, his eyes cradling mine. His voice was soft, all traces of anger bled out of it. I saw only his pain, that he must yield me to another.

  “No, my lady duchess. There are too many rivals for your affection. This day, I will respectfully retire from the field.”

  Rancon bowed low, first to me, and then to Louis, who still sat frowning. Geoffrey left me then, and took a stool at the far end of the hall. He was not alone long, for women found him, and drank with him, simpering and offering themselves, for he was young and unmarried still. I forced myself not to look his way again, but from time to time, all that afternoon and that evening, I felt his eyes on me.

  I turned back to Louis, for I had neglected him long enough. I spoke to him in flawless Parisian French of the contest I would hold that night. I reached out to take his hand. Louis blinked, surprised at my boldness.

  “You see, my lord king. Now they will use my new name and it will become a byword. Never again will you be misunderstood when you speak of your wife.”

  Louis’ face, cloudy with worry and doubt, cleared as the sky does when the sun rises in the morning. “You did this for me?”

  I felt my heart twist inside
me. This young king’s childhood had shaped him so that he was forced to such diffidence now. I thought of my father; what a man Papa might have made of him.

  I schooled my face to blankness, save for a soothing smile. “Of course, my lord king. All I do, I seek to serve you.”

  Louis’ hand closed hard over my own, and he raised it to his lips. His eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, I thought he might shed them.

  I saw then that Louis was weak. He was not a man to shelter me, as the Baron Rancon would have been, but someone else I would have to protect.

  I stared down at Louis’ bent golden head, pushing away all comparisons with the baron and what might have been. I told myself that it was better this way. A weak king would lean more heavily on me, and on our son.

  This thought did little to comfort me as I sat in my great hall that night, listening to the songs sung in my honor. My barons used my new name as seamlessly as if I had never had any other. Louis listened and applauded, though I could see he did not like to hear my name lifted in song at all.

  I judged the contest, and gave the winner a golden cup from my father’s treasury. Louis eyed it almost avariciously, and I wondered if he coveted it for himself. I saw his priest, Brother Francis, eyeing it as well, and the look that passed between them. Louis wanted that goblet not for himself but for the Church.

  I felt a touch of ice slide down my spine, but I shook it off. I could train Louis out of such proclivities. Soon he would be drawn to me alone. Once I had Louis in my bed, the Church would be relegated to its place, in the service of the throne of France.

  After two weeks of feasting and dancing, my wedding day came. The sun rose bright that morning, and there was not a cloud in the sky. As my women dressed me in emerald silk and cloth of gold, I stared out of the window and thought of my father.

  For the last two weeks, I had been distracted from his death, both by Louis and by all my knights and barons gathering in one place. I had laughed and danced, schemed and heard the reports of my spies. For the weeks after our wedding, I had planned a progress through my lands so that all my people might see my husband, and, more important, his five hundred knights. I would show the people and my barons the might of the King of France, as well as the control I exerted over that might. I would leave for Paris soon after that progress, so I wanted to make a strong impression.

  Politics seemed to fade with the dawn of my wedding day. My father and I had worked so hard to achieve this marriage. Today, that work would bear fruit, but my father would not see it.

  Papa lay everywhere as I looked around his favorite palace. I had been mewed up in the keep at Bordeaux for so many months that it had grown tiresome to me. Now I was leaving, and I did not know when I might return. I must be about the business of birthing kings, and raising them to follow not just in their father’s footsteps but in mine. But today, I thought not of my future but of my past. I thought of Papa, and of how I wished he stood beside me.

  Petra seemed to know what I was thinking, as she often did, in spite of my care to keep my feelings hidden. She reached out, and took my hand. I kept her hand in mine, and smiled for her, though I knew the smile did not reach my eyes. She would have said something to me, but a knock came at my door.

  Before my women could speak, I called, “Come.” And the door opened.

  The Baron Rancon strode into my rooms, as if he were my betrothed, as if he had the right.

  My women drew back, startled, then moved to stand in front of me. They were all thinking that he had come to abduct me. I knew better; he was loyal. Rancon would not have come to me unless the need was dire. He was no romantic fool, set on begging me to reconsider my marriage. He was there for some other reason altogether.

  When Geoffrey of Rancon looked at me, standing there in my green silk and cloth of gold, he stopped dead, whatever he had first meant to say forgotten. I savored the feel of his eyes on my skin, and let him look.

  I stepped out from behind my women. “My lord Rancon, what brings you to my rooms on my wedding day?”

  “Treason, my lady.”

  I raised one eyebrow. My ladies twittered like birds in a hedge. I let them murmur among themselves for a moment, before I raised one hand.

  “What treachery, my lord?”

  “There is a plot to kidnap you after the ceremony, on the way to your wedding feast.”

  Our vows spoken and the mass after were two steps in the process of my marriage to Louis, but neither was the most important. If I was taken by another man before Louis bedded me, the duchy could be claimed by the first man who had me. A few hasty words with a priest and a quick coupling were all that was needed for any brigand to make himself Duke of Aquitaine. Vows taken before God and masses sung in the darkness of a church would mean little if another man laid siege to my body, and, by taking hold of me, took hold of my duchy.

  Though my barons might rise up against such a usurper, they could be subdued, and bribed with gold after, once my new brigand husband had his hands on my treasury. And in spite of Louis’ five hundred knights, there were some men who would not mind risking war with France if they could gain my duchy first.

  “Is this common knowledge?” I asked.

  “No, my lady. Only I know it, and now you.”

  I nodded once, thoughtful, as if considering. It was no secret that men wanted to kidnap me, to take hold of my duchy. I had a strategy in place to thwart them if my enemies made it past my castle gates. I met Amaria’s eyes, and she left us to spread the word among a few well-chosen men. My people would soon be at work, seeing that my will was done.

  “Then we will give them a hunt,” I said.

  “What, my lady?”

  I smiled at him, and in spite of his worldliness and his courtesy, I saw that he loved me still.

  “If my enemies hope to catch me like a rabbit in a snare, we will give them a chase.”

  My women said nothing to this, and the baron stared at me, uncomprehending.

  “My lord Rancon, your castle of Taillebourg lies hard by. Might I prevail on you to spend a night there when the wedding is done, myself and the king?”

  Baron Rancon’s face darkened, and he bowed to hide it. “My house is yours, Your Grace, whenever you have need of it.”

  I closed the distance between us, and extended my hand. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”

  The use of his given name was almost his undoing. I felt a pain next to my own heart, and I wished once more that he were the man I would bed that night.

  I thought for a long moment that he would not accept the hand I offered. When he did take it, his palm was warm and dry. He kissed my fingertips, then backed away.

  “Send word to your men,” I said. “I will get word to the king.”

  Rancon did not speak again, but bowed to me. He turned and strode from the room, and my women sighed as he left. Had I been free to express myself, I would have sighed as well. As it was, I met Amaria’s eyes. She would dispatch word to the king’s guard. After the ceremony, we would ride for Taillebourg.

  My wedding was almost anticlimactic after so much excitement.

  I met my husband on the cathedral porch, and we pledged ourselves to each other in front of his people and mine. The archbishop of Bordeaux heard our vows and blessed our marriage there under a blue sky a shade darker than my father’s eyes.

  At the end of the ceremony, Louis hesitated one long moment, but finally, he gave me the kiss of peace. My women relaxed then, for they had feared he would avoid kissing me out of shyness; he was famous among my people for diffidence already. It had never occurred to me that he might turn from me in front of all our people, and I felt a wash of relief as his dry lips touched mine once, very gently. Louis turned from me to stare after the archbishop as he preceded us into the darkness of the church.

  I laid my hand on Louis’ arm and waited, but he did not move. In the end, as we stepped into the church, it was I who led him.

  I did not listen to the mass, but knelt on my embroi
dered cushion and thought about the night to come. I was sorry to leave directly for Taillebourg from the church and miss the wedding feast I had planned so carefully. But I could not risk being kidnapped at the feast itself, or on my way from the church to my own great hall. I would have to flee as soon as the wedding mass was sung. I knew that Amaria and Petra would see to it that my lords and their ladies ate well, drank deep, and slept it off after. After all, it was my wedding my barons had come to see, and they had seen it.

  I was the young queen now. I would not have my own coronation, as no French queen ever did. But my barons and Louis’ men-at-arms had seen me bound in marriage to their lord and king. My marriage vows were all it took to make me queen. All my father had worked for had come to pass. I wondered in that moment why I did not feel the triumph of it.

  Louis listened to the mass, and prayed fervently when directed by my archbishop. I watched my young husband and realized that he would be in my bed and in my life for many years to come. The whole day seemed like a dream suddenly, and fear rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, but could not dislodge it.

  Though my will was strong, this boy beside me now held the power of life and death over me and mine. Though in truth I would continue to rule in Aquitaine, though I would continue to rule my own life or see myself damned, by the laws of France and the Church, this boy was now my lord and master.

  The archbishop placed the coronet of Aquitaine first on my head and then on my husband’s. I looked at Louis in my father’s diadem. He was Duke of Aquitaine now. I was a lone duchess no longer.

  The mass ended, and the congregation rose. Louis stood first, for I had been distracted by my dark thoughts, and had lost the thread of the ceremony, dropping my mask of calm serenity for the briefest moment. Louis must have seen my fear.

  A lesser man would have preened, or planned how to use my moment of weakness against me, but Louis was a true gentleman. He did none of those things. In the darkest moment I had known since I first heard of my father’s death, Louis reached out and took my hand.