Devil's Consort (76 page)

‘Damn the Crusade, Louis! What did you say to him about us?’

‘That I love you.’

‘What use is that, to either of us?’

‘It’s true. His Holiness asked me …’

‘Are you so—so witless, Louis?’ I snatched the scroll from his hand and flung it to the floor between us. ‘Did you not tell him that we need an annulment? Did you not demand it from him? You are the King of France. His position is not so strong that he can fly in the face of your wrath.’

‘I told him I wanted a son. I asked for his blessing.’ By God! Hopeless! ‘His Holiness said that you too had expressed your grief that you could not carry my heir.’

Of course I had said it. It was the only argument I could use. That did not mean that I wanted it. I never wanted to share a bed with Louis again. I wanted to scrape the filth of Paris from my feet and wave Louis farewell. There he stood, old before his time, fingers trying to flatten the scroll he’d rescued from the floor. Even now, he was looking beyond me to see if Galeran was lurking within earshot, so that he could be summoned back to continue to tally the figures for a new Crusade.

There was nothing here for me to love or respect.

‘God’s bones, Louis! Have you no sense?’

My baggage was packed and we would leave at daybreak for Paris, but I could not sleep. Wrapped in a loose robe over my shift, my hair unbound on my shoulders, I could find no way past Eugenius’s obstinacy. Should
I appeal to Abbot Bernard again? I glowered at the invisible gardens beyond my window.

A sound at the outer door took my attention. Low voices whispering.

Then Agnes. ‘A servant is here.’ Her disapproval was sharp. ‘His Holiness wishes to speak with you before you leave. What does he want at this time of night? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’ She picked up my cloak, and stood waiting.

I was not of a mood to stir myself. One more piece of kindly advice to put myself in Louis’s care, subdue my own intemperate moods and set myself to a life of unparalleled boredom in the Ile de la Cité. After Outremer, with all its heights and depths, Paris beckoned with the promise of a dungeon cell.

‘The servant is waiting, lady,’ Agnes chivvied. ‘He says to go now. His Holiness does not stand on formality.’

‘At almost midnight!’

I allowed her to bundle me into the mantle, a veil around my hair.

‘I am to come with you,’ Agnes said as she wrapped herself in her own cloak, and the servant nodded.

I did not care greatly. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could accept whatever holy soft-voiced imprecations Eugenius would direct at me for a holy marriage and return to my bed.

We walked through antechamber after antechamber in what were clearly Eugenius’s private apartments until
our guide opened a door, bowed discreetly and ushered me in. A study with table and books and exceptional hangings, so a room for audiences and business. It was softly lit with wall sconces and the fragrance of costly wax. And there was Eugenius, gleamingly silk-clad in papal robes despite the hour. And beside him, in the act of rising to his feet from his knees, Louis. Looking no more pleased than I at being summoned at this ungodly hour. Even he was in a chamber robe rather than his black habit, although I thought I saw the hint of hair shirt at the open neck.

I ignored him.

‘My daughter. So pleased …’

Eugenius bustled forward, hands raised in greeting, face alight with what might have been construed as innocent pleasure, except that my hackles rose. There was something not right here. Nevertheless, I knelt and kissed his ring. One must not treat God’s Chosen Representative on Earth in too cavalier a fashion. One never knew when one might have need of him.

‘Holiness,’ I murmured respectfully.

He raised me to my feet, keeping my hand in his, drawing me with him towards Louis, who shivered like a stag at bay.

‘I wish to bless you once more, before you depart.’ Eugenius seemed even more sprightly and cheerful than usual. ‘I have only one final piece of advice for you young people before you journey on to Paris. You were joined as one in holy matrimony in the eyes of God
and I believe it is His purpose for you to remain so. It is good that your lands are united under one ruler, is it not? It seems to me that your problems can be solved by one simple step.’ He beamed. I felt apprehension walk its chilly path down my spine beneath my night-robe. ‘Give me your hand, sire.’ Now he was stern with implacability.

Louis obeyed, eyes wide and watchful, darting between my guarded face and Eugenius’s determination. For a moment we stood there in strange alliance, the Pope holding both our hands. The chill in my body became even colder. It seemed to me that we were puppets, manoeuvred and manipulated in whatever manner God’s Chosen One desired. Unless one of us refused and put a stop to it.

One of us. It would not be Louis. He would hop in whatever direction this priest desired. I tensed in Eugenius’s grip, which clearly he felt as his fingers tightened around mine.

‘May God bless and keep you safe from all sin and wickedness, my dear children.’

Then, lifting our hands, he placed Louis’s on top of mine within his own, enclosing them in greasy dampness, as if we were about to be wed all over again. Panic danced over my skin. Did he truly think that such a piece of mummery would heal the rift? It was in my mind to snatch my hand away but he held on, his plump fingers surprisingly strong.

‘You need a male heir.’ He inclined his head to Louis.
Then to me: ‘And you, my daughter, believe it is God’s will that you have failed to bear a son, a holy punishment for a marriage you consider to be outside the law.’ He shook his head so his jowls wobbled. ‘Not so. I have prayed long and hard about this. I have the answer.’

Nerves rioted over my skin. I heard the soft scrape of Agnes’s feet behind me as she shuffled. Louis seemed to be thinking hard. Was he part of this? I thought not. He looked as uncomfortable as I. As for Eugenius, his expression was as keen as my misericord dagger, yet he laughed softly, entirely pleased with himself, as if he were about to shower us with priceless gifts that would grant us eternal happiness. Releasing us, he turned away towards a door in the far corner of the room, for a man of his girth moving swiftly.

‘Come, now. I will show you.’

He opened the door and preceded us into the room beyond. I followed as Louis stood aside to bow me through.

And I stopped so quickly that Louis trod on my hem, my heel. I did not feel the pain.

If the previous room was the essence of comfort, this one was sumptuous, a masterpiece in polished wood and mellow stone, the walls covered with priceless silk hangings, glowing as brightly as did the Pope in their midst. The windows were shuttered against the night and draughts, with illumination from two branches of fine perfumed wax candles. A magnificent arched ceiling above all enabled the angels carved on the hammer
beams to look down on us with trumpets raised to their lips.

It was an awe-inspiring scene, set with care. Set with complete duplicity. I should have known God’s Chosen One for the cunning fox he was.

‘I hope you approve, my children. All the furnishings brought here from my own chambers.’ He made a gloatingly self-satisfied gesture with his hand. ‘I thought you would enjoy this after the privations of your journeys.’

The room and the luxury it offered might have taken my attention. But it was not that. Oh, no, it was not that that gripped me by the throat.

It was the bed.

In the centre of the room was a vast bed. Silk hung in gold and purple, heavily embroidered in gold thread. A papal bed. A royal bed. As ornately carved and embellished a bed as any I had ever seen. And far larger.

A bed in which to conceive a child.

‘You need a child, a son for France. Here is the opportunity, under my aegis. God will not turn a deaf ear, I assure you.’

Eugenius beckoned us forward. Behind me, in the doorway, I heard Agnes gasp. Louis stood like a statue at my side. I was speechless, with anger at the duplicity but also with fear.

I had been tricked. I was trapped.

If His Holiness was disappointed at the lack of overt appreciation, he hid it well, continuing to reassure us
as he smoothed down the already smooth coverlet with his hand.

‘Look on this as the first night of your marriage. You are full of hope and admiration for each other. Put aside your differences as you put aside your clothes. God will be magnanimous.’

I found my voice, but it was more reedy than I would have hoped.

‘I will not …’

‘But, lady, you begged my intervention,’ Eugenius murmured, sly as a stoat. ‘This is the very best I can give you. You will be reconciled and—as my prayers reach the Heavenly Throne—fruitful.’

My wits scattered and my feet seemed frozen to the floor. Louis proved to be no help at all. With a ragged murmur of abject thanks he fell at Eugenius’s feet with bowed head. Then, rising, stripped off his robe and the dire hair shirt, exposing his unimpressive assets. He slid between the silk covers, looking at me expectantly.

Leaving me standing adrift and alone in the centre of the room.

I won’t do it. I’ll not be used like this.

‘It would be my greatest achievement, lady, to reunite two such attractive people and restore them to God’s grace. I know you’ll not deny me.’

My whole body shrank in denial. My mind scrabbled, helpless in the toils of papal certainty, Louis’s obvious delight and my own disgust. How could I allow this? To be put to bed like a virgin bride. The Pope
took my suddenly inert hand to lead me to the bed as Louis folded back the covers, exposing his skinny ribs and flanks.

I swallowed against the ball of revulsion in my throat and dug in my heels. I should decline politely—no need to make a scene—and make my exit, leaving Louis looking foolish and Eugenius disappointed.

Leave now. Before it’s too late.

Or I should storm out, order up the horses and my palanquin, dress and flee this calculated trap, anything but remain here with this dreadful anticipation on the two male faces.

Yet I did not.

‘Come, my daughter. Allow your woman to disrobe you.’

I looked across at Louis, who sat as apprehensive as the bridegroom of twelve years before, the silk lying across his thin chest revealing the rapid rise and fall of his rib cage, his eyes anxious on mine.

He thinks I will refuse. He fears I will reject him and make of him a fool.

‘What stops you, my daughter?’ The papal voice in my ear was as wickedly persuasive as the serpent in Eden. ‘Here is your husband, waiting to show you his love and devotion.’

No!

‘You are his wife. His Majesty can command your presence in his bed, my dear.’

The words lay like slime on my skin. Louis ran his
tongue over his lips, fingers clutching at the papal sheets.

Suddenly all my choices seemed to vanish. I would have to do it. Pray God Louis could not perform, even at the instigation of God’s Anointed. As soon as we were alone, I would change his mind. I might not persuade the Pope over consanguinity, but surely I could quench Louis’s ardour.

Outwardly composed, every muscle controlled, my mind set to accomplish what my body deplored, I let my cloak shrug from my shoulders into the waiting hands of Agnes, let her take my loose veil. I slipped my feet from my soft shoes, leaving them where they lay, then turned to allow Agnes to unlace my chamber robe and remove my shift. Head high, chin lifted, I stalked to the bed, making no attempt to hide my body other than from the natural cloak of my hair that brushed my hips. Never had I been so thankful for its concealment. Eugenius’s eyes were far too prurient for my liking. I slipped in beside Louis, making use of the enshrouding silk. And there we sat, ridiculously, like children, waiting for instruction.

Hysteria ruffled my composure but I dared not allow it to surface. Beside me I could feel Louis tremble against the banked pillows. I must not laugh. I must not weep. Eugenius picked up the vial of holy water, to scatter it over the bed and the pair of us. Then knelt at the foot and bent his head in fervent prayer.

‘Let us pray together, my children.’ Beside me Louis
bent his head, his lips already moving. I closed my eyes, clenched my hands tight and willed it all to go away. ‘Almighty God. Here are your children, at odds with each other. I would make intercession for them. Heal their wounds. Grant them love and affection. And make them fruitful. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ repeated Louis.

I could not speak.

Eugenius, his mission accomplished, struggled to lift his corpulent body to its feet and bowed to us, cheeks still damp with the tears of holy victory.

‘Make good use of this, my children. It is a holy moment and must not be squandered.’

And left us, Agnes following, trailing my garments in her arms, looking back with disquiet.

‘A holy moment.’ Louis repeated the exhortation and grasped my hands as if he would waste no time. ‘It’s what we wanted, Eleanor. A new beginning.’

‘Don’t play with me, Louis.’ I shivered in terrible apprehension.

‘Play? I’m deadly serious.’

‘This is not what I wanted—it’s the last thing.’

‘Eleanor—you don’t know what you want. I know what will make you happy.’ I could see the fervour building in his eyes. ‘We can be healed in God’s love and forgiveness.’

‘When you’ve spent the whole of the past year damning me for my adultery with Prince Raymond?’ There! I could not say it more plainly. Some of the fervour
died. ‘An annulment would suit us both very well. Don’t let His Holiness persuade you otherwise. You have only one daughter.’

But I had lost him. The mention of Eugenius had been a mistake. The fervour flamed again.

‘No, my love. My dear wife.’ I cringed at his endearments. ‘His Holiness sees it clearly. We are meant to be together. We must do as he says, and we will be blessed in the eyes of God. We took vows!’

His hands were on my shoulders, dragging me close.

‘Are you going to hold me to my empty vow, Louis? On the word of an old man who is probably outside that door even now, with his ear—or eye—to the keyhole, rubbing his hands at making the King of France obey him, even to taking a woman to bed?’