The Summer Queen (50 page)

He took her hand and held it there. ‘If I could buy back a spring morning from my young manhood and take you there forever, I would do so,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘Don’t …’ Her voice wobbled.

‘I want you to hold that thought and make it into a memory. It never was, but it will always be.’

Her heart was bleeding freely now. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Always.’

He paused to gather his breath. ‘Go on. I will catch you up presently. I am well now I have seen you.’ He released her hand and Alienor left the room as if she were on an ordinary errand, but once outside the door, she leaned against the wall and let the tears come, and they were like acid.

Geoffrey did not have the strength to hide his own grief as he watched her walk away. It was as if there was a cord stretching from his heart to her hand. He did not care who saw him weep, knowing that to observers it would only seem the folly of a sick man, grieving because he no longer had the power to serve his lady and Aquitaine. The truth would go with him to the grave; and the truth would be his private consolation.

Alienor gripped the arms of her chair and, drawing a deep breath, raised her chin. She was back at Beaugency, seated on the dais in the great hall, waiting for the gathered bishops to declare her marriage to Louis null and void. The document of annulment was prepared. All it needed now was for the ink to dry on the final parchment and the seal to be attached.

She had arrived yesterday from Poitiers to hear the judgement of the Church and receive the decree of annulment. These were her final hours as Queen of France and the end of a fifteen-year marriage that should never have been. Louis sat enthroned beside her, his expression impassive. The shy, silver-haired youth had become a petulant, God-obsessed man of thirty-two with permanent frown lines between his eyes. Yet he was still handsome in shadowed light, and he was in a position of power. Alienor knew men with daughters would be casting eager eyes over him, keen to clamber up the spokes of Fortune’s Wheel, but God help the poor girl who won that race.

The Bishop of Langres rose from his seat among the gathered clergy. His chest was puffed out like a peacock’s and his eyes were razor-bright. Just now they were concentrated on the sheet of parchment in his hand, the seal dangling from it on a plaited cord. Alienor suspected it was just his notes, but he wanted everyone to think it an important document.

‘I wonder’, he said, scratching the side of his jaw, ‘if I might raise the issue of the Queen’s infidelity.’ As the words emerged, he raised his head to look around the gathering. ‘This has been documented on several occasions and we have witnesses who can attest to it.’

There was a rapt, anticipatory silence. Alienor felt as if her stomach had clamped to her spine. She concentrated on keeping her face a blank mask, but her mind was racing. What did he know? What was he going to say?

The Bishop turned to the table and produced one of the golden clasps with which she was wont to cuff her gowns. ‘This was found in the bedchamber of the Queen’s uncle at Antioch – not only in his bedchamber, but in his very bed!’ He raised his brows to emphasise his point. ‘I have witness statements here to prove it!’

Alienor’s mask slipped and revulsion twisted her mouth. The cuff had been a personal gift from her to Raymond’s Countess. What a surprise that it should be seen in Raymond’s bedchamber. The comment about the cuff being found in his bed was idiotic, because no one would indulge in bed sport wearing such jewellery, and if they took it off, they would not leave it between the sheets. However, she could see where this was leading. If he could pin adultery on her and make it solid, then she stood to lose everything.

At the table, Gofrid of Bordeaux rose to his feet and loudly cleared his throat. ‘My lord bishop, the case for annulment is being judged on the consanguinity of the King and Queen and no other matter. You know this.’

Langres turned to face Gofrid. ‘I also know we should have the truth laid before us, not concealed by connivance and distractions.’

‘Connivance?’ Gofrid drew himself up to his full height. ‘This lady is much maligned.’ His voice was powerful with indignation. He made a sweeping gesture towards Alienor, who immediately put her head down and looked modestly at her hands, which were folded around the prayer beads in her lap. ‘She has had to suffer the slur of these ridiculous and unsubstantiated claims, none of which can be proven, no matter how much you bluster.

‘You see before you a pious lady who holds to God’s laws and respects the way of the Church. I have been her friend and tutor since her childhood and I vouch for her virtue every bit as much as you malign it. To have this vile calumny thrown at her by a supposed man of God is not only unfair, it goes against the teachings of Christ Our Lord. The truth will out. It will be known at the last in God’s court where all of us must answer to our own consciences, for who is it, God asked, that would throw the first stone? We are not in a position to judge on this matter, but should remain with the one at hand where we can decide. Consanguinity is the business before us here today – that and none other.’ His voice became thunder. ‘This lady is not on trial!’

Behind him there were murmurs of approbation. Alienor raised her hand and surreptitiously wiped her eyes. She did not have to pretend.

Louis raised his hand. ‘You speak eloquently, Archbishop,’ he said. ‘Let us decide on the one matter, as you say.’ He inclined his head to Alienor. There was no kindness in his gaze and Alienor did not expect any as she reciprocated with a nod of her own. It was not in Louis’s interests to have the whole rotten corpse of Antioch rolled over to expose the maggots, because he too had things that were better kept hidden.

Standing by the window embrasure in her chamber, Alienor handed a packet of correspondence to young Geoffrey de Rancon. The new lord of Taillebourg and Gençay was present at Beaugency as part of her entourage, charged with escorting her safely back to Poitiers when all was settled. ‘Will you see these given to Saldebreuil?’ she said. ‘He will know which messenger to send them by.’

‘Madam.’ He bowed and straightened, a deep frown creasing his brow. ‘I did not believe a word of what the Bishop of Langres said.’

‘I hope you did not.’

He flushed scarlet and stammered a negation until she took pity on him. ‘The Bishop of Langres was bound to speak. The charge of adultery would sit so much better with him. We have never seen eye to eye. If he can do me a disservice, he will. It is of no consequence. I shall have no more dealings with him soon.’

The young man bowed again and made his escape. A sad smile curled her lips. He reminded her so much of his sire in the way he stood and the expressions that crossed his face, but there was a vast world of difference. He was still a boy learning to tread in a mature man’s footsteps. Nevertheless, his presence had helped her deal with his father’s death. Together with Bertha and Burgundia he was a part of Geoffrey that remained in the world, a part she could help along the way, and it made her grief bearable.

Scarcely had Geoffrey departed than Archbishop Gofrid arrived. He was clad in his episcopal robes but had replaced his mitre with a small skullcap. His tall posture had developed a weary stoop and his face drooped with fatigue.

Alienor kissed his ring and he set his hand on her head in blessing. She bade a squire pour him wine and directed him to a table set with a meal of succulent poached salmon and fresh bread. Gofrid gave her a grateful look and sat down. Having washed his hands in the fingerbowl held by another squire, he blessed the food and set to with a will.

After a diplomatic interval Alienor turned to her guest with an expectant look.

‘Matters are progressing much as I expected.’ Gofrid paused to rinse his mouth with wine and swallow. ‘The French were trying to keep a grip on Aquitaine by having the Bishop of Langres use those tricks today, but it will not work.’

‘How could Langres begin to suggest that there was any impropriety between me and my uncle?’ she said with angry contempt. ‘We arrived in Antioch after a rough sea voyage and we were there for less than two weeks. I sought my uncle’s protection because even then I desired an annulment, as you know.’ She curled her lip. ‘I also hear vile rumours that I am supposed to have bedded with the former Count of Anjou. Is that likely? It is all foulsome gossip intended to dispossess me of my lands by darkening my name.’

‘There are always those who dip their quills in venom,’ Gofrid replied. ‘Rest assured, the Bishop of Langres shall not prevail. He has an unsavoury reputation himself – he only holds his position because Bernard of Clairvaux is his cousin and was persuaded to discredit the rival candidate. The grounds for annulment of this marriage stand or fall on the matter of consanguinity, nothing else.’

‘Let us hope they do.’ Alienor shuddered. ‘If I have to remain wed to Louis, I swear that instead of accusing me of adultery, I will be hauled to trial for his murder.’

Gofrid gave a sour smile. ‘I do not think that will be necessary. This has come too far to fall down now. Louis desires this annulment as much as you do.’ Finished eating, he dipped his hands in the rose water and washed them again.

Alienor replenished their cups. ‘I want to talk to you about the future – about a decision I have to make.’

Gofrid wiped his hands on a napkin and fixed her with a steady blue gaze that made her feel as if she were his pupil again, under his strict but benevolent scrutiny.

‘I know I cannot remain unwed.’ She toyed with the base of her goblet. ‘I have a duty to Aquitaine to rule and beget heirs of my body to follow in my stead.’

‘Indeed, daughter, you do,’ Gofrid replied cautiously.

‘You should know that I have received an offer of marriage – from Henry, Duke of Normandy.’

His brows rose. ‘When was this?’

‘In Paris, when he and his father came to negotiate a truce. It has its merits, I think.’

‘Duke Henry mentioned this to you himself?’

She shook her head. ‘I believe it was at his father’s prompting. I barely spoke with the young Duke and he was being very careful because of the situation. Aquitaine would be an enormous prize for him, but is he worth the prize to me? You can understand my wariness.’

Gofrid took a drink of wine to give himself a moment to think. It would be unwise for Alienor to take a husband from among her own barons. Better she should wed a man outside of Aquitaine. Henry FitzEmpress would certainly fulfil that criterion. Fifteen years ago Gofrid had told her she must marry Louis of France. He could still see that frightened girl superimposed on the accomplished young woman in front of him now and it pained his heart. She trusted him and he wanted to do his best for her, and for Aquitaine. ‘I do not know the young man in question, but his reputation is growing daily and his breeding is illustrious. It is fitting you should marry someone who has the potential to become a king.’

‘I thought that too,’ Alienor said, ‘but I hesitate to make the leap. He is young, and perhaps I can influence him, but if so, then like Louis he will be open to the influence of others too. I had to fight Louis’s mother when I wed him. By all accounts the Empress Matilda is a formidable woman who has her son’s ear. How shall I fare on that battleground?’

Gofrid stroked his beard. ‘You are wise to be cautious, but I do not believe you will have the same difficulties. You are a grown woman in your full bloom. Empress Matilda is ageing and dwells at the abbey of Bec. She may rule Normandy, but she will not stir her finger in other stews. Henry did not spend his childhood training to be a monk, although he is well educated, so that path may be easier for you also.’

‘You speak as I think.’ Alienor’s tension eased at the Archbishop’s approval. A pensive, almost sad look crossed her face. ‘But if I accept the offer it seems in many ways like a choice borne out of no choice.’

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Saldebreuil de Sanzay. ‘Madam.’ He approached the table, breathing hard from his run up the stairs, and bent his knee.

Alienor gestured him to rise. ‘What news?’

He grimaced, dark curls bouncing against his jaw. ‘I have heard there are moves afoot to have you seized once you leave here with the annulment granted.’

‘Seized?’ She felt cold. ‘By whom?’

‘My informants tell me you should beware of Theobald of Blois. You should be on your guard when you travel through his territory, and avoid all invitations to spend the night at any of his castles.’

Alienor’s breath shortened. So it had begun already, the scramble to seize her and force her into marriage by imprisonment and rape, so that the man concerned could appropriate her land for himself, impregnate her, and have his offspring, should they be male, claim Aquitaine. Theobald, Count of Blois and Châtres was older than Henry of Normandy and Anjou, but by so little that it made no difference. He was just another ambitious young hunter chasing down his doe by whatever means lay to hand.

‘Then we must take appropriate precautions,’ she said. ‘Saldebreuil, I trust you to see me safe and I give you leave to do whatever you must. If there is one “suitor” there will be others. See that our horses are well shod and swift and that all the weapons are honed … and pay your informant well.’

‘Madam.’ He bowed and left. The Archbishop also rose to leave.

‘You see what a prize I am,’ she said grimly. ‘Even before the annulment is sealed and lodged with the Church, ambitious men are already planning my future.’

Gofrid kissed her forehead. ‘God watches over you and protects you,’ he said.

‘Aided by an alert constable and men who are well paid to keep their ears and eyes open,’ she replied tartly. ‘God tends to help those who help themselves.’

It was done and Alienor was free, whatever freedom meant in this new context. The annulment had been pronounced by Gofrid de Louroux, and she was at liberty to return to Poitiers. Standing by the open window in the chamber that had been hers for the duration of the conference, she fastened her cloak and looked out on the fresh April morning.