Devil's Consort (96 page)

That night Bernat’s lute sobbed as his voice hung in the rafters, heavy with emotion.

I sighed and wished my own love would rescue me from this cruel exile.

Bernat de Ventadorn left for England. As it happened, I could not have sent him away with Aelith.
She chose to make her home with me at Angers in her widowhood.

‘Why would I leave?’ she asked when I expressed my pleasure but my surprise. ‘The Plantagenet spices everyone’s life! I’ll stay here and watch the fun.’

And then Henry was home. The Plantagenet courier bowed low. Henry was at Rouen, his capital in Normandy, to spend Easter there and I was summoned to join him. Summoned? He would summon me to Rouen rather than come here to Angers? The courier’s respectful tones could not quite hide the demand. I did not care. After sixteen months I would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he had summoned me. I packed up my household, my necessary entourage and ordered up the palanquin. Then all that was left was to organise my gift for Henry and set off within the day.

F
IVE
weeks. Or was it six? I closed my gates, set my guards, sent out my scouts. If another presumptuous baron chanced his arm to take me prisoner, it would take a full-blown siege to do it.

And nothing from Henry Plantagenet. No message, no letter, not even a helpful rumour. I knew what kept him from me—plans for his imminent invasion of England were well advanced and Henry was not the man to let them stand still. As soon as the planning to transport men and provisions was complete, and the weather calm and suitable for campaigning, the invasion would begin. It was April—what better time to launch an attack with the summer months ahead? What would be his priority? Me or that distant crown? I did not like the obvious reply to the question. Every morning when I rose I watched from the battlements. Every evening when the palace settled into its nightly routine
I took up the same vantage point, but only for a handful of minutes. It would not do for my people to see their duchess malingering when she had only just returned to them.

I set myself not to think of him.

But my anxieties built as the weeks passed with still no news. There was no guarantee that I would see him again before he left to cross the sea. And what then? If he gained a foothold in England, if he defeated Stephen in battle or came to terms with him, what would the outcome be from that? Would not an English wife be a more astute choice for a claimant to the English throne? I feared she would, and cursed the unknown lady.

Promises and gifts of gold collars were one thing, political necessity to win a kingdom quite another.

And, of course, Henry might always meet his death on the battlefield. Or his ship could founder with all lives lost.

Alone, I fretted. No one knew of our agreement, neither was it safe for me to talk of it. That much I knew. To share a secret was to put it into the public domain. Even when Aelith came to join me I felt unable to whisper my secrets as I might once have done. Agnes was no recipient of my doubts and fears. All was too uncertain, too dangerous. If our intentions to wed, to unite Aquitaine with Anjou and Normandy reached Louis’s ears, he would move heaven and earth to stop us. An immediate invasion of Normandy by the King of France would put all Henry’s plans in jeopardy.

But why did the man not write to me? Why leave me in suspense?

Aelith complained that I was no good company, and when she threatened to leave me to stew in my own ill-humour, I took myself in hand. What point in fretting over so much outside my control? I was my own woman. I was ruler of Aquitaine, and it was time I acted as such. Gone were the days when I would be barred from the councils of government. Gleefully I turned my mind to annulling all the acts and decrees made by Louis, issuing charters in my own name to underline my autonomy. It did my heart good to revoke the grant of the forest of La Sèvre to the abbey of Saint-Maixent—and then promptly restore it in my own right, for my own gratification. How inconsequential in the scope of my marriage to the Angevin, but how amazingly satisfying to see Louis Capet’s name removed and replaced with mine!

It took my mind off the possibility that my acquaintance with Henry Plantagenet might have come to an untimely end before it had begun.

After some heart-searching, leaving Aelith in Poitiers, I made a private visit to the chateau of Belin near Bordeaux where I was born, and where a child called Philippa, a child who barely drew breath, was buried in the graveyard, as I had instructed. It was a simple stone, recording only her name, for who else would visit this sad place other than I? I wept with my veil pulled over
my face. For the baby, for myself. And for Raymond, Prince of Antioch.

That was the last time I allowed myself the luxury of tears for what was past. I set myself to look forward, for better or worse.

‘There’s a force approaching your gate, my lady,’ my steward informed me, six weeks after Henry Plantagenet had deposited me within my courtyard, as the late spring dusk of May sank rapidly into night. ‘Not big, but showing no device. Do we keep the gates shut? It’s late to leave someone benighted but they’re not announcing themselves …’

‘Keep the gates shut.’

I did not waste energy or words in pretending ignorance. I had known of his approach, not because he sent me word—of course he hadn’t, he would not see the need—but my scouts had informed me of his approach with a small force of Angevins. It had given me time to consider my welcome, and I did not feel welcoming.

Oh, I knew what the outcome would be, what woman in my position would not? Yet I was of a mind to be difficult. I was fascinated to see what he would do. After a lifetime of the entirely predictable Louis, Henry Plantagenet was a blank scroll.

So I kept the gates closed against him. He could hardly expect me to open my gates to some nameless force after dark, could he? Keep your gates closed, he’d said. And, by God, I would! Of course it was pure
mischief on my part, mixed with sharp anticipation, the heady brew of honey and spices stirred into hot wine, enough to make the blood sing. I suppose I was testing him. What would he do? Go back to Normandy and dissolve our agreement? No, for I was too valuable to him. Settle in for a siege? Beg or threaten? Cajole or scowl? I knew I would find out on the morrow.

From my vantage point on the battlemented gatehouse, well concealed, I watched his arrival in the minutes before all was hidden in dark shadow. No mistaking his figure at the forefront of his soldiers on the familiar bay stallion. Mail covered by a long surcoat, head covered by coif and helmet. He dismounted. Removed his helmet, handed it to his squire and pushed back the coif. Seeing the gates shut in his face he stood foursquare, fists planted on hips, and observed my fortress. He rubbed his hands over his face, spoke to the man at his side. And then he laughed.

I expected him to at least send his herald to announce his arrival, even to demand entrance. Henry took one more long look at the closed gates and unresponsive guards and did nothing except turn his back and issue a series of sharp orders. Within the hour a small camp of tents and horse lines had been erected on the open space before my gates.

For the rest of that night we heard nothing of importance from the Angevin camp, but plenty of noise. Of the soldiery settling in, of singing and raucous laughter as barrels of ale were broached—where had they come
from?—as the campfires were lit and the scent of roasting meats drifted across the space. I expect my cattle and sheep had paid the price, along with my cellars. Later, women’s laughter was evident. I closed my ears to it. Henry could do as he pleased.

After supper I went to watch again, Aelith with me.

‘So it’s the Count of Anjou, is it? Why has he come?’ she asked from her position of ignorance at my shoulder.

‘Who’s to know?’ Glad of the dark as the moon slid behind a cloud. I could feel her eyes on me.

‘Eleanor—you’re not thinking of making an alliance with him, are you?’

‘Would it be so bad?’

‘I don’t know.’ A long moment of thought that I would not break. ‘Eleanor—you’re not thinking of marrying him, are you?’

I kept my counsel.

‘You are, aren’t you? Eleanor! All he wants is Aquitaine!’

‘I know.’

‘And you would take him on those terms? An adventurer?’ I noted she did not say he was too young. ‘Would your vassals accept him?’

‘Yes. It won’t be easy, but they will. He’ll win them over. But I won’t wed merely for a strong sword arm and an army.’

‘Do you love him?’ She sounded aghast at the thought.

I tilted my head. ‘Do you remember when you
decided you wanted to wed Raoul? And nothing could stop you?’ I replied obliquely.

‘I remember.’

‘And you would not turn aside, even when it took us into war and the horrors of Vitry—not that you would have known of that, of course, but the warnings of war were stark enough.’

‘Yes. I remember.’ I felt the defiance in her even after all the years that had passed.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘I loved him. I knew we were meant to be together.’

‘Yes. And that’s what I think about Henry Plantagenet. I don’t know about love as you might recognise it. But there’s a bond between us—we’re destined to be something together, of that I’m certain.’ I smiled. ‘Would you do the same again, Aeli? Knowing the outcome?’

‘Ah! A clever trap for me to fall into.’ She shook her head a little.

‘No trap. Just the truth. If it were me, and the object of my affection was Henry, I think I would risk my life and my reputation to keep him’

‘So you will wed him.’ Aelith did not sound convinced.

‘Yes.’

Her smile was wry. ‘Be it on your own head. I wouldn’t want that man in my bed. He’s too opinionated by half. I wouldn’t risk one broken fingernail for him.’

Oh, but I would. I’d risk more than that.

‘You need a long spoon to sup with the Devil,’ Aelith continued, turning from the seething encampment.

‘Then I’ll make sure I have one,’ I laughed. ‘A deep one at that. And you’re wrong,’ I informed my critical sister as we trod carefully down the steps into the courtyard. ‘He doesn’t just want Aquitaine.’ I couldn’t stop the proud curve of my lips. ‘He wants me as well.’

Next morning I expected the arrival of Henry’s herald, bedecked in gaudy red and gold Angevin lions, to make Henry’s greetings and request entry. And I would meet with him, as a gracious hostess, and open my gates. My terms, my timing. How foolish—but magnificently pleasurable.

Not so.

The three obligatory blasts of the herald’s trumpet shattered the early morning quiet, so early as to get me from my bed. The sky was barely paling. I wrapped myself in a velvet chamber robe, slid my feet into slippers and headed for the gatehouse, but not before a further series of ear-splitting blasts. And as I sped up the steps to the battlement walk, breath catching, the trumpet was replaced by—

‘Eleanor!’

A roar of a voice.

‘Eleanor! Get yourself out here!’

No herald, no blast of a trumpet this time, but Henry, hands clamped around his sword belt, bellowing our private concerns before the whole of my household and
his troops. Above his head the Angevin banner lifted aggressively in the sharp breeze. He was regarding me much like the lions passant guardant, flapping above his head. How remarkably the clarity of his voice carried, and how embarrassing—if embarrassment was a state I was prepared to acknowledge. At least he was unnervingly succinct.

‘At last. Would you lie abed with an invading army at your door, woman? Open the damned gates!’

‘Good day, my lord.’ I looked down on him, heart thudding, and not from my efforts to get there. ‘Talk of the Devil?’

I saw his answering grin.

‘No time for pleasantries. Time’s short. I’ve soldiers waiting to sail for England.’

‘And you made time for me? I’m honoured.’

‘Only just. If I’m mistaken in you, Eleanor, I’ll leave within the hour. I’ve already struck camp.’

And so he had. Damn him.

‘All agreements between us are off. Trust a woman to be tricky,’ he bellowed, while I clenched my teeth, sensing the ripple of interest through our growing audience. ‘And I’d be grateful if you’d return Melusine’s gold. If you don’t want it, I know a grateful lady who does.’

‘Only one?’

At my side Aelith giggled.

‘Just throw it down.’

‘No.’

I think Henry grimaced.

‘I’ll not be back, lady. If you’re in need of protection, my brother Geoffrey will be pleased to come to your aid. I’ll send him word.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

Thus a stand-off, superbly created by the pair of us. And a ridiculous piece of mummery it was too. I think we both enjoyed it, both knowing full well that Henry wouldn’t leave me. And I wouldn’t let him go.

I ordered the gates to be opened.

From that moment I knew who would hold the upper hand in our marriage. It might not please me, but I accepted it.

The result? A breathtaking descent, a whirlwind, a storm, my courtyard filled with Angevin lions on tabard and pennon almost before I had made my way down the steps from the outer wall. Yet I kept him waiting long enough to acquire a veil and filet and an elegant over-tunic in patterned damask.

‘My lady.’ Henry handed his mount over to his squire.

‘My lord.’ I curtsied.

‘Good to see you took my advice and kept your gates closed against robbers and thieving rabble! Very commendable, Eleanor.’

I think I flushed. He was mocking me, I knew he was mocking me, but his face was as grave as stone mask.

‘You could have let me know—my lord.’ I was wonderfully gracious.

‘I didn’t know myself. My supporters in England are urging me to invade before the rank and file lose patience and turn back to Stephen. I haven’t long, Eleanor. But I did make time for you.’ I liked the glint in his eye. ‘A cup of ale would be acceptable.’

I led him to my solar where he sank into a cushioned chair to the detriment of the embroidered covering from dust and horsehair. He looked entirely out of place amongst the cushions and soft hangings and my women, who fluttered predictably.