Devil's Consort (46 page)

‘God would surely say it was an enterprise worth the doing,’ Louis remained obstinate.

‘God would be far better served if you remained in France, sire, governed wisely and got a male heir to step into your shoes. Have you thought of the repercussions if you were killed in Outremer? Better leaders than you have met their end. It is far too dangerous to go with the succession being so uncertain.’

He swung to face me.

‘As for you, Majesty. How could you be so impolitic in this? You would leave your child of barely two years?’

‘Do you accuse me of being an unnatural mother?’ What pleasure it gave me to see Suger so inconvenienced.

‘I accuse you of being thoughtless, Majesty. As for Irene of Austria, you did not see fit to remind your vassals that she met an unpleasant death, trampled underfoot during a massacre.’

I smile caustically, sure of my ground. ‘No, I did not. I am a feudal lord. Who should raise my troops but I? Who should ride at their head but the Duchess of Aquitaine? What do you say, Louis? Do I ride at your side?’

‘Perhaps it would not be safe, Eleanor …’

Much the reaction I had expected. ‘Very well.’ I
shrugged as if I did not care. ‘Then I remain at home and rule the country in your stead.’

‘Ah …’ Louis swallowed.

‘No!’ Abbot Suger flushed.

I almost laughed aloud. I knew I had won. I could see their fear writ clear on their faces. Who knew what I might get up to if left with the unfettered power of the crown in my hands? It hurt me to see it, but it was a weapon I would use.

‘I’m sure you can trust me to use your power wisely in your name.’ I patted Louis’s arm.

‘Perhaps there will be an advantage in your coming with me after all … It would bind the Aquitanians to my army, of course …’ Louis slid a glance towards Suger.

I closed my fingers gently around his wrist. ‘You need me, Louis. Far better that I go with you.’

The Abbot might be caught between a rock and a hard place but still he stuck to his argument. ‘You cannot both go and leave the country without a male heir.’

‘Yes, we can.’ I smiled. ‘Perhaps God will bless us with another child when we see Jerusalem. A son to rule France.’

So Louis was outmanoeuvred. It was decided and Suger’s arguments fell on deaf ears.

All I could see was the chance to spread my wings and fly. I had battered down the walls of the Cité palace. The ennui of my life was swept away. Louis military
skills might be suspect but with good commanders at his side he would stand in Jerusalem.

I could not believe my good fortune. My belly was gripped with excitement, my blood ran hot under my skin. I was going to the Holy Land.

‘Your Majesty.’ My steward stood at the door to my solar and bowed, trying not to look askance at the piles of shifts and gowns and mantles being made ready for the adventure that was still in the lap of the gods. Louis obfuscated, Abbot Suger undermined my inclusion in the venture with every breath, but I was determined. I was going to Outremer. So there I was on my knees in the midst of the chaos, one of my jewel caskets open before me. Some decisions were too important to leave to my women. ‘Majesty—you have guests. I have brought them here as His Majesty is otherwise engaged at Notre Dame.’

I pushed myself to my feet, suddenly aware of the reaction of my women as I did so, a twitter of birds in a cage as a hawk swooped overhead. And turning, I understood. My visitor was not a man to be overlooked. Neither one of them, it seemed, could be overlooked.

‘The Count of Anjou, Your Majesty. And Lord Henry Plantagenet.’

I had forgotten in the heat of crusading fever that this visit had been promised, and here were the Angevins come to court, seeking a bride. For some reason that I
could not name, I felt a cold hand of unease stroke the nape of my neck.

‘My lord Count.’ I adopted a gracious smile, determined that my greeting should flow as coolly as melt-water over ice. ‘You are right welcome.’

As handsome as ever, Geoffrey of Anjou strode into my solar, smooth and controlled, raw power overlaid by elegance, exactly as I remembered him. But there was something more … A flutter of apprehension disturbed my belly. The Count’s expression was open and candid, but perhaps his eyes did not quite meet mine. And then he smiled directly at me—which did nothing to dispel my awareness of something awry. It reminded me that he was more than a master of deception.

There was the same attraction between us, of course. The Angevin’s eyes sparkled with admiration. Beneath the nerves, my cheeks felt as hot as fire. The desire was as strong as ever. How would I tolerate being with him in the same palace, yet distant from him? This was not my own indulgent Poitou, this was Paris. To indulge in bed sport in Poitiers was one thing, to continue it under the nose of Louis and Abbot Suger was quite another. There would be no assignations, no whispered words and intimate caresses here.

And perhaps I did not want there to be such intimacy between us. What had passed between us in Poitiers was over. I would not repeat my indiscretions.

Geoffrey took my hand, bowing formally over it, the slightest brush of his lips, all as was proper, with exactly
the correct amount of deference. Oh, he was clever, the consummate actor, as if our previous knowledge of each other had been nothing more than one of business and negotiation, a seneschal with his overlord.

‘Majesty. Forgive my intrusion.’ He was perfectly at ease.

But I would match him in this. My welcome was graciously formal. ‘There is no intrusion.’ I gestured to the steward to fetch wine as I turned to the younger Angevin.

‘Henry. You’ve grown since I saw you at Poitiers. How long is it? Six months, I think.’

‘Majesty.’ His bow was equal to that of his father’s in courtliness. Certainly he had grown. As well as height and a noticeable breadth of shoulder, he had acquired a distinct coordination of limbs and perhaps an adult gloss of confidence in those few short months. His mouth did not smile but his eyes held a gleam of mischief that put me on my guard as much as the Count’s insouciance. ‘I said we would meet again, lady.’

‘So you did. And here you are. I trust your gerfalcon is in good health?’

‘Yes, Majesty.’ A grin dispelled his solemnity. ‘She hunts better than my father’s eagle.’

I laughed. He was still only a boy, still hunting mad. Dismissing my women, I gestured that they should sit, as did I, disposing my skirts with éclat, my senses still stretched, fully alert. ‘We are preparing to journey to Outremer,’ I explained, indicating the upheaval around
me, giving myself time to think. ‘Louis and I have taken the Cross.’

‘So I hear, Majesty.’ Geoffrey looked at me across the rim of his cup. ‘You are to be commended. A noble cause. And for you to accompany your husband on so dangerous a mission. Praiseworthy indeed.’

‘Indeed.’ I thought he mocked me, so, resenting such impudence, I chose to aim my own dart. No one mocked the Duchess of Aquitaine. ‘And you are not tempted to join us, my lord Count? For the salvation of your earthly sins?’

‘Christ, no! If I absent myself from my lands for more than a se’ennight, there’ll be some enterprising brigand stepping into my shoes. I’ve no ambition to return to find myself a landless beggar.’

‘And I’ve got my eye on events in England, lady.’ Henry leaned forward, alight with enthusiasm. ‘My lady mother’s supporters are at war with Stephen. It’s my intention to lead them, to take the Crown for my own.’

But the Count waved his son to silence. ‘I’m here to discuss the project I put before you in Poitiers, lady,’ he remarked without preamble. ‘I think I have your support when I put my case to persuade His Majesty.’

Had I not said I would support him? Something was afoot. And that same flutter of premonition held me back from the reassurance the Angevin wanted. ‘You must dine with us,’ I invited simply. ‘His Majesty will hear you and make his own decision.’

‘In my favour, I trust.’ The Count put down his cup, still half-f. His eyes lifted to mine, undoubtedly mocking. ‘It may be that your decision to go crusading, lady, has given me an unlooked-for advantage in my arguments.’

‘And that advantage would be?’

He shook his head as if it would be beyond my comprehension. ‘Not one that I wish to discuss where walls might have ears.’

It was a mistake on the Angevin’s part. I would not accept such condescension and I tilted my chin. We were alone, so why not tell me his plans? In that moment his handsome features were illuminated in a glow of hard northern sunlight and I saw him clearly for what he was, as I never had in Poitiers. A self-interested rogue despite his lands and title, one who would snatch at fate and whatever was offered, without thought for any man or woman who stood in his way. Yet I knew he was still drawn to me. He would come to my bed if I made it possible for him to do so. Was that it? Was he waiting to see a way to my chamber?

Ah, but would I? Would I really do what he expected of me? If I did, that would put me under his power. And just how was he intending to use that power? Beware! The warning whispered in my head. There was speculation in his gaze that I did not like, the close fixation of a cat deciding whether it was worth its while pouncing on a mouse.

I was no mouse. I would not be the means to any of Geoffrey of Anjou’s ends.

‘Then you must rely on that unexplained advantage to persuade my husband that your offer is in his best interests,’ I replied.

‘I wait with impatience.’ Abruptly, Geoffrey stood, gesturing to his son that the audience was at an end, even though I had given no such indication, and they made their farewells as the steward waited to escort them to their accommodations. Geoffrey was as immaculately polite as on his entrance, his salute to my fingers just as lightly formal, but when Henry and my steward had gone on ahead, suddenly, as he had intended, we were alone in my solar. Polite formality vanished in the snap of fingers. The Count’s hands grasped my shoulders, burning through the silk of my gown, and I was pulled hard against him.

My breath hissed my objection through my teeth but I controlled every muscle. ‘Did you wish to say more, my lord?’ I asked sweetly, refusing to squirm, his mouth a kiss away from mine.

‘Yes. I want you to add your voice, to persuade the King.’

‘I have already said I’m not hostile to the match.’

‘No warmer than that? I think you might have an incentive, lady.’ His smile was outrageously seductive but still the warning hammered in my head.

‘And that is?’

‘It would not be healthy—for either of us but especially
for you, Eleanor—if Louis were to hear whispers of our weeks in Poitou. Our delightful sojourn in the Maubergeonne Tower. The woman in the liaison is always punished with a harder hand than the man.’

I all but gasped, yet didn’t. ‘Are you offering me threats, my lord Count?’ I asked, as smooth as the silk I wore and that his hands crumpled.

‘Threats? No, lady. I’ll not threaten, merely persuade.’

He kissed me.

Damn him, he kissed me hard with a possession that stirred up in me all the remembered heat and colour of Poitou. But beneath the sweetness of it I tasted danger. It was tart and urgent. Beware indeed. If I was moved by honesty, I would say that fear slithered its path down my spine.

It was, of course, the height of court etiquette that Louis and Geoffrey should sit together at the High Table, side by side, the King of France flanked by one of his most powerful vassals. How unfortunate. Louis paled into a fragile candle flame, almost guttering into non-existence, beside the bright torch that was the Angevin Count. I sat at Geoffrey’s other side, aware of every nuance, every slide of light and shadow. Louis urbane and unaware, always the innocent. Geoffrey all courteous charm and winning argument. And cunning deceit. Abbot Suger listening with a deepening frown, for what reason I was as yet unsure. He had not forgiven me for
my championing of Louis’s dreams of Jerusalem, but I did not think that I was the reason for his ill humour. And then there was Henry Plantagenet, dividing his concentration between the food on his plate and the discussion of politics, politics most frequently winning. His eyes darted from one to the other of the protagonists, dissecting, weighing, storing information.

Barely were we into the stews and frumenty of the first course than Geoffrey launched into his campaign. He was not a man to waste time.

‘I have a proposal, sire. My son and heir … I look for a wife for him. A wife with power and influence to match what, one day, will be his own.’

Louis twitched his colourless brows in faint interest.

‘In the fullness of time,’ Geoffrey added, ‘Henry will be Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy, thus one of your foremost barons.’

Louis continued to look vaguely unimpressed. Suger’s ears pricked up and he pushed aside his cup and platter. In delicate discretion, I sat back and sipped the thin wine of Anjou, to let them do the talking while I remained vigilant. I became aware of Henry again. He was leaning forward. He too was alert, keen like a hound scenting a fox. When his eyes touched momentarily on mine they were bright and involved. They lingered, widening, and I realised in that moment of recognition that there was more depth to this vivid young man than to his father, although he was certainly more transparent. With young Henry, I had the
suspicion that what you saw on the serving platter was what you got on your trencher. An interesting young man. There was a control here that had not been present in Poitiers. I suspected the exuberant energy was the same, but now it was harnessed and his concentration was ferocious. Yes, he was restless at the enforced inactivity, his fingers pulling apart a piece of wastrel bread and rolling the soft dough into perfect and equal balls, but his mind was wholly taken up with the discussion of his bride, and what that would mean for his future power.

Suddenly, astonishingly, a sharp bolt of some unnamed emotion held us. A frisson of something that was more than an understanding, more than a recognition. I did not imagine it. It dried my mouth and … I found myself frowning.

With an apologetic grimace and duck of his head, Henry Plantagenet gave his attention back to the exchange of views, which had increased in intensity.