“Perhaps God will send a Shepherd to lead you in your time of need,” Eugenius said.
I smiled at him, my hand in his. “But, Your Holiness, He has sent me you.”
I waited in yet another garden while Louis met with Eugenius alone. Brother Francis, who clearly had thought to go in with the king, was left outside in the cloister garden with me.
I sat, fingering my rosary as if in prayer. Francis glowered, his hatred for me barely concealed beneath his anger at not being taken into the papal presence with Louis. I remembered well the night in Sicily when Brother Francis told me of my lover’s death in front of all the company, and how he had gloated over my pain. I smiled at Louis’ confessor, pleased with his discomfort at being left outside with me.
After my meeting with Eugenius, I was certain that the pope’s time alone with Louis would not be long. But as afternoon began to fade toward evening, torches were brought out to the garden. Eugenius’ steward came to find me and, on bended knee, offered to take me inside for some refreshment. Louis still had not emerged.
I broke my fast with a little bread and cheese, my eye turned all the while toward the inner door. Francis did not eat, nor did Amaria. They both kept watch, like two dogs eyeing each other over a coveted bone. In this case, I was that meaty morsel. I laughed out loud at that thought, and Eugenius’ steward came back.
“His Holiness asks that you take mass with him in his chapel.”
With a long look to Amaria to acknowledge this delaying tactic, I followed Eugenius’ man deep into the bowels of his palace. The chapel was small, clearly one meant for His Holiness’ private use. When I arrived, Francis was left outside the door, so that when I emerged into the candlelight within, I stood with only Amaria, Louis, and Eugenius himself.
“And will you celebrate mass?” I asked the pope. “You honor us.”
Louis came to my side and took my hand, guiding me toward the altar. Even then, I did not smell a rat, though one lay dead and rotting at my feet.
I met Eugenius’ eyes, but he was the jocund conspirator no longer. Behind me, Francis stepped into the room from the shadows of the corridor. I saw that the lowly brother had dressed from head to foot in a robe of cloth of gold that almost matched my own in quality. The pope himself wore ermine with his papal robes, and on his head rested his papal crown.
“We come together to unite once more in the bond of matrimony these sons of the Church, Louis, King of France, and Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. I raise my hand and bless you both, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May your marriage be fruitful. May, as God commanded, you multiply, and fill the earth.”
Even two years ago, I would have been grateful for a full nursery, never mind a full earth. But that night, I heard the death knell of my hopes in Eugenius’ voice. Louis had swayed him. For whatever reason, Eugenius had decided to support our marriage, and to leave me and my freedom in the dust.
I felt the floor slide out from under me, but Amaria was there to catch my arm, and hold me up. I drew strength from the dark blue of her eyes. She smiled at me, her dour countenance wreathed with light, and I remembered myself. I had lost the battle, but I would win the war.
Eugenius led us himself to his own bedchamber adjacent to his private chapel. His room was dressed in cloth of gold, as I was. Gilded tapestries depicting the life of Christ covered his walls, gleaming in the lamplight. A bright gold tympanum stood over the curved softness of his bed. The bedclothes were turned back, and I wondered for a moment if he had thought to have me there himself, before falling to Louis’ fervor. No matter. I would live as I had been born to. I would take this day as it came.
There was no irony in Eugenius’ voice as he stood next to his own bed, blessing the sheets with holy water, laying his hands over mine and Louis’, joined in benediction.
His Holiness did not look at me, but left the room. Amaria followed him, though I knew she wanted to stay, at least long enough to help me take down my hair.
It was Brother Francis who left last. After a few murmured words to Louis, my enemy strode from the room as if he owned it, stopping only at the door to look back and smile on me in triumph. Like all who journeyed with us, Francis knew that I had asked the pope for an annulment. No doubt he thought that since I had been denied what I wanted, I would now become a biddable, obedient wife. It was clear from the look on his face that Francis was certain that I would give up all hope of freedom, and that the Aquitaine would stay safe in Parisian hands. Clearly, my enemy did not know me.
Finally, my husband and I stood alone in all our finery, the pope’s words ringing in our ears.
“I will bed you, Eleanor. His Holiness has taken away the sin of it. He will pray for us, that we might have a son.”
I turned from Louis and drew the crown of France from my head. I laid it on a table that stood between two braziers. I began to undress in the firelight.
Louis did not move, but watched me as I drew off first my veil, then my cloak, then my belt and overdress, until I reached the fine soft linen of my shift.
I began to take down my hair from its elaborate braids. The strands of pearls and diamonds laced through them I set on the table next to my discarded crown. Louis still did not move to undress himself, but watched me, as a snake watches its charmer.
My bronze hair fell past my shoulders almost to my waist. It would have covered me, but I had no need to hide. As always, I would do what must be done. One night would not mean pregnancy. I told myself this as I stepped forward, and took Louis’ hand in mine.
“Husband,” I said. “Shall I help you with your sword?”
He did not react to this double entendre as I had intended, nor did he laugh at the irony of it, for he heard none. Instead, he took his hand from mine and drew his sword belt off, and then his gown, followed by his shirt, until he stood in nothing but his garters and his shoes. I knelt before him then, and untied those. Louis caught his breath, to see me kneeling at his feet. I had never yet met a man not moved by the sight of a woman brought so low.
I meant to speed the progress of this night’s affairs, so that Louis might turn to his prayers and I might get a little sleep. So once Louis stepped out of his shoes, I rose and drew my shift from my body in one smooth motion. I might be seven and twenty, but I had borne only one child. I was still beautiful, my breasts high and full, my belly a slight curve at my waist, beckoning a man’s eyes lower.
Louis drank me in, as if I were water in a desert. Very gently, he touched my face. I was strong, but I knew I could not abide tenderness from him. Not this night. Not ever again.
So I took his hand from my cheek and drew him down with me onto the pope’s borrowed bed. The tympanum above our heads swayed with Louis’ motion. I took to looking at it as Louis moved inside me. We had been long apart, and Louis had had no other woman, so it was over quickly.
When he had done, he lay down, his arm slung across my waist, like a band of iron. Louis did not fall to praying as I thought he might, but went at once to sleep. So I was left alone with my thoughts, my husband beside me, the false tympanum of papal power above our heads. I watched as the firelight climbed that gilded silk long into the night. Though all was quiet now, I did not sleep. I simply lay still, as if waiting for Raymond to come for me.
I knew he would not. Even had he lived, Raymond could not have helped me. I must help myself.
I had been strong enough to make myself queen. Whatever this pope’s leanings, I knew also that I was strong enough to set myself free.
We stayed near Rome at the pontiff’s villa for a few days more before setting off overland for Paris. My stomach roiled and heaved as we set out by litter. I could not face another sea voyage. It was autumn, not the best time to travel over the mountains of Italy, but I wanted to be gone from that place. Louis indulged me in this. He also stayed away from my bed.
It seemed, however, that the damage had been done. The pope’s blessing had some effect, and our night under the papa
l tympanum. By the time we reached Paris, I knew I was once again with child.
Alix, my second living daughter, was born on a warm day in June in the year 1150. She was small, her blue eyes closed in tiny slits against the light. I kissed her forehead, and handed her at once to her nurse. I named her for my own beloved nurse, the woman who had stood as mother to me in place of my own. My Alix had died that winter, just after my return from Rome. Since little Alix was a girl, Louis did not care who I named her for.
Marie was brought in to me. She looked down upon her little sister, then kissed my cheek. I gazed into her sweet face, hoping to see some semblance of myself, or of my father, but there was nothing. She was Louis all the way down to the heart of her, even to her soft golden hair.
Chapter 25
Cathedral Cloister of St.-Denis
Île-de-France
January 1151
LOUIS TOOK THREE MASSES A DAY, PRAYING FOR THE KINGDOM, and stayed away from my bed. I left him to stew in the pot of his own folly, until the feast of Christ’s Mass ended. In the early days of January in the year 1151, when the Yule log had burned out, I went to Louis’ rooms once more to broach the subject of an annulment. But before I could speak, he wrapped me in furs and brought me down to the castle bailey without saying a word. His face was pale as he handed me into a litter. He stayed silent as we rode to the cathedral of St.-Denis. Louis was taking me to see Abbot Suger.
We had not seen much of Suger at court since we returned to Paris. He stayed at his new cathedral, and every month or so, Louis would visit him there, and take counsel from him. Suger had been ill all that autumn, but I had not understood how ill he truly was. As soon as we were brought into his presence, I saw that Abbot Suger was dying. His flesh was gray, and paper thin, like old vellum that had been used too often. His breath caught in his lungs, and rattled in his throat. Louis crossed himself when he heard it, and I did the same.
My husband knelt beside the bed of Suger, the man who, for all intents and purposes, had been his father. Suger had raised Louis in the confines of the cathedral cloister. He had taught him to be a good man, and to know God. He had never taught him to be king.
Louis wept though Suger’s soul had not yet flown. Between my husband’s hands was the rosary that I had given him, its diamonds, pearls, and amethysts pouring from his fingers down to meet the image of Christ.
Suger reached for Louis, and caressed his cheek. I wished that I might help my husband, though I knew I could not. He would have to bear his pain; no one could carry it for him. My father had died far from me. At least Louis got to see Suger at the last.
There was no help for Louis, and there would never be. He would simply have to rise from his father’s deathbed and go on, by his own choice, as we all did. His crown and throne and scepter would not protect him. He would have to choose life, once his father’s life had fled.
Suger clutched Louis’ hand in his. “You must not let the Aquitaine go.”
His voice rattled as he coughed, and I thought for a moment I had not heard him correctly. When that old man’s words entered my ears, and were drawn into the contours of my brain, a fury rose in me so strong that had I let it loose, it would have been my undoing.
Louis did not answer Suger, and the old abbot could not draw breath to speak again. I would have to bide my time, and discover whether Louis had heard his spiritual father’s dying wish, and if so, whether he took it to heart. Louis was sentimental. But even he knew that there must be a son for France.
He would not get one from me.
I knelt by Louis, my anger tamped down. I said a prayer aloud to the Holy Mother for Her blessing on Her servant Suger. Louis wept harder at the sound of my voice, and clutched my hand. The emerald rings he had given me during my pregnancy, when he still thought Alix would be born a prince, dug hard into my flesh.
I took in that pain as the tribute it was. With Suger gone, Louis might once more learn to lean on me. When he did so, I would lead him, inexorably, to ask Eugenius for our divorce.
I saw the path laid out clearly on the chessboard before me, and my heart rose. I hid my hope behind a veil of sorrow, and held my husband’s hand while his soul’s father took his last breath.
Suger’s death rattle echoed off the stone walls of that tiny room. He slept in a bare cell, as all his monks did. Suger surrounded himself with no gold plate, with no silver crosses. All the wealth of his cathedral he left on display outside, for the people to see.
Louis was beside himself with grief. His mind was undone by the loss of Suger, so that he could not remember the words to any prayer. So before we took our litter back to the city, I knelt in the sanctuary in his place, and lit a candle for Suger’s soul.
Masses were already being sung in the great cathedral Suger had built, but we did not stay to hear them. I wanted Louis home with me, under my care, and under my eye. My husband leaned on me, as if his legs could not hold him up. Brother Francis saw this, and said nothing, but let me pass by unmolested, with Louis on my arm.
Our litter bearers saw the condition of the king, and made it back to the city by nightfall. I did not let Louis out of my sight, but brought him to my own rooms, where I placed him in my bed.
Amaria made him a cup of tea with a draught of poppy juice in it. I watched her carefully as she dosed him, for I did not want him too heavily drugged. I could have no rumors circulating in the court that, after the death of Suger, I tried to poison the king.
Louis lay sleeping, with his hand in mine. I sat by him all night. Once, his chamberlain and page came in. They saw him resting peacefully and left him in my care. Louis’ household had never believed the lies told about me. They served my husband well, and saw how much he loved me. They had never hated me as his courtiers did.
I bathed Louis’ face with warm water, but he wept for Suger even in his sleep. He looked like an overgrown child who had lost his way. I did not sleep myself that night, but kept the lamps lit, in case Louis was to wake and need me.
Dawn came, and he slept on, though not as heavily. I washed my face and hands and changed my gown, leaving him finally to step into my sitting room. When I stepped into my antechamber, expecting to see the Lady Priscilla and the rest of my women waiting for me, I found only Brother Francis, in his deep robes of midnight black.
“Good day, Sister Eleanor,” he said.
I almost laughed at his audacity. “I am many things, Brother Francis, but a nun is not one of them.”
“Of course,” he said, bowing low to me. “My lady queen.”
I heard the insolence in his voice, but it had always been there. I could not cure him of it now, these many years later. If I had respected him at all, perhaps it would have stung me. I could not even hate the man that morning. I was too tired.
So I dismissed Francis from my mind, pouring myself a glass of Rhenish wine, certain that the churchman had come to my rooms only to see Louis. I sipped the watered wine, a gift from the German emperor, and waited for Brother Francis to ask my leave to see the king. He asked me nothing, but stepped closer to me.
“My lady queen, I come to offer you an alliance.”
My lips quirked, but I was in control of myself and did not smile. I raised one brow.
“Indeed, Brother Francis. An alliance against whom?”
“Against the pope, my lady queen.”
I did not answer, but went to sit in my best cushioned chair. Amaria took up her place by the door leading into my bedchamber, and Francis did not so much as glance her way. I saw contempt in his eyes, not just for her, but for all women. I wondered that I had never noticed it before. I had always thought his contempt part of his hatred for me.
“His Holiness has all in his hands,” I said, my meaning ambiguous, as I meant it to be.
“The Holy See means to set you aside, my lady queen. I heard the rumors when I was last in Rome. You will be forced into a nunnery, that my lord king might marry again.”
I saw now which way this interview w
as tending. I called on all my powers of deception, and raised one hand to my hair.
“Brother Francis, God preserve me. Say it is not so.”
He blinked, and for a moment, I thought my lies were too overblown, that he had not been taken in. I did not look to Amaria for fear I would laugh aloud. It was not a laughing matter. This man was my rival for power in the kingdom, now that Suger was dead. As Louis’ confessor, Brother Francis had my husband’s ear. No doubt the false priest hoped to frighten me into becoming his creature with this talk of setting me aside. He clearly believed that to escape the convent I would do anything, even join forces with him. I knew in that moment that I would do all in my power to see Francis eclipsed in the king’s graces, and forever.
It is odd indeed when what we seek opens the door into another world altogether.
“I have even heard it said, among the king’s barons, that poison might find its way into your cup some evening meal. This would leave the kingdom with a vacant throne, and the Aquitaine both.”
The word poison caught my ear, and drove away all thought of laughter. My people had brought no word of this treachery, but I was sure that Louis’ people could see it done. Or perhaps Francis meant to warn me of some plot in the Church, some plot that might remove me, as my father had been removed. Cold crept into my chest, and lodged above my heart. I almost lost my breath.
“It would not be the first time poison found its way to curse a member of your family,” Francis said.
My hand shook. I dropped my goblet, and the wine splashed onto my golden gown. The glass I had held shattered on the stone floor at my feet.
Amaria did not move to help me. She stayed still, and silent, in the hope that Francis had forgotten she was there. But I knew that I would need more witness to Francis’ speech than one waiting woman.
To Be Queen Page 24