The Summer Queen (24 page)

‘Well,’ Louis snapped with impatient anxiety as she curtseyed and rose again. ‘What news? Is my son safely born?’

‘The child is indeed safely born,’ she said. ‘Alive and well.’

‘Praise be to God! Let all the churches in France ring out the news! I shall—’ He looked down at the hand she had laid on his sleeve. The grip was as strong as steel, reminding him of the times she had slapped him and brought him to order as a small child. ‘What is it?’ He thought that perhaps Alienor had indeed died in the bearing.

Her eyes on him were as flat as stones. ‘The child is a girl,’ his mother said. ‘You have a lusty baby daughter.’

His breath emerged in a harsh gasp; he felt as if he had been punched. ‘A daughter? Are you sure?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I was a witness; I am sure.’ She removed her hand from his sleeve. ‘Your wife weathered the birth well. As soon as she is churched, you can set about getting a son on her.’

Louis swallowed. The idea of bedding with Alienor and going through the whole process again sickened him. Could a woman ever be clean again after she had given birth, especially to a daughter? ‘First she delivers me blood and now she delivers me a girl,’ he said. ‘How am I to deal with this?’

‘Through prayer.’ His mother’s tone was impatient. ‘And through perseverance. A king needs daughters as well as sons. Rejoice in the birth of this one and pray for a better outcome next time.’

Louis said nothing. He felt let down by God and the Church and especially by his wife. What else did he have to do to beget a son? All of his prayers, all of the promises made by Suger and Bernard of Clairvaux had come down to this. A girl.

‘You will need to acknowledge your daughter and attend to her baptism,’ Adelaide said. ‘Your wife desires to name her Marie in honour of the Virgin, should it meet with your approval.’

Louis had not even considered girls’ names because he had been so certain that Alienor would bear a son. ‘As she wishes,’ he said.

When his mother had gone, Louis put his face in his hands. He could not return to the feast, knowing they would all be looking at him, awaiting an announcement, although in the way of things, the word would already be filtering through the hall. He could not face the sidelong looks, the smirks. He knew the lore about men who begot girls: that they were ruled by their wives and that their seed was weak. He didn’t even want to see the child, but knew he must, and arrange her baptism, because it was his duty.

The first bells began to toll, telling him that the news had already escaped the confines of the palace. Saint-Barthélemy, Saint-Michel, Saint-Pierre, Saint-Éloi. Louis had always loved the sound of their bells, ringing out the canonical hours, bringing order and structure into daily life and reminding all of God’s presence and purpose. But now, as they greeted the arrival of a princess, the noise jangled inside his skull, mocking him and fuelling his rage.

The November day outside the palace was bright but bitterly cold. The River Seine bore a blue reflection of the sky but beneath that surface the water was brown and sluggish from recent heavy rain. The oiled linen in the window embrasures let in grainy light, but draughts too. Candles flickered in most of the niches and every charcoal brazier was in use to keep the damp chill at bay.

Alienor sometimes felt as if she were dwelling in a cage. She had been out of her confinement since May, but much of the time she could not tell the difference, except that she had Louis to deal with and all of his foolishness.

This morning, however, there were several diversions to contemplate, courtesy of her uncle Raymond, Prince of Antioch, and his wife, Constance, who was Louis’s second cousin. The couple, having heard of the birth of the Princess Marie, had sent a cornucopia of gifts to their close and beloved kin in France. Alienor’s chamber overflowed with riches from the East. Bolts of precious silks shimmered like the still backwaters of the Garonne on a hot day. There were books with carved ivory panels set with gemstones, bags of frankincense and tablets of scented white soap. A gold and rock-crystal reliquary containing a fragment of the Virgin Mary’s cloak. Damascened swords and a mail shirt so fine that it draped like a cobweb. For the baby, there was a silver cup set with amethysts … And then there was the letter, full of felicitation and graceful words, but between the lines, snared with the subtle asking price for all these rare and precious gifts.

Alienor paused by the cradle to look at her sleeping daughter. Marie lay on her back, her tiny fists curled up like flower buds and her chest rising and falling in swift, shallow breaths. Alienor felt a tender sorrow whenever she looked at her. The birth of a daughter had disappointed all of France, but she had not disappointed herself, and that was what mattered.

Louis entered the room. He flicked a glance at the cradle but did not venture over for a look, and quickly turned to the pile of gifts, of which he had been told by Alienor’s steward. ‘Generous indeed,’ he said, but with a slight curl of distaste at the luxury, although that changed when Alienor gave him the reliquary containing the scrap of the Virgin’s cloak. His face lit up and his breathing quickened.

‘My uncle says he sends it to you for safekeeping because he knows you will treasure it.’

Louis ran his thumb over the smooth rock crystal. ‘For safekeeping?’

She held out the letter to him. ‘He says his situation is becoming increasingly perilous since the fall of Edessa and that he is involved in constant skirmishes with the Saracens.’

Louis took the letter over to the window to let the light filtering through the oiled linen fall on the parchment.

Alienor stroked Marie’s soft pink cheek. She had been close to giving birth when the news had reached Paris that the Turks had taken the Frankish Christian principality of Edessa and under their leader Zengi, Prince of Aleppo, now threatened Antioch, governed by her uncle Raymond, the County of Tripoli, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem itself.

The letter reiterated the dangers faced by the remaining states. Representatives were being sent to Rome to discuss what might be done to support those in Outremer, and Raymond hoped Alienor and Louis could bring their weight to bear, given that their kin were so closely involved.

Louis pursed his lips. Last year at Saint-Denis he had made a vow to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre to do penance for what had happened at Vitry, to expiate his broken vow over Bourges, and to fulfil a promise to pray for the soul of his dead older brother at the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre. The first news of the fall of Edessa had deeply agitated him. Although the initial upset had diminished, it still needled him. ‘It is our duty to help,’ he said, looking at the reliquary. ‘We cannot allow the infidel to overrun our holy places. We should offer them all the support we can muster.’

‘In what way?’

He turned from the window. ‘I shall issue a summons to arms when the court assembles for Christmas at Bourges. I shall fulfil my vow of pilgrimage and free Edessa from the infidel at the same time.’ He spoke as if it were a simple matter, no more complicated than organising a day’s hunt.

His words jolted her for a moment, but underneath she was unsurprised, because such a venture would be perfect for him. He would be the humble penitent and pilgrim, but he would also be the conquering hero, imbued with all the glamour of the devout king riding at the head of an army to save Christendom.

A spark of hope kindled in her breast. During his absence someone would have to take the reins. She could accomplish so much if only she were able to use her power instead of being constantly stifled and pinned down. Moreover, he would be gone for perhaps two years, and so much could happen in that time. ‘It is indeed a great undertaking,’ she said, her voice made vibrant by the possibilities.

Louis gave her a wary, slightly puzzled look, and she swiftly turned away to fuss the baby again. ‘Is it wrong to say I am proud of my husband?’

His expression softened. ‘Pride is a sin,’ he said, ‘but I am pleased you think well of my idea.’

‘We must make the Christmas court a great occasion,’ she said, and when Louis began to frown added, ‘with due seriousness and praise to God, of course, but men who are well fêted will be more open to suggestion. Besides, since the festival is to be held at Bourges, all will see that you are God’s anointed King.’

‘Very well,’ he said, as if offering her a gracious concession, and came to the cradle to chuck his daughter under the chin; and that too was an honour, for usually he took no interest in the child.

Alienor wore her crown at Bourges and presided with Louis over a gathering of all the nobles and bishops of France. They had been feasted, entertained, and then addressed by Louis and the Bishop of Langres concerning the matter of relief for Edessa, and ultimately the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

‘Make no mistake!’ Louis cried, his face suffused with passion and his eyes glittering like sapphires. ‘If we do not go, then Tripoli will fall, then Antioch, and even Jerusalem itself. We cannot let this happen in the very place where Christ’s footsteps as a mortal man imprinted the dust. I tell you all, it is your God-given duty to ride with me and bring succour to our beleaguered kin!’

It was a fine speech and the Bishop of Langres followed it with more burning oratory designed to put fire in men’s bellies. Louis’s household knights banged their fists on the tables and stirred the cheering to greater heights, as did the men of Aquitaine and Poitou, but following the initial surge, there was less enthusiasm. Men were dubious about being away from their dealings at home for so long a time, living in tents and fighting infidels. Although reaction to the speeches was politely enthusiastic, privately many barons held back from commitment. Abbé Suger openly declared that France needed Louis more than the Holy Land did and the expedition, while well intentioned, was ill conceived.

Louis was furious. In the privacy of his chamber he wept and kicked the furniture and stormed about like a thwarted child. ‘Why do they not see it?’ he raged. ‘Why will they not follow me? Have I not given them everything?’

Alienor watched him rant and felt irritated. She too had been disappointed by the response, but again not surprised. It was like driving cattle. You had to constantly prod them to keep them moving, and nip their heels when they came to an obstacle in the road. ‘Give them time to grow used to the idea,’ she said. ‘Many will change their minds when spring begins to heat their blood. We have yet to hear a ruling from the Pope. You have sown the seed today on the feast of the Christ child’s birth. Now give them time to ponder the idea, and approach them again at the time of His crucifixion and rising.’

Louis unclenched his fists and breathed out hard. ‘When I think of how they have refused me …’

‘If you spend that time in lobbying and making preparations, it is not wasted,’ she said. ‘As to Suger: he is growing old. He would rather not have you away from France, but that is his weakness, not yours.’

‘My mind is made up; I shall go whatever the objections.’ Louis’s face wore the stubborn look she knew so well.

Alienor was thoughtful as she joined her ladies. They were dancing to music and had inveigled some of the younger household knights to join them. Raoul was in their midst, laughing and flirting as usual. Petronella was not with him at court, being in confinement at Arras, soon to bear their second child.

Catching Alienor’s eye, he excused himself and joined her.

‘You make bold in your wife’s absence, sire,’ she remarked.

Raoul shrugged. ‘It is only dancing.’

‘And what the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over?’

‘I would never do anything to grieve Petronella.’

‘I am pleased to hear it, because if you did, I would have to cut out your heart and the part of you that has offended.’

‘Your sister is full capable of doing that herself,’ he said wryly, and then folded his arms. ‘Did you desire to speak with me other than to warn me off other women?’

She gave him a taut smile. ‘I want you to exert your talents in other directions of persuasion. I would like you to put your mind to swaying the opinion of men who are reluctant to commit to Louis’s project to rescue Edessa.’

He eyed her with sharp amusement. ‘Even if I am one of them?’

‘I doubt that,’ she said. ‘You are shrewd and ambitious enough to know the benefits. Given your years, you may prefer to remain in France with all the advantages that might entail.’

He continued to look amused, but wary too. ‘You are keen to have this project succeed. I understand your desire to help your uncle. You say to me that what the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over, but perhaps it is true for you also. Does it not concern you that your husband will be absent for two years at the least and facing great danger?’

‘Indeed it concerns me, which is why I desire him to have strength of numbers and support and supplies,’ she replied. ‘He will go whatever the outcome, but I would rather he had the backing of all factions, because how else will he be able to aid my uncle and do all that is necessary?’

‘And just how might it work to my advantage?’

‘I think you know very well, my lord. The King will need trustworthy men to assist in governing France during his absence.’

‘To “assist” whom?’ he asked.

Alienor smiled and extended her hand. ‘Come, dance with me and we will talk.’

Raoul laughed softly. ‘I think I am in more danger now than I was a moment ago,’ he said as he led her into the circle.

A week after the Christmas court dispersed, news arrived from Rome that the Pope had called for France and all the Christian nations to mobilise an army and go to the aid of Edessa. Louis was furious at the timing.

‘If the news had arrived last week, I would have had papal sanction,’ he snarled.

Alienor looked up from the letter she had been dictating to one of her vassals. ‘It will still add to your strength for the summons at Easter. Christmas was a great gathering, but the Easter one will be greater still; and if you take the Cross, you will bring others with you. Now that Rome is involved, many will reconsider. Ask the Pope to send Bernard of Clairvaux to preach at Easter. His oratory is renowned.’ Even though she heartily disliked Abbé Bernard, she respected his ability to whip a crowd into a frenzy.