To Be Queen (8 page)

Petra still clung to me. Her sobs had quieted, but her tears ran down her cheeks, raining on the satin of her brocade gown. When I looked at my father's friend, my eyes were dry.

“He has been buried at the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Spain,” Archbishop Geoffrey said.

Grief gave way to fury when I saw that our enemies had stolen even his body from me. I looked at Guillaume, who still knelt before me, and at the archbishop, who waited to see if I would falter. Guillaume looked frightened; I saw that he had feared my anger too much to give me this news himself.

It was Guillaume I spoke to first. In spite of his fear, he had served me well, when he would have been well paid to hand the news of my father's death to another. “Go inside and sleep. I will send for you on the morrow. From this day forward you are esquire no longer, but a knight. I will outfit you with horse and armor from my father's treasury myself.”

Guillaume bowed lower, even as he kept to his knees. I felt his lips on my hand, on my father's ring.

I turned to Amaria, who stood back just a little, enough to show respect to the archbishop, but still close enough to hear my orders.

“Take Guillaume inside, and give him a bed and food. Pay the men who rode with him in gold.”

She did not question me, but raised one hand. Maria, another of my ladies, stepped forward from the shadows, tears on her cheeks. She curtsied to me, and after Amaria had whispered instruction in her ear, she went at once to do my bidding.

The archbishop was impressed by this small show, but I knew, as he did, that I would have to be able to conquer more than my household to save the Aquitaine.

I was a marriage prize now. I must lock myself tight within the stronghold of our palace at Bordeaux. I could not stir to hunt or even to take the air on our ramparts. I must hide, as a coward might, while I waited for my marriage arrangements to be completed.

“I would have seen my father buried at Talmont, next to my mother.”

“You could not travel to see him laid to rest, my lady,” the archbishop said.

As I watched, he gathered himself to speak against my traveling anywhere, for any reason, as if he needed to explain to me the deep danger I was in until I took my marriage vows. As if my father's death by poison had not taught me of my danger already.

I would have laughed on any other day, that a man would think me so blind and so stupid. But Papa was dead. I would never see his face again. I did not laugh, but clutched my sister to me. I would not fail. As I met the archbishop's gaze, I saw for the first time that he knew it.

“I must stay here, locked behind my father's walls, a rabbit beneath a stone, still and silent, in the hope that the hunter will not see me. And you . . .”

The archbishop who had been my father's friend took strength from the certainty behind my eyes. Whatever he had thought of me before, this man would serve me now, and for the rest of his life.

“You must send for the King of France.”

 

 

I STAYED SAFELY HIDDEN BEHIND THE WALLS OF MY FATHER'S castle at Bordeaux. The life of my duchy went on beyond those walls, and reports were brought to me daily. My father's spy network was still in place, and now had become mine. Its ranks were made up of many people, from the great to the small, all gathered into my father's service over the course of his lifetime. Each man was paid in gold for his information, but each also served my father out of loyalty, and out of love for him. The bishop of Limoges was a member of this corps of spies, as were a dozen other priests scattered throughout my father's lands. More than a dozen knights were enlisted in my father's service in the houses of both his friends and his enemies. This network of spies was a secret, even one member from another, but I knew them all. My father had made me memorize each man's name from the time I was a child.

That network served me well, now that I was trapped in Ombrière. No one was allowed into the city gates, nor into my keep, for fear that an enemy would sneak in and take my maidenhead and the duchy before my marriage contract with France could be signed. Marriage negotiations took the rest of the spring, for the king knew he had me by the throat, and hoped to make the most of it. But I knew his son was getting the wealth of Aquitaine and Poitou, if not complete dominion over the lands themselves. He would have to be content with that.

My representative, the bishop of Limoges, made the king see reason, for in the month of June, my betrothed left Paris with an escort of five hundred knights. At last, the young king, heir to the kingdom of France, was riding to Bordeaux to marry me. No doubt his father, Louis VI, would live another ten years or more, but the throne of France sought to safeguard its future by crowning its prince early, during the old king's lifetime. The man I would marry would not need to be crowned when his father died, for his coronation had been celebrated in the cathedral of Reims already.

Young King Louis sent word to me a week before he arrived, so my women and I were ranged in my father's castle keep to greet him. The sky was a clear blue overhead, with no hint of clouds. The warmth of the wind beckoned me to go on a hunt, but I knew my duty, to myself and to my father's memory. We had both worked for years to see this marriage done. I would stay inside the palace where I was safe, until my husband-to-be and his five hundred knights arrived.

His men could not stay in the keep, for there were too many of them. I arranged for tents to be set up in the fields surrounding the city, so that Louis' troops would not come inside the city walls. I had no doubt that the Parisians would take offense at this, for they were a touchy people, or so I had been told. No matter. We would begin as I meant to go on. I was duchess here.

Summer was rising, and the fruit was thick on the boughs, not yet turned ripe. I saw Papa's pear trees twining along the garden wall. I would not be here when that fruit was eaten.

I pushed that thought aside. I would be Queen of France. I would have pears sent up from Anjou to please my palate. When I was queen, the world would lie at my feet.

When Louis, my betrothed, rode into the keep, I turned to the gate, a smile on my lips. The soul of courtesy, Louis left most of his men outside. Only twenty warriors accompanied him through my father's castle gates, a number easily welcomed. My hospitality would not be overwhelmed, even when my barons came to see us married.

At first sight, Louis took my breath away. Only sixteen years old, my husband-to-be was tall and fair, with soft blond hair falling to curve against his cheek. He wore no outer finery, no crown or diadem, but his clothes were of the finest silk, even for riding. I saw then that he had looked forward to this meeting, as I had. He sought to honor me.

Louis came down off his horse and stepped toward me without hesitation. He knew me at once, as I knew him. Tales of my beauty had preceded me. But when he stopped dead in his tracks, I saw that in his eyes I was more beautiful than tales could tell.

“My lady duchess,” Louis said, bowing low before stepping forward to take the hand I offered.

“My lord king,” I said as I curtsied.

Louis kept my hand. His eyes were as blue as the sky above our heads. His lips looked soft and sensuous, curved in a smile that did not fade. I caught my breath and reminded myself who and where I was. I spoke in my public voice, but he seemed to understand that I wished we were alone.

“You are welcome to this place, my liege. Come inside and take refreshment. Let my ladies entertain you.”

He flushed with pleasure and bowed so that his pink cheeks might be hidden. I saw then how young he was, much younger than I in his mind and heart, though I was a year his junior. Louis had been raised among monks, before his elder brother was killed falling from his horse, leaving Louis as the only heir. Young Louis was not used to politics. No doubt he needed a guiding hand.

I offered him my arm, and he took it. Perhaps my guiding hand would do.

For hours my ladies sang and smiled for Louis. He sat beside me on my dais, and was gracious to all who welcomed him. The afternoon festivities turned into the evening meal, and all the while, Louis sat at my side, saying little, and looking beautiful.

I longed to get him alone. As I caught his eye, he blushed once more, almost as a maid might. It occurred to me that he was a virgin, as I was, and I felt a touch of foreboding. I dismissed it at once; was this not the marriage my father and I had labored for almost a decade to make?

We did not speak alone, for Louis did not stay for the dancing. The churchmen he had brought with him stood after the fruit came out, and bowed low to me, making ready to leave.

“We look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, my lady duchess,” Louis said. I saw that his men had not even asked his permission to go. He had seen them rise, and trained to come when his churchmen called, he rose with them.

Louis pressed his lips to my fingertips, and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. His blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, I lost myself in them.

Louis gave me a soft, sweet smile that made me long to reach out and touch his cheek. He lowered his voice so that only I could hear him. “Good night, Eleanor.”

It was the first time he had used my given name. His Parisian accent mangled it almost beyond recognition, but his voice was soft, his breath hot on my skin. I thought that I might overlook such a flaw, even come to find it charming, in exchange for the crown he would soon place upon my head.

The Parisians were gone from my hall almost as soon as Louis turned from me. How they moved so quickly, with their stiff, contained walks and their furtive glances at my people, I was not sure. My ladies and knights sighed with relief to see them gone, but a few of the Parisian churchmen still lingered. I raised my glass to them, and sent round the fruit once more, this time from my own table.

Their leader, a monk named Francis, smiled and bowed from his seat below the dais. Though there were spies in my midst, I was well aware of them, as my father had taught me to be.

The remembered loss of my father was like a blade driven into my side. It came upon me as an assassin might, and took my breath. Papa was not here to sit in triumph with me. It was his careful diplomacy as much as the duchy itself that had brought this alliance about. I missed my father more in that moment than I had since I first learned of his death.

Petra heard me gasp, and pressed my hand under the table, careful not to look at me, since I had told her that we must both be cautious while the Parisians were about, careful never to reveal our true thoughts or feelings in public. Petra had shown more grace at subterfuge than I had hoped for. Perhaps we had sold her short by protecting her for so long. But it was done. I was duchess, and I would keep protecting her for as long as I drew breath.

My pain passed, though the memory of it lingered like a pall over the rest of the evening. I stayed in the hall until the lamps burned down.

My people were relieved to see me dance once more. They sang for me with pride, and I listened to their songs. We had heard little music since my father died. Tonight, my knights and ladies danced not just for the joy of my coming marriage but for joy in the simple freedom to move and sing once more.

I was not as lighthearted as they, but I laughed at their bawdy jokes as if I were. It was almost midnight when Amaria and my women climbed the stairs to my rooms. Petra had been asleep long since, safe in her bower, with double guards to keep the Parisians at bay, if any gentlemen were to try her door.

Amaria undid my braid until my bronze hair hung about my shoulders like a cloak. She began the long task of combing it out, as she did every night. She knew that such soothing motions helped me sleep.

“The young king is at prayer,” she said, almost idly.

I blinked, and sat up straight. The cushion supporting my back fell to the wooden floor so that Amaria had to bend down to retrieve it. The rest of my ladies had been sent away already.

“What? Where is Louis?”

She blinked to see such emotion from me. She knew as well as I that our marriage was not for my pleasure, nor for his, but to secure the throne of France for my sons.

“Young Louis,” I said, as if there could be more than one in my keep. “Where is he?”

“He is at prayer, my lady. He wanted to go to the chapel, but when he found there was none such within the palace, he went to the cathedral in the city.”

Such idle gossip had come to her in the hall. My spies would have brought me such news directly, if they thought for one moment that I cared. I saw that I would have to take them in hand. It was not for them to decide what information they carried to me.