“I know who you are.” The crone’s voice was dry, and rasped. She stared at me from above her beaklike nose, her gaze impassive.
“I have come to see Queen Adelaide,” I said. “If she will receive me.”
“You ask permission to enter,” she said. “You do not demand it?”
“I would demand nothing of a queen.”
The old woman did not take her eyes from mine. After a long moment, she stepped back, and let me pass.
Adelaide sat behind her protector, a slender blonde dressed in dark blue silk. Her gown was lovely, and cut in the latest fashion, for her husband had been dead only a few weeks. Only a month before, she had ruled alongside him. But now her rooms were poky and small, as dark and dim as the corridor outside. The stone was damp with mildew. As I watched, the queen dowager sneezed delicately into a handkerchief.
“This is an outrage,” I said. “I will not endure it.”
Adelaide wiped her nose as delicately as she had sneezed. Her gaze was as blue as her son’s, and as clear. I saw that she was no fool, though I had assumed she might be, since Louis was.
“I endure it, Queen Eleanor. If I can, so can you.”
“Who has placed you here? I will have his head on a pike.”
Adelaide surprised me then. She laughed. Her laugh was musical and sweet, like the soft chime of a bell. I swallowed my anger. If she could laugh at her plight, I could set my anger down.
“Have you no income besides your dower lands?” I asked her.
“How rude you youngsters are,” she said. She herself was not old, only a few years past thirty. Her face smoothed, and her laughter fled, but her eyes still held a soft light when she looked at me. “Come here,” she said. “Come here and let me look at you.”
I drew close to her chair. She sat between two braziers to ward off the chill of the damp. I curtsied to her, and she took my hand.
“You will keep him safe,” she said. “I can see in your face that you are a strong woman, as I am not.”
“I will settle money on you,” I said. “I have estates in Poitou that will serve you. You may go there, and be lady in my place. My people will look after you. I will not leave you here to rot.”
Adelaide laughed again, and drew me down onto the chair beside her. I felt that I took a liberty to sit in her presence. She had a way about her, after so many years as queen. It had not faded yet. Nor would it, I saw, until her days passed from this earth.
“There is no need,” she said. “In one week’s time, I travel to meet my betrothed. With my son’s reluctant permission, I have arranged to marry Lord Matthew of Montmorency. He will care for me. You need not trouble yourself over my fate. I am well provided for.”
I was shocked by the marriage she was about to make. This woman had once been a power to be reckoned with in the kingdom; next to Bernard of Clairvaux, Adelaide had always held old King Louis’ ear. Now she was to marry some minor lord, her dower lands taken from her. Louis might as well have openly banished her from court. There was something she was not telling me. A lone woman would not have been allowed to arrange her own marriage in Paris, not even a queen.
“Who has done this to you? Who chose your husband for you?” I asked.
Adelaide did not drop her gaze, or dodge the question. I saw then that she wanted her revenge. She was not like Louis, save for the soft blue of her eyes and the golden light of her hair, which even now, in the midst of that dread dark, shone like the sun at midday.
“Suger,” she said.
One word only, but I felt it rise before my eyes like an apparition. The churchman who had met us in the antechamber, the abbot who had taken the King of France in his arms without pause or leave. He, then, was my enemy.
I stood to go, thinking that I would walk to Louis that hour, that very moment, and throw his treatment of his mother in his face. Adelaide held tight to my hand. I looked down at her, surprised by her strength. Her blue gaze held mine. I, who rarely listened to anyone, attended on her.
“Fear him, Eleanor. He is a good man, a man of God. But fear him. He was born a peasant, but now that my husband is dead, Bernard of Clairvaux has fallen from power, and no longer has the ear of the king. Suger is the new man behind the throne. He raised Louis from a child, and my son loves him above all others. Heed me. Fear him.”
No doubt Suger wanted Adelaide out of the way, that she might have no more power over the king. He had arranged her marriage to a minor nobleman, knowing that such a marriage would estrange her from her only living son. Suger had taken her lands from her and had given them to me, perhaps to buy my loyalty, perhaps simply to show me that he could.
I stared down at Louis’ mother, at her soft golden hair.
“I cannot leave you here, alone in the dark. You must sleep in Louis’ rooms until you leave for Montmorency. Louis does not need them.”
Before the dowager queen could answer, her old woman nodded to me from where she stood guard by the door. I had won her over, just as Adelaide had won me.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” Queen Adelaide said. “And where will you go?”
She smiled at me, and I was certain she knew the answer before I spoke.
“I, Your Majesty? I go to seek the king.”
Chapter 10
Cathedral of Saint-Étienne
Paris
August 1137
OF COURSE, I DID NOT RUN OUT AT ONCE, HUNTING DOWN Louis and shrieking like a fishwife. I saw to it that Adelaide was safely ensconced in Louis’ rooms, with a fire burning in the brazier beside her. She declined my invitation to sit with my ladies, many of whom had once been her own.
I looked in on my women, and made sure they were out of mischief, while Amaria went to find the king.
“He is at Saint-Étienne, my lady. At the cathedral school.”
“Is he indeed?”
I knew Louis had been raised in the care of monks as a child. I should not have been surprised to learn he was hiding among them now.
I could see him in my mind’s eye, reading scripture and praying, leaving his kingdom to lie like some discarded thing for whoever might claim it. It was clear that if I did nothing, Suger would control France, as he controlled St.-Denis, the rich abbey outside Paris that was the seat of his power.
I sent word to Abbot Suger, asking him to my rooms. I was not one to hide in the dark from my enemies. I would face this one head-on.
I did not have long to wait to hear his answer. It seemed that the abbot was too busy to visit the Queen of France. His messenger thanked me prettily, but said that he was about the work of the Church, serving God, and could not leave the cathedral grounds.
Things at the court of France were worse than I thought if a prelate of the Church could so openly defy me. I called for a handful of my most trusted ladies, and a few from the court of France. Led by Bardonne, burly men-at-arms joined us to hold off the peasants, in case someone wished to accost us in the streets. Then I set out for Saint-Étienne on foot, for it was close by. When I did not ask for my litter, the Parisian ladies were shocked, but they were all young, and somewhat flighty. They were happy to walk out into the sunshine, to be admired by all we passed.
The streets of Paris were narrow and dirty, but the people were happy to greet me. Even without my crowns they knew at once who I was, and they called and waved to me as they had not the day we entered Paris in the rain. No doubt they had heard of my generosity to Louis’ palace staff. I had my men-at-arms scatter silver coins, and then the people cheered me.
The low buildings of Paris huddled together, the streets that ran between them more like narrow alleys. As my women and I moved toward the cathedral at the center of the island, the smells of street cooking mingled with the smell of goats. I saw one woman milking a goat beneath the leather of an awning. She drew the milk from her goat’s teats and offered it to me as a gift. I smiled at her, and my man Bardonne gave her a piece of silver with my father’s face on it. I thanked her prettily, but did not touch the fi
lthy crock she offered, moving slowly but steadily toward the cathedral.
The church was a gray stone building done in the style of an old Roman basilica, as my father’s cathedral was in Poitiers. But unlike the cathedral in Poitou, Saint-Étienne seemed to squat, low to the ground, as if dreading the inevitable time when more rain would fall. Its gray bricks were soot covered from the fires of the houses nearby, and in the cathedral porch men sold relics and pieces of the True Cross, while others begged for alms.
Bardonne cleared a path for me, and my ladies followed, tittering behind their hands. This day was the closest they had come to the peasants of the city in years, if ever. I nodded to the Parisians who stood and stared at me as I passed, but I did not waver. I knew where I was going.
The interior of the church was as dark as a tomb. Some windows of dirt-streaked glass rose above our heads, but below torches were lit, lining the walls and the chapels tucked into the nooks and crannies of the cathedral. As I watched, a whore in garish paint drew her mark into the shadows of a sepulchre, and I thought of how similar this place was to my husband’s court. I saw members of the court here and there, masked to hide their faces, swathed in plain wool cloaks to hide their finery. All could travel to church, men and women both, with the excuse of prayer. There, in the shadows of the cathedral, men drew their lady loves into the darkness, and called it romance. I preferred our romance in Aquitaine. At least there the women got a song first.
Beyond the altar lay a cathedral school like the one in which my husband had been raised, taught to read Latin and to think like a priest. My ladies waited for me in the darkness of the church, left to pray or light candles or make mischief as they willed, surrounded by my men-at-arms. Only Bardonne followed me into the inner sanctum.
Though women were not allowed inside, I ignored this stricture. The monks who guarded the door knew better than to stop me. They, too, seemed to know who I was, and respected my position, even if Suger did not. They bowed low to me, and for a moment I thought they might cross themselves in their fervor, as if I were the Virgin come down to earth. Pleased by this reverence from churchmen I had expected to despise me, I was smiling when I stepped into Abbot Suger’s domain, looking for my errant husband.
The inner sanctum was bare, save for a few very fine pieces of sculpture, all carvings of the Virgin and Her Son. A rock crystal vase on a marble stand caught my eye. It looked like the vase my grandfather had brought back from Crusade, the one I had given Louis as a wedding present.
My eye was drawn from the crystal vase to Brother Francis, dressed from cowl to sandal in black. His robes were as dark as midnight, his eyes pinched and close together. His hair was shaved for his tonsure on the crown of his head. The rest of his fair blond hair straggled across his scalp, almost colorless. His skin was pale, as if he never saw the sun. Though he smiled, I saw the loathing behind his eyes. I wondered if it was me he hated, or all women.
Brother Francis was my husband’s confessor, the priest who had come with Louis to Bordeaux to see him wed to me. He was one of the Count of Valois’ faction at court, one of the men who did not favor my marriage to Louis. No doubt they favored claiming the Aquitaine, but they were furious that my lands were controlled ultimately not by Louis but by me.
I was surprised to find him in the abbot’s rooms. Suger did not strike me as a man who would use the services of a double-tongued monk like Francis. But then, I supposed all men who strove for greatness had to dirty their hands by dealing with many people, no matter how unsavory.
Abbot Suger came in. His black cassock was as dark as Francis’, and dirt lined the fabric over the knees. He had been out in the garden, seeing to the herbs that grew there. He was peasant born, whatever heights he had been raised to since.
As he stepped across the stone floor of his private chamber, extending his hand to me, I realized something that I had never before understood. Suger believed in God and Christ, in all His glory. But he believed in the Church first. It was the Church he sought to succor by disarming Adelaide, by blocking my power. By taking away any power the Dowager Queen of France might hold over the king, Suger sought to increase his own. In this man’s mind, his power and the power of God were one and the same.
I felt a chill as Abbot Suger took my hand in his.
“Good day, Your Majesty. Welcome to this place.”
“Am I indeed welcome?” I kept my tone light, though my intent was clear in my eyes. “I sent word asking you to join me in the palace. I was given to understand that you were too busy to visit the Queen of France.”
Color rose in his pale face and he bowed to me. “Your Majesty, forgive me. This message only lately came to me. My people were remiss. I hope you will accept my deepest apologies.”
Abbot Suger called for fruit and wine, for bread and cheese. He seated me himself in the best chair in the room, offering me a cushion for my back.
I accepted all this as my due, watching him all the while for signs of mockery. I saw none. Brother Francis watched the abbot welcome me, his pale face darkening with ire.
The food brought was fresh, the figs succulent, the bread soft. I ate a little to show my appreciation for the abbot’s largesse.
I saw Louis then, standing silent by the door to the cloister garden. His green silk gown was marked with streaks of black soil. He, too, had been pruning the herbs.
I stood at once, and curtsied. I knew what was due a king of France, even if my husband did not.
“My lord king,” I said. “I am glad to see you here. There is a matter of business between us, touching on your mother, that I hope you can put right.”
Louis came away from the doorway where he had been loitering like a recalcitrant schoolboy. He stood next to his mentor, and a little behind him, as if he feared to speak to me.
“What business have we, Eleanor, concerning my lady mother?”
“The business of her dower lands, my lord king. Her lands were offered to me by mistake. But they are set aside for the dowager queen, so that she may live off their income after the king’s death.”
“I know what dower lands are, Eleanor.” Louis spoke sullenly, the first time he had ever done so to me.
I was surprised, taken so aback that I did not at once reply.
The Abbot Suger spoke for both of us. “My lady queen, there has been a misunderstanding once again. The Queen Adelaide goes to Montmorency to marry in two weeks’ time. She has no need of the dower lands, so His Majesty, out of his largesse, has gifted them to you.”
I saw at once that Louis believed this tale. His face was set in stubborn lines, the closest I had ever seen him to anger. He deeply resented his mother’s coming marriage.
I simply said, “I would give them back to her, my lord king, if you will permit me.”
Louis’ face softened at my tone. He had never yet heard me ask for anything without at once granting my request. But Suger stood between us, and Louis looked to his mentor. The churchman did not hesitate to speak for the king.
“My lady queen, this is not possible. The papers have been signed, the thing is done. But your kindness to your mother-in-law does you credit. You have a soft heart. Anyone can see that.”
I understood then that this man would stand in my way if I let him. I must pry Louis from his grasp, as one sometimes had to pry the kill from the talons of a badly trained hawk.
I would give Adelaide income from my own property. The battle for her dower lands was lost, but it had taught me much. I knew now beyond any doubt who my rival was for power behind the throne of France.
“Thank you, my lord abbot. My lord king. I worried for Queen Adelaide, but you have set my mind at rest.”
I stood, fluttering my hands a little in my long sleeves, looking to Louis as if I needed his strength to lean on. He moved to my side at once, like a hound come to heel. His sullenness had fled, replaced by a look of worshipful devotion. It seemed he would swing back and forth between these extremes, devotion to me and devotion to the C
hurch. I would have to see to it that he let his Church leanings go, and placed all his confidence, all his love, in me.
“Your concern does you credit, Your Majesty,” Suger said as he bowed low to us.
“Thank you, my lord abbot. I will not forget your kindness.”
Suger smiled, for he did not understand me. Louis beamed, elated that Suger and I suddenly seemed to get on so well. It was Francis, the pale monk with the midnight robes, who stared at me with venom, who understood exactly what I had said. I would forget nothing Suger had done. I would watch him closely, and make certain that he would not thwart me again.
As we passed from those rooms, I looked close at the rock crystal vase. I stopped by its marble stand, my hand on the king’s arm. The vase was indeed the wedding present I had given Louis, a prized possession that had been in my family for generations. My grandfather had brought it back from the Levant, as he had my mirror of gold-trimmed bronze.
A bit of gold had been added to the base of the rock crystal, as well as a bit of additional gold to the top. Suger had carved an inscription onto the golden base stating that I had given the vase to Louis, who gave it to Suger, who in turn gave it to the saints.
Louis saw the tears in the green of my gaze. He knew already that I was a woman who never wept. He turned pale.
“Eleanor,” he said.
I pressed his arm, and led him out. My ladies waited for us in the church, beyond the door of the abbot’s private rooms. My men-at-arms and Louis’ men surrounded us, and my women followed us home chattering, the afternoon in the cathedral a great adventure for them.
All I could see in my mind’s eye was my wedding gift to Louis, so carefully chosen, so lovingly polished, passed not to our son but to the Church I despised. The saints would never see it, whatever Suger said. The Church would have it now. I could not get it back.
I was quiet all through dinner. Though he was still furious at his mother’s coming marriage to Montmorency, when Louis found Adelaide in his rooms, he simply kissed her cheek. I saw that he was ashamed of giving away my wedding gift to him, and that with this gesture to his mother, who was now under my protection, he hoped to keep the peace. Louis said not a word, but stepped into my room with me.
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