To Be Queen

by Christy English

  “My lady queen.”

  Stefan did not draw attention to himself by kneeling, but he bowed low to me, and met my eyes.

  “You are welcome, Stefan of Gascony.” I waved one hand, and the Lady Priscilla caught my eye. She saw the way my gaze was tending, and she curtsied, leading my other women back into the keep, so that I was left alone with Amaria and Stefan.

  Amaria did not turn and acknowledge him, but simply stepped deeper into the plants, and cut another sprig of the purple flower.

  I did not waste time, for I knew we had little. I must soon go inside. In a few hours, the evening meal would come, and I would have to sit at my husband’s right hand and pretend that this meeting with Stefan had never taken place.

  “You serve me, Stefan, do you not?”

  “It is my honor to serve you, my lady queen.”

  I met the maple brown of his eyes. “You no longer serve my uncle de Faye, though he sends you gold?”

  This time, Stefan did kneel. “Your Majesty, I accept his gold, but I serve you.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “I have an opportunity for you to prove it.”

  “Command me, lady. I am yours.”

  I hid my smile. He was an earnest young man, or at least could pretend to be one. Who truly knew how deep his loyalties lay? The task I was about to give him would prove his worth to me, better than anything else ever would.

  “I need a man in Rome.”

  “I will leave tomorrow.”

  With a gesture, I gave him leave to rise.

  “You will walk among the bishops of Rome. You will listen. You will keep watch in the halls of my enemies. And when the time comes, you will hand out the bribes that will secure my sister’s marriage.”

  I saw from the look on his face that even he had heard of Petra and her troubles. “My lady queen, I will do all you ask, and more.”

  He bowed again, and I gave him my hand, which he kissed with fervent devotion. I saw that he fancied himself in love with me, and for the first time in months, I felt young again. I could still command men with my smiles. My time in Paris had almost made me forget.

  Stefan backed out of my presence, leaving me alone in the simples garden with Amaria. Her calm blue eyes met mine over the waving lavender as she stooped down to retrieve the last cutting needed for my rooms.

  “He will do as you ask,” she said. “He will fulfill your wishes, or die trying.”

  I simply smiled, and led her back into the shadows of my husband’s keep.

  Chapter 15

  Abbey of St.-Denis

  Île-de-France

  April 1144

  IN THE SPRING OF 1144, I WAS ALMOST TWENTY-TWO YEARS old. For a queen who had never borne a living son, I might as well have been fifty. Louis’ courtiers looked at me and whispered behind their hands, not even troubling themselves to hide their contempt. The court knew that Louis did not stir himself to come to my bed, and as each month passed, the smirks of the Count of Valois were more and more like acid on my skin. All the courtiers in Paris were united in the idea that the fact that Louis behaved like a monk and not like a king was somehow my fault.

  Just as Louis would not come to my bed, he also would not make peace with the Church. He still struggled to make his old chancellor archbishop of Bourges. The pope had denied the annulment of Raoul de Vermandois’ first marriage, but still Louis clung to his tenuous authority in that matter, saying that indeed his bishops could annul a marriage where and when they wished.

  In spite of the fact that her marriage was not yet blessed by the pope, despite that one faction in the Church believed her married while the pope himself did not, Petra was happy, safe from the court and the Church both, tucked away on Raoul of Vermandois’ lands, while my uncle de Faye continued to rule in Aquitaine.

  Petra and Raoul had two children already, sweet, towheaded daughters who were lively replicas of my sister. Those children reminded me that I still had no son, no heir of Charlemagne to follow in my footsteps, or in my father’s. And in spite of all I did, Louis would not touch me. Louis still made confession to Brother Francis, and every month would visit his mentor, Abbot Suger, at St.-Denis. But these visits did not bring him to me; he would not come to my bed, and give me an heir. Once Louis had set his mind to a course of action, he was implacable.

  Earlier that year, the pope, the old enemy of my father, finally died. Abbot Suger was a holy man, but he had not risen to the heights of power by being a fool. He saw the pope’s death as the opportunity it was: a chance to make peace between the Church and the throne of France.

  So at Suger’s request, we all came together, the Church and my husband’s ministers, many of whom were churchmen themselves. As I traveled with my husband on the few hours’ journey to St.-Denis, I could only hope that Louis would stick to his current resolve, that he would hold fast to the power of the throne, and force the Church to concede, both on the matter of my sister’s annulment and on the archbishopric of Bourges.

  I would have raised my voice in the discussion, or at the very least, I would have sat next to Louis and quietly made my voice heard through him. But I was locked out of the debates. Because I was a woman, the Church was certain that I could have nothing to say.

  I sat with my women outside the halls of power, my heart hot with fury beneath my gown, a bland smile on my face. I allowed the monks of St.-Denis to fawn on me, bringing me tisanes and braziers to warm me in the cold reaches of that cathedral complex. I waited for my husband to emerge, for Louis to tell me what was taking place beyond the doors of Suger’s private rooms.

  As I waited, Bernard of Clairvaux stepped out from the halls of power. My father’s old enemy smiled on me, and I returned his look with equal insincerity. I knew he was baffled by my easy welcome, and my quiet grace.

  “My lady duchess.” Bernard of Clairvaux bowed low to me, his tongue lingering on the title I was most proud of. “My lady queen. Might I speak with you, alone?”

  The smile on my face did not waver. I stood, and extended my hand. “Indeed, my lord abbot. It would be my honor.”

  Though he loathed women with a depth and breadth that would have staggered a lesser man, Bernard reached for me, there in front of my husband’s courtiers, and took my hand. He touched the fingertips of my right hand, where my wedding ring and the signet ring of Aquitaine gleamed, even in that dim light. He led me into yet another antechamber, and I saw that this church was a rabbit’s warren, full of holes and hidden places, where two might sit alone to plot, or to do whatever churchmen did to while away the hours when they were not at prayer.

  Bernard offered me a chair, almost as if he were a gentleman. I had left my women in the hall behind me, in spite of Amaria’s dark looks and my women’s shocked gazes. As if I would slip away with the likes of Bernard of Clairvaux for a dalliance. As if such a man could bring himself to touch even the hem of my gown. The ridiculous thought made me smile, and Bernard blinked. He hesitated, before taking the chair next to mine.

  This unlooked-for familiarity shocked me. That Bernard would lower himself to sit in my presence was strange enough that I did not resent his sitting without my leave. Any other man in the country, save Louis, would have had to ask permission to sit in my presence. But I let the matter go.

  “We have come from opposing camps to this place of truce, my lady queen.”

  “My lord abbot, you speak as if we are at war.” This man wanted something from me, and wanted it very badly, to take such trouble to speak with me.

  Irritation crossed the icy blue of his eyes, and my smile faded. I had scored a point, but I could not drive it home. There were things I needed, too, things he might be able to give me, things that Suger withheld.

  “Your sister has been very brazen, my lady queen.”

  “Indeed. The women of my duchy are known for it.”

  He swallowed his first reply. I saw how deeply he loathed me. I leaned against the high, hard back of my chair. It seemed Suger did not believe in cushions. I wa
ited then, for Bernard to make the next move.

  The monk could not speak of women without bile, so he changed his tactic. “Queen Eleanor, France has desperate need of a son.”

  I lowered my eyes to examine my rings. My father’s ruby gleamed on the third finger of my right hand. The diamond of my wedding band shot fire at me, as if in reproach. I had chased Louis for years, and I still had not gotten a son off him. What more did Bernard think I could do, save tie the King of France to his bed and not let him up until I was pregnant once more?

  This idea was oddly appealing. A feigned illness, a worried queen who would not leave her husband’s side. This thought brought another genuine smile to my face. Bernard shuddered to see it, but he soldiered on.

  “The king, long may God bless his reign, perhaps has not been as diligent in the service of the crown as he has been in the service of his prayers.”

  I laughed then. The warm sound reverberated back to us from the cold stone walls of that little room. The gloom seemed to lift a little, and I began to see that perhaps Bernard of Clairvaux was not all bad. He wanted what I wanted: my son to sit on the throne of France.

  “Indeed, my lord abbot. And what would you suggest? How do we bring the king to service me?”

  Bernard’s color rose as if I had exposed myself to him. I bit my tongue, and chastised myself for going too far. I did not have to like him, but I had to keep a civil tongue in my head. Allies were never friendly. Allies simply wanted the same things, and would walk a few steps on the road together for necessity’s sake, no matter what had once happened between them, no matter what might happen between them in the future.

  I leaned forward, and met my new ally’s eyes.

  “My lord abbot, France needs a son. How do you propose we turn Louis’ thoughts from God to me?”

  “Suger and I are of one mind in this. It has been decided: he will lay the groundwork, and then I will speak with the king on your behalf. For the good of France, our lord must return to his duty in the marriage bed.”

  My eyebrows rose. It was not the first time that day Bernard had shocked me. “You and the Abbot Suger are allies, then?”

  Bernard did not answer but bowed his head. I saw how deeply it cut him to join with Abbot Suger. Almost as much as it cut him to attempt to ally himself with me. No doubt Suger could not bring himself to speak to me on the subject of Louis’ coming to lie with me. Suger had called on Bernard to approach me in his place.

  “And what will you and Suger ask from me, my lord abbot, in exchange for this generous talk with Louis?”

  “Persuade Louis to keep peace with the Church. Today Suger will bring him to an understanding, but his power over the king lasts only so long as Suger is in the room with His Majesty. But you . . .”

  “I, on the other hand, am always there.”

  “Yes.”

  That one word cost him more than anything else he said that day.

  “And my sister’s marriage?” I asked. “What of that?”

  “His Holiness the Pope will not grant the annulment of Raoul of Vermandois.”

  “Not today,” I said.

  “Not ever,” he answered.

  I bowed my head. Bernard of Clairvaux relaxed in his chair, taking my lowered eyes for defeat, as I knew he would. Little did he know my man Stefan was still in Rome. Ever since the annulment from Louis’ bishops had been overturned, Stefan had sought an annulment from the Roman bishops. It would take years and gold, but in the end, I was certain I would win.

  However, Bernard need know nothing of that.

  “I will pray with your husband, Queen Eleanor. I will guide him back to God, and to his duty to France.”

  I spoke then for the ears that listened to our every word. I knew that I must be clear, and show my own obedience, or at least some semblance of it.

  “I am a weak woman, my lord abbot. I thank you for your kind intervention, and I ask that you bless me.”

  His blue eyes met mine, lit with fire. At first he thought that I mocked him. When he saw that I did not, Bernard rose, one hand above me. He made the sign of the cross over my head, and intoned something in Latin to the effect that I would bear the next King of France, with the blessing of God and the saints.

  I crossed myself, and managed to look contrite as he led me back out among my husband’s people. They saw us emerge, and took heart. I seemed to have been brought to heel by the great churchman, as my husband had been brought to heel by Suger.

  Louis himself had emerged from his council meetings while I was gone. I stepped into the hall once more with Bernard of Clairvaux at my side. Louis smiled to see that I had allowed a great man of the Church to guide me. My husband took my hand to lead me to the meal Suger’s people had set out for us.

  Whatever else he may have been, Bernard of Clairvaux was a man of his word. After he spoke with the king, Louis came back to my bed. And a month after that, I was pregnant again. At long last, I would bear a son for France.

  Chapter 16

  Palace of the City

  Paris

  May 1145

  MY DAUGHTER’S CRIES WERE SHARP IN MY EARS. AMARIA moved to take her away, but I raised one hand, and she left the child in her crib. I gestured once more, and the wet nurse handed my daughter to me.

  I looked down into Marie’s face, and I could not feel defeat. This living daughter brought my father back to me in all his glory, with the soft blond down of her feathery hair and the piercing blue of her eyes. For now, until I bore a son, she was the heir to Aquitaine. One day, she might be duchess after me. But I knew I could not indulge myself in that fantasy, nor in any other.

  Though my breasts leaked with the desire to feed my child, I could not. I needed to be ready to bear another child as soon as possible, as soon as I could entice Louis back into my bed. No woman of greatness could afford the time to feed her own daughter, nor even a son.

  As I handed Marie off to her nurse, Amaria came to me with cloths. We bound up my breasts, and the pain was like dull knives. But I had borne worse pain, and would again.

  Louis came to my room when I was gowned in silk and my hair had been brushed out. Marie had drunk her fill of the nurse’s milk, and now she slept once more in my arms.

  I knew I could not indulge myself in this. I would have to give her up, give her over to the care of others. I could not rule my lands, rule Louis, and be a mother, too. But for now, I held my daughter close, and raised her in my arms, so that her father might look upon her.

  “Is she not beautiful?” I asked him.

  Louis stared down at our daughter, the child it had taken eight years of marriage and the blessing of Bernard of Clairvaux to conceive. Louis looked at Marie as if searching for something else, as if my daughter might somehow reveal herself to be another creature altogether: a creature of the fey perhaps, or some kind of changeling. As if his son, his rightful heir, had been spirited away.

  “She is a girl.”

  I did not shield my child from his eyes and curse him. Instead, I met his gaze, and smiled.

  “Louis,” I said. “She is a child of God.”

  He could not hold on to his disappointment, not when I looked at him. He pressed his lips to mine, then to my baby’s forehead. I let my breath out once, softly, and my daughter sighed with me.

  “She is a beauty, like her mother,” Louis said.

  “Our son will be as beautiful.”

  Louis kissed me again, then remembered himself, and that I had not yet been churched. I would not be ready for his bed for another six weeks. Though I wished I might spend those six weeks with my daughter, I knew that I could not.

  Talk of a Crusade began in the kingdom almost immediately as the Holy Land and all its riches caught the eye of the new pope. Support for this Crusade took little time to catch on among the bishops and the kings of Europe like wildfire in a dry field. The new pope was hungry for the wealth that a Crusade might bring, and our vassals were hungry for war, and for glory in the name of God.


  After Marie was born, Louis returned to prayer, and shunned my bed once more, for in his own mind, he feared himself too sinful to produce an heir for France. He thought that God had turned His Face from the throne. I sighed, and said nothing, for I knew that when God came to the foreground, the only way to win with Louis was to retreat.

  Once more it was Bernard of Clairvaux who set things right, though he had not meant to. He hated me more since the birth of my daughter. Our short-lived alliance had ended almost as soon as it had begun. He felt it a personal affront that his work with my husband, as well as all his prayers, had produced only a princess.

  But Bernard’s thoughts were not on me, nor on my supposed failure to produce a son. Like everyone else, he was caught up in the fever for the Holy Land. He called to dukes and princes everywhere, as the pope did, to rain fiery wrath down on the Turkish infidels who had taken Edessa, a city close to the Christian kingdom of Jerusalem. Bernard called on the princes of Christendom to ride to the Levant, and to set all of the Holy Land free.

  Louis refused to listen to this talk of a Crusade at first, but I heard it. My uncle Raymond was king in Antioch. I had never seen him, and the hope of meeting my father’s brother made me long to begin the journey.

  I also thought of Louis’ obsession with guilt, and of the absolution that could be received in the city of Jerusalem. Murderers and evildoers of all kinds made their way to the Holy Land, fought against the infidel, and were shriven, forgiven of all their sins. Louis thought himself steeped in sin. There was no more decisive way to free him from this belief than to travel to Jerusalem, as the pope and Bernard of Clairvaux called for us to do. If Louis could be freed from his ideas of sin, he might return to my bed, and give me a son.

  I sat with Louis alone after dinner in the great hall. Though he would not come to my bed, often he would sit with me of an evening once my ladies had gone, when he was not at prayer. That night he had left off praying to be with me. It was yet another beginning.