To Be Queen

by Christy English

  “Louis,” I said. “What think you of this talk of war?”

  “War, Eleanor?” he asked me. “What war do you speak of?”

  “The war for God,” I answered. “The war to free the Holy Land.”

  Louis said nothing for a long time. He turned his eyes from the fire to gaze on me. “I think to fight for God is a blessed thing. I think the great warriors who free the Holy Land from the infidel will be blessed, their names called on for generations to come.”

  Bernard of Clairvaux had been at him in private, then.

  “And their souls, Louis? Do you think they will be forgiven of all sin? Will they be allowed through the gates of paradise?”

  The light of God came into my husband’s face. I had rarely seen that light turned on me. Instead of warming me, the sight of that zeal chilled the marrow of my bones. But I had gone too far to turn back. I must free him of his obsession with sin, even if I had to walk barefoot to Jerusalem to do it.

  “You speak of God as if you have seen His Face,” Louis said.

  “I would never presume to look upon the Face of God, Louis. I seek His Grace, as all men do.”

  He did not doubt my lies. Louis rose from his chair, and came to kneel beside mine.

  “Eleanor,” Louis said. “I would follow God to the Levant, and beyond. I would follow the Cross to Jerusalem.”

  I pressed on, keeping my voice even. “Perhaps we might seek absolution from God in Jerusalem, that He might grant us a son.”

  Louis raised my hands to his lips and kissed them, not as a lover would, but as if they were holy relics, as if my fingertips held his salvation.

  “Let us go on Crusade, Eleanor. Let us seek the grace of God.”

  He kissed me then, full on the lips. He lingered over my mouth, as if to taste my very soul. My heart leaped, and I ignored the fact that my blood was frozen, like a river in winter. This man was my husband. I had bound my life to his. I would raise our son to rule France as a great kingdom, stretching from Paris to Poitiers and beyond, as it had once been united under Charlemagne.

  If I had believed in a god, that is what I would have prayed for.

  PART III

  To Be Free

  Chapter 17

  City of Metz

  Empire of Germany

  June 1147

  THOUGH BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX HAD BEEN KIND ENOUGH to plant the idea of a Crusade in my husband’s head, he could not let us leave for the Levant without speaking out against me. He did not go so far as to make a sermon proclaiming my evil, as he had called on all of Europe to fight against the infidel from his pulpit. Instead, he used his fiery eloquence to speak ill of me among certain churchmen and clerics, all of whom hated me already. He spoke long enough, and well enough, that his words were carried to Louis.

  My people also carried them to me.

  For the first time, Bernard of Clairvaux asked aloud whether God had turned His Face from us. Were we too closely related to please God, being distant cousins? Should we not seek an annulment from the pope in Rome, that Louis might be free to begin again?

  In all the years of our marriage, not one man, no priest, bishop, or pope, had ever thought to question the validity of my marriage to Louis of France. Now that Bernard of Clairvaux did, I saw all his old hatred for me rising once more, and all his old hatred of my father. He would bring me down if he could, for since he had joined the pope in calling for a Crusade, Bernard had the ear not only of my husband but of all Europe.

  But with Louis, Bernard had miscalculated. At court, in the months before we left on Crusade, Louis began the practice of leading me into dinner on his arm, and seating me himself at the high table. He did not fawn on me like a green boy, for we were both in our mid-twenties. The time for youthful foolishness had passed, even for Louis. But he poured wine for me himself, displaying to all who might be watching that I was his lady, his queen, and that no other woman would ever be.

  The rest of Europe ignored Bernard of Clairvaux’s words about my marriage, as the throne of France and the Emperor Conrad of Germany prepared for the march on the Holy Land.

  As we assembled our knights and barons, gathering them for war, Bernard of Clairvaux’s words stayed in the forefront of my mind. I had questions of my own. What if even a Crusade in the Holy Land would not turn Louis from his ideas of sin and death? What if Louis never gave me a son?

  Charlemagne come alive once more in my own flesh and blood was a dream I had cherished since childhood. But as I sat among my husband’s courtiers, and drew furs around me to ward off the chill of that hall, I wondered if the men and women of Louis’ court would follow even a Charlemagne. Parisians were shortsighted, hating all things new. Perhaps my son would not be able to bring them to heel, even after a lifetime of training from me. Perhaps they were simply an intractable people for whom the south and all its glories would always remain just one more country province to be sneered at.

  For the first time in my life, I considered: if Louis annulled our marriage with the blessing of the pope, I would be free.

  At first, this thought burned as a firebrand in my side. I lost my breath, sitting among my husband’s people, so that Louis noticed and took my hand in his. I wondered as I looked at him: if he never gave me a son, could I leave him?

  I remembered the warmth of my own homeland, and the joy life would hold for me if I never left there again. I might marry one of my own barons, and raise our son to follow as duke after me. To be a Duke of Aquitaine in the unbroken line of Charlemagne was no small thing.

  But I could not relinquish my father’s dream. My ambition was bred into my bone; I could not give it up. I would lead Louis to Jerusalem; I would call on him to release his fear of sin, and come once more to my bed.

  The day before we left on Crusade, I went to the nursery and cradled Marie in my arms. She was less than two years old, but very solemn. Her dark blue eyes looked up into mine. The light of my father’s eyes was gone; I saw nothing but Louis reflected in her face.

  I kissed her. “Marie, my love, I must go away.”

  She blinked but did not answer. This news was not surprising. I was often gone from her. Her nurses cared for her, and were true mothers to her, as I could never be.

  “Your papa and I are going to a holy place, the city of Jerusalem, very far away. We will be gone a long time. Longer than a year, and maybe longer. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  I saw from the shadows in her eyes that she did not. She knew only that I had always left her alone, though I saw her whenever I could, and came to her rooms daily whenever we slept in the same keep. I drew Marie close, and pressed her against the softness of my breasts. This child would never know me. But I would love her, every day for the rest of my life, whether we were together or apart.

  “I hear you love music,” I said. “Will you sing for me?”

  Marie raised her head from its resting place above my heart, and she gave me a smile, nodded, and then began to sing.

  It was a simple song about a spring flower that sat on her windowsill. She stood alone in the center of the room to sing it for me, as if she had a great hall filled with knights to be her audience, instead of only me. I listened as carefully as I had ever listened to any of my troubadours, and when she finished, I applauded her as if she were Bertrand himself.

  “I will see you when your papa and I come home again.”

  Marie did not answer me, but came to me without her nurse’s prompting. This time, I did not have to draw her close. She climbed onto my lap, and laid her head against my breast herself. I remembered a truth then, as I held my daughter. One must cut out one’s heart to be queen.

  The next day Louis and I rode out from St.-Denis. It was a sunlit day in June, and Melusina pranced beneath me, her harness ringing like the sound of a bell. The bells of Paris and of Abbot Suger’s grand new cathedral sounded us on our way as we rode out, Louis’ men leading the vanguard.

  Louis and I rode together in the center of our troops
, with my barons from the Aquitaine and Poitou following behind us. Geoffrey of Rancon, my old suitor, rode before us as Louis’ standard-bearer. The rains of spring ceased as we took to the road, white clouds drifting above our heads, the flowers of spring rising along the roadside at our horses’ feet. We rode to the city of Metz in one long celebration. The Emperor Conrad of Germany was to meet us there, and continue with us on through his vast territories to Byzantium itself.

  I brought all my ladies with me, both Parisians and Poitevins, and as we left the confines of France behind us, I felt them all begin to relax, even Priscilla, who was Parisian born and bred.

  We had been on the road four days when Priscilla came to me, a sly smile on her face.

  “Your Majesty, may I have a word?”

  I smiled at her formality. Like all my ladies she had more than a word with me each day as we traveled safe between my husband’s men-at-arms and my barons.

  “You may, Lady Priscilla.”

  Instead of speaking, she waved to a servingwoman, beckoning her to step closer. The woman unrolled a silken sack, from which a pair of fine-combed woolen leggings emerged. The leggings had been dyed an emerald green, and were too small for any man to wear; my smile began to widen.

  Priscilla waved to another servingwoman, who brought forth a gown in elegant emerald silk. Priscilla drew the skirt out for my inspection, and I saw that it was slit up both sides. Once I put it on, the skirt of the gown would reveal the leggings beneath.

  I laughed out loud in sheer delight.

  “We are women, riding to war,” she said.

  I laughed harder. “Amazons indeed, Priscilla.”

  “Yes, my lady queen.”

  I discovered that this scheme of dressing as modern-day Amazons, though concocted by Priscilla, was shared by all but the most staid of my ladies. They had their seamstresses sewing for months before we left, and now, the night before we entered the German city of Metz, they presented the gowns and leggings to me.

  They had also fashioned leather vests for us to wear over the bodices of these gowns. Each bit of leather was soft and supple to the touch, beautifully embroidered in colors to match the gown it would be worn with. From a distance, the leather vests would give the semblance of breastplates.

  Amaria had known of Priscilla’s preparations but had said nothing to me, thinking that my women would never have the courage to reveal such a thing to the Queen of France. But when Priscilla presented Amaria with her own blue silk gown with its split skirt, woolen leggings, and fine embroidered vest, Amaria accepted them.

  The next day, we rode into the city of Metz, and peasants lined the roadside to be blessed by the crusading priests in our entourage and to see a King and Queen of France riding through German lands to meet their emperor. As we rode close to the city gates, my ladies and I cast off the traveling cloaks we had been wearing to keep the dust of the road off our clothes, revealing our Amazon garb for the first time. The people saw our leather vests, and the divided skirts and leggings that we wore. At first, I thought they might revile us, but after a long moment of near silence, the people began to laugh and cheer.

  I waved to them, and they began to cast flowers in our path. The Emperor Conrad rode out to meet us as we approached his city, and he drew his horse close to mine, giving me a rakish smile.

  “Your beauty is as dazzling as the sun at midday,” he said, after first offering his compliments to Louis as his brother king and crusader. Conrad’s dark blond hair was cut short, for war was his constant pastime. His smooth tanned features and the strength of his hand as he grasped mine reminded me what a real man was like. I had been so long among courtiers that I had almost forgotten.

  “And will you fight at our side, as the Amazons of old?” Conrad asked, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

  I had opened my mouth to respond to his casual jest when Louis reached over and took my gloved hand from Conrad’s. “No, my brother king. She will not.”

  Louis’ face was drawn and pale, almost gray with horror at the contours of my legs revealed beneath the leggings and the split skirt of my gown. He was furious that my women and I had made such a display of ourselves. He threw his own cloak over me, and Conrad saw that it would be best to let the matter rest.

  “Come into my keep, brother,” he said in his flawless French. “Let us offer you a feast, for you have had a long journey, and we have farther still to go.”

  Louis nodded to the German emperor, but did not answer. We followed Conrad, our mounts trailing behind him, Louis’ hand clutching mine. It was awkward to ride with our two horses side by side, but Louis would not let go of me.

  Once we were in our adjoining rooms inside Conrad’s keep, Louis would not leave me alone and in peace until I had stripped off the gown and leggings, and replaced them with a modest gown of cloth of gold. He left me then to go to his evening prayers, and I wondered what else this journey might hold, and if I would have the patience to bear my husband’s constant company until we reached Jerusalem.

  Conrad feasted us with a great banquet of roasted boar and vast wooden kegs of local beer. I sipped at it only, for I found the concoction foul, but my barons and Louis’ men drank deep, their laughter reverberating off the stone walls of Conrad’s great hall. Only Brother Francis sat alone in the midst of the Germans with a frown on his face.

  I retired with my ladies as soon as it was polite to do so, for Louis still glowered at me. The Emperor Conrad’s attentions were too solicitous, and I left knowing that though Louis was jealous, he would not come to my bed that night. But then, he never did.

  I had brought a full retinue of ladies on Crusade with me, and most of them slept in the room that led into mine. Amaria saw them bedded down, though we both knew that they would not stay there. They, too, were happy to be away from the Parisian court, where prying eyes held them always under scrutiny. Here, they could meet their lovers unencumbered. While on the journey to Jerusalem, they could enjoy themselves. I envied them that.

  Amaria saw my restlessness, and without a word, she handed me a long, heavy traveling cloak of wool. The cloak might have been worn by any woman, and was plain, with no embroidered border; no one who saw it would ever suspect that it hid the queen.

  Amaria and I kept to the shadows and walked in silence through the torchlit keep. She made it her business to know all the outer doors and secret passages of any castle we slept in, for she trusted no one, and always wanted to see to it that I had a method of escape in case of fire or war. Her caution had never been necessary, but now we made use of her intelligence, climbing to the ramparts without calling a man-at-arms to accompany us. Bardonne alone followed us, moving with great silence and stealth for so large a man. He spoke not a word, but simply kept to the shadows as we did.

  On the ramparts of Conrad’s castle, I could see the village below made of stone huts, all outlined by the half-moon that rose above our heads. The town’s cathedral rose on the next hill, and moonlight softened the rounded edges of the Romanesque basilica. The sight reminded me of my father’s cathedral in Poitiers, and for one long, piercing moment, the view of that foreign church made me long for home.

  “Your thoughts are far from here.”

  I knew that voice well, though it had been years since we had spoken alone.

  “My mind was at home, in Poitiers,” I said.

  Bardonne stepped between us as Geoffrey of Rancon emerged from the shadows of the castle wall. Conrad’s men-at-arms, posted on the ramparts to watch the grounds below, saw us talking, and assumed no doubt that I was his lady love, and that this meeting had been prearranged. They gave us a wide berth, for which I was grateful; they did not recognize me.

  I raised one hand. “It is all right, Bardonne. He may pass.”

  My man stepped back, but kept his hand on his short sword. He wore one not for formal battle; he had been born little more than a peasant and did not fight as an archer or on horseback. But hand to hand, in close combat, Bardonne had no equal
. To guard my life was his only duty, besides spying among my husband’s men-at-arms, and he took his duty seriously.

  Amaria frowned deeply, but when Bardonne stepped back, she did the same. Both she and my man-at-arms would hear every word we spoke, but we kept our voices low, to give ourselves the illusion of privacy.

  “The people of Aquitaine and Poitou miss you,” Geoffrey said.

  I smiled at him, for that was nonsense. I had been to see my uncle de Faye for Christ’s Mass the year before, and had celebrated in my own hall among my own people. It was Rancon who missed me. Though he had served me faithfully, he had done it from afar. I had rarely seen him in the years of my marriage to Louis. The time he spent near us on our wedding day, and our wedding night, was all he could bear.

  I saw the longing in Rancon’s eyes and found that it mirrored my own. For the first time in my life, I wondered what might have been had I not married the King of France.

  I dismissed such thoughts as folly. But I had been miserable with Louis for so long, and Geoffrey of Rancon stood close, his head bent low over mine. I took in the spicy sweet scent of his skin, and remembered how his hands had felt on my body so many years ago. I took one step back. Rancon was a man of honor and did not follow me, though his eyes were hot with desire.

  “You would have made a fine Amazon, my lady.”

  My smile was wry. “My husband did not think so.”

  “Then he is a fool.”

  I pressed my hand to his arm to silence him and looked over my shoulder, in case any of the Emperor Conrad’s men might be listening. They stood more than ten feet away, staring out into the night over the castle walls.

  I met Rancon’s eyes. “Do not take foolish chances.”

  “I would do more, for your sake.”

  He bent low, and took my hand in his, pressing his lips to my fingertips. For one heady moment, I thought he might turn my hand over and press his lips to my palm, but he did not. He let my hand fall and took a step back from me.