The Young Lion (32 page)

The Queen had arrived late on the afternoon of the seventh, accompanied by her maid and four knights. Once inside the abbey, she had removed all her rings and necklaces, her fine hose and silk shoes, and changed into the dun-coloured nun’s habit that Bernard had sent her via Henry. A veil of itchy, coarse fabric covered half her forehead and all her hair. A modest wooden rosary and a small book of prayers completed her outfit.

Douglas woke Henry a little before eight in the morning. Dawn had broken and in the daylight Henry could see that his friend appeared unaged and as strong as ever. His hair was loose; his beard covered his chest in a dark brown bush. The monks followed him around, whispering in Latin to each other about his strange clothes, his outlandish hair and the most extraordinary fact of all: Father Bernard enjoyed his company. He had arrived on a small
boat on the River Eure, accompanying two barrels of the holy father’s medicine. They were so enormous an ox-cart was needed to convey them from the river. ‘Should see me out,’ Bernard had remarked. After matins they had retired to Father Bernard’s study with a monk from Scotland as interpreter. The Scottish monk refused to reveal to the brethren what was said but he did mention that Father Bernard and the stranger enjoyed several cups of medicine, and laughed frequently. ‘He laughed!’ monks whispered in excitement.

‘Walk well inside,’ Bernard told Henry at breakfast. ‘I’ll bring her to you. If you need me to mediate, leave her, memorise where she is and come to fetch me.’

As Henry arrived at the maze Bernard said to the monk on duty, ‘Nobody is to enter except a nun, whom I shall accompany.’

A novice carried his small folding seat. Bernard conducted a nun in a dun-coloured habit and veil, grey pilgrim’s cloak and sturdy nun’s shoes, to a spot deep in the maze where Henry waited. Then he returned to the entrance and, out of view of the monk on guard, set up his small chair to wait.

Both Henry and Eleanor were nervous. As the Queen approached him, Henry stood with lowered eyes and hands clasped behind his back.

‘Highness,’ he murmured.

‘We agreed you could call me Eleanor.’

‘We did not agree that I could kiss you, Eleanor.’

‘You may,’ she said. She offered her cheek. Henry took her by the chin and kissed her mouth. He had not expected to enjoy the kiss, but after a moment’s stiffness, she yielded. It was so long since he had kissed any woman except Rachel, the experience was strange. Interesting, rather than exciting, he thought. Her mouth was smaller and less moist than the one he loved. He drew back, then kissed her again. The second time her breathing deepened and
her mouth filled with saliva. Henry coiled his tongue around hers, the image in his mind of the dragon in the Michael chapel. Eleanor felt the surge of heat in her vagina that Geoffrey, naked or clothed, could bring upon her. But the son is unlike the father, she thought. Not suave, not so assured. Not a man who would sweep her to the stars in a frenzy of lust. He was young, fierce, volatile and enticing. He was, she feared, more intelligent than she. But then, he’s a man, and they’re all somehow stupid, she thought. Except Father Bernard – but he’s not really a man. He’s of some different species.

‘You’re the loveliest nun I’ve ever tongue-kissed,’ Henry said. ‘I’d like to donate to your order.’ He waited until his arousal dissipated and he was confident of thinking clearly. He knew she was comparing and contrasting him with his father. ‘My lady, we have a very narrow window through which we must climb if we are to marry without Louis’s knowledge, while allowing me time to attack England. But we are both agile, I think.’ He raised an eyebrow at her.

She nodded.

‘So we agree: we shall marry. I shall protect you from all other men.’

She nodded again.

‘I’ll require your vassals and maybe gold to help my attack on Stephen.’

She nodded less enthusiastically.

‘And if, God willing, I become King, I’ll require children from you. Sons, if you don’t mind.’

Eleanor smiled slightly. ‘With you, Henry, I think I’ll get sons.’

‘Of course you will,’ he said briskly. He had decided not to tell her that if she produced only more daughters he’d adopt Rachel’s son as his heir.

There was a long pause. ‘I won’t trouble you to receive me other than for the getting of sons. An annual visit during the Christmas Court should be sufficient.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And my own freedoms?’ Her eyes hardened with what he recognised as unyielding willpower.

‘As long as there’s no cuckoo in the Plantagenet nest, and you’re discreet, you’re free to take lovers. But not members of the baronage. I won’t tolerate my senior vassals in our bed.’

She had been so moulded by the strictures of Paris she had not anticipated the offer of such liberty. She almost laughed with delight. ‘At last I can live with the privileges of a man! After my years as a prisoner, I can barely imagine the joys of freedom! There are many, not in the baronage …’

Henry grinned. ‘If I were a woman, I’d prefer a troubadour to a duke.’

He reddened, remembering the purple bruises on his father’s neck. To cover his gaffe, he began to talk too much. ‘Except my father, of course. He was irresistible. If my brother were not a knight and now Commander of Cavalry, he could be a troubadour …’

Eleanor ungloved her hand and laid it gently on his. ‘Henry, we share love for your Papa. And for your wife,’ she said.

He gave a sigh of thanks.

‘May I keep my own court?’ she asked.

‘You may live as you please, as long as any children you have are mine.’

She looked into his face and suddenly, despite the ugly veil that covered all her hair and drained the bloom from her cheeks, he felt the full force of her beauty. It was like a soft blow in the solar plexus that flowed down to his genitals and up to his heart. He was momentarily speechless.

I’ll overcome him, Eleanor thought. He’ll be my puppy.

An image of Douglas appeared in Henry’s mind. It put him in charge of himself again.

‘My lady,’ he said urgently, ‘we must discuss practical issues. March the thirtieth is Easter. You believe you will be free by then.
We could marry immediately and I could sail that day for England. But such a quick re-marriage for you would be an affront to the clergy, not to mention Louis. The King will be humiliated by our marriage whenever it takes place. We must both understand the implications of that.’

‘Like many meek people, Louis can be vicious,’ Eleanor said. Her tone was flat.

‘So,’ Henry continued, ‘a hasty marriage would enrage the King and affront the clergy. We’d have two enemies immediately.’

‘Louis would try to seize Aquitaine to punish me,’ Eleanor said.

Henry thought, he’ll try to seize Rouen first. It’s closer. ‘The more prudent course is to delay,’ he said. ‘There’s still a certain unwillingness among the pious to go to war before Pentecost. However, once you’re divorced, every hour you delay before re-marriage runs the risk of your being seized by fortune-hunters. I cannot be suspected of being your protector …’

She looked at him with concern, even distrust. Their difficulties were mountainous.

‘However, I have a solution,’ he added cheerfully. ‘We’ll leave this maze for a conference with Father Bernard.’

She made no move. ‘Henry,’ she asked, ‘why has Father Bernard promoted our union? He has, you know. Although he talks in riddles he plants seeds in one’s mind … Why you?’

Henry cocked his head. ‘You don’t think I’m worthy of you?’

She coloured. ‘Not at all! I beg your pardon for expressing so inadequately the query in my mind.’

‘What is that query?’

‘Bernard forbade marriage between you and my daughter Marie on grounds of consanguinity. Two years ago he forbade a divorce between Louis and me. Now he approves it. In both cases, it was a
question of consanguinity. But Henry, you and I are more closely related than Louis and I. Is his behaviour not … inconsistent?’

Henry laughed. ‘Obviously, Father Bernard has been saving you up for me.’ He was already bored with the conversation. He wanted Father Bernard to witness what they had agreed, especially Eleanor’s contribution to the war. He was keen to return to Rouen and Rachel.

‘Did he speak to you of the dream of the embalmer’s daughter?’

Henry caught his breath. ‘I hate that dream!’ he said. ‘I hate it!’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because the great tree fights itself,’ he answered angrily.

He knows more than he’s willing to say, Eleanor thought.

She needed to jog to keep up with him as he walked her to the entrance of the labyrinth. Father Bernard had heard them coming, folded his chair and moved outside. ‘Don’t tell me you two met in there!’

‘I was lost, Father,’ Eleanor replied. Her head was well lowered so the monk could not see her face. ‘This kind man showed me the way through.’

‘We don’t let anybody die in the maze, do we, Brother?’ Turning to Henry he said, ‘Let’s go and see the swans.’

The river was only a couple of hundred yards distant, its gentle flow bearing four white swans. The birds, seeing them, sailed towards the reedy bank. To Eleanor’s delight, once they reached it they lifted their black webs and slowly, with heavy solemnity, waded ashore. Bernard tossed them bread from a pocket in his gown. Each ate, then lifted its long neck up, then down. Henry felt slightly dizzy. He was fatigued from hours of riding the day before, but there was something about the movements of the birds that confused him. They pointed to the sky with their bills, then touched them to the earth. Like the horses, when I travelled with Douglas, he thought.

He turned around and standing beside them was Douglas. None had heard his approach. He and Henry gripped each other in a passionate embrace, Douglas yelling in Gaelic, Henry in French. Eleanor stared. Douglas had replaited his hair, tying its skinny brown snakes with woollen threads of many different colours. The effect was alarmingly barbarous.

‘Who is this man?’ she whispered to Henry in Latin.

‘Your protector,’ Father Bernard answered for him. A swan was rubbing its bill against Douglas’s outstretched hand, massaging one side of its head, then the other, as if in a trance. The other huge birds waddled forward and did the same.

‘They’re all tame?’ Eleanor asked.

‘They’re all wild. They arrived this morning.’ He tossed more bread, which they gobbled down. Then they waddled back to the reeds on the bank and gently launched themselves onto the river.

‘Where’s the fourth?’ Eleanor asked. ‘There were four.’

Douglas said something in Gaelic that Henry understood.

‘Must have wandered off to those trees,’ Bernard said.

‘You can trust a swan,’ the monk was saying. ‘They’re strong, you know. Strong as …’ He turned to Douglas, ‘… just feel his arm.’

Eleanor unwillingly touched Douglas’s upper arm. He flexed his muscles, making her fingers jump. Henry stared at him, entranced. He’s a Swan Knight. Why didn’t I realise that before?

‘Now, I must take my medicine, so we’ll adjourn to my apartment and draw up a deed of agreement,’ Father Bernard said.

On their stroll back to the abbey, Eleanor glanced at Douglas several times. He seemed unaware of her presence. I may as well be transparent, she thought angrily. He smelled strongly of drink and unwashed clothes.

‘How can he be my protector if he doesn’t speak any civilised language?’ she muttered to Henry.

‘Words won’t protect you,’ he replied. ‘Courage, sixth sense and a battle-axe is what you’ll need. Douglas has all of those, and more. And you have Selama. She can outrun any horse in France.’ He wanted to add, Douglas can talk to her as easily as I can talk to you, but thought that idea would stretch her credulity.

They reached Father Bernard’s apartment. He and Douglas both took long draughts of medicine. Henry had a swig. Eleanor took a gulp. When the door closed and Bernard’s novices withdrew she tore the veil off her hair.

‘The vilest colour imaginable! Could I not wear white, Father?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Now, we’ll draw up a plan for the future of Europe for the next thousand years.’

‘More riddles,’ Eleanor muttered. She felt herself float off into a daze.

She awoke with an aching head. Her maid, Orianne, hovered beside her. Douglas was seated at the end of the bed, looking at her. ‘How dare you enter my sleeping chamber!’ she said. ‘Get out!’ He rose and sauntered off. ‘Where’s Henry?’ she called after him, but Douglas did not answer, did not understand, or decided to ignore her. He, Henry, Father Bernard and Eleanor had drafted the marriage agreement. Henry had left more than an hour earlier.

Late that afternoon, dressed once more as Queen, with Orianne in the carriage beside her and four knights as escort, Eleanor set off for Poitiers. One knight thought he heard another horse behind them. But in the dim autumnal evening none of the Queen’s guard could see it.

‘Your imagination again,’ his colleagues said.

‘Chartres has left me feeling strange,’ the knight persisted. ‘I had weird dreams.’ The others nodded. ‘And who were those men we saw with Father Bernard and the nun? They were feeding swans. One of them looked like …’

None dared say it. One of them looked like the Duke of Normandy.

Henry rode at a comfortable pace back to Rouen and when he arrived went straight to Isabella’s house to see Rachel and little Geoffrey.

Rachel had been tightly bound when he left, for the stillbirth was only a month earlier. But now she was unbound and her young, firm flesh was lovely and full of life. Henry took her on his knee and kissed her face and neck, sinking his fingers into her glistening tight curls. ‘My heart, my heart,’ he murmured. At length he picked her up but instead of carrying her to the bed, as she expected, he set her on her feet. He sat down again.

‘I have something important to tell you,’ he said. His sigh warned her she would not like it. She called a servant to take the little boy outside and drew up a stool to sit in front of him so they could look straight into each other’s eyes.

She waited. Henry said nothing. He was stricken with nervousness, pretending he was not.