by Anne O'Brien
Louis slid from the bed.
‘Where are you going?’ I demanded when I found my scattered wits.
Without replying, shrugging into his robe again, Louis crossed the room and knelt at my prie-dieu, clasped his hands and bent his fair head in prayer, murmuring the familiar words with increasing fervour so that they filled the room.
Ave Marie. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of Grace, pray for us now
And in the hour of our death. Amen.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou.
On and on it went. Should I join him on my knees, to pray with him? But he had not invited me, neither did I think it appropriate when this occasion demanded a physical rather than spiritual response. I clawed my fingers into the linen. I’d wager Dangerosa and my grandfather did not begin their reprehensible relationship on their knees before a crucifix.
‘Hail Mary.’
‘Louis!’ I said, cautiously. Should I disturb him in his prayers?
‘Blessed art thou among women …’
‘Louis!’ I raised my voice to an unmaidenly pitch.
Unhurriedly, Louis completed the Ave, rose, genuflected, and returned to the bed, where he once more removed his robe and slid between the sheets, but bringing with him my little Book of Hours that he proceeded to open, turning the pages slowly from one illuminated text to the next.
‘This is a very beautiful book,’ he observed.
I was tempted to snatch it from him and hurl it across the room.
Instead, I said, ‘Louis—did you not wish to marry me?’
‘Of course. My father wished it. It is an important marriage to make our alliance between France and Aquitaine. The Scriptures say it is better for a man to marry than to burn.’
I did not think, on evidence, that Louis burned.
‘But do you not want me?’
‘You are beautiful.’
So was my Book of Hours! ‘Then tell me, Louis.’ Perhaps he was simply shy. Was that it? A boy brought up by monks might be reserved and indecisive in the company of a woman who was naked and expecting some degree of intimacy. I would encourage him. ‘Tell me why you think I am beautiful. A woman always likes to know.’
‘If you wish.’ He did not close the book, keeping one finger in the page, but now he looked at me. ‘Your hair is … the russet of a dog fox. Look how it curls around my fingers.’ He touched my hair. ‘And your eyes …’ he peered into them ‘ … green.’ Lord, Louis was no poet. My troubadours would mock his lack of skill. ‘Your skin … pale and smooth. Your hands so elegant and soft but so capable—you controlled your horse as well as any man. Your shoulders …’ His fingers skimmed them thoughtfully, until he snatched them away as if they were scorched.
‘Look,’ he said suddenly, urgently. ‘Here.’ He lifted the Book of Hours so that I might see and thumbed through the pages until he came to the illustration he sought, the coloured inks vibrant. ‘Here’s an angel with your exact colouring. Is that not beautiful?’
‘Well, yes …’ It was beautiful, but unreal, with its painted features and heavy with gold leaf. Did he see me as a gilded icon? I was a woman of flesh and blood.
‘What about my lips?’ I asked. Daring, certainly forward, but why not? Once my troubadour Bernart had compared them to an opening rose, pink and perfectly petalled.
‘Sweet …’
I despaired. ‘You could kiss them.’
‘I would like to.’ Louis leaned forward and placed his lips softly on mine. Fleetingly.
‘Did you like that?’ I asked as he drew away.
His smile was totally disarming. ‘Yes.’
I placed my hand on his chest—his heart beat slow and steady—and leaned to kiss him of my own volition. Louis allowed it but did not respond. He was still smiling at the end. As a child might smile when given a piece of sugared marchpane.
‘I enjoyed it too,’ I said, desperation keen. Did he not know what to do? Surely someone would have seen to his education. He might not have been raised to know the coarse jokes and explicit reminiscences that to my experience men indulged in but surely …
‘I think we shall be happy together,’ he murmured.
‘Would you like to hold me in your arms?’
‘Very much. Shall we sleep now? It’s late and you must be weary.’
‘I thought that …’ What to say? Louis’s eyes were wide and charmingly friendly. ‘Will the Abbot not wish for proof of our union—the sheets …?’ I wouldn’t mince words. ‘The linen should be stained to prove my virginity and your ability to claim it.’
And saw the return of the initial stubbornness as his brows flattened into a line. His reply had a gentle dignity. A complete assurance. ‘The Abbot will get his proof. When I wish it.’
‘But, Louis … My women—they will mock.’
‘I care not. Neither should you. It is not their concern.’
‘They will say you have found me wanting. Or—’ even worse ‘—that I was no virgin.’
‘Then they will be wrong. I have never met a woman who has touched my heart as you have. And I know you are innocent. There now, don’t be upset. Come here …’
Abandoning the book, Louis folded me into his arms—as if he were a brother comforting a distressed sister. His manhood did not stir against my thigh despite his appreciation of me. Should I touch him? I may not have had the practice but I knew the method.
But I couldn’t do it. I dared not touch him so intimately. In the presence of God and the Book of Hours and Louis’s strange sanctity, I just could not do it.
When Louis released me to blow out the candle and we lay side by side like carved effigies on a tomb, I was mortified. My marriage was no marriage at all. I knew that Louis slept, as calmly composed as that same effigy, his hands folded on his breast as if still summoning God to take note of his prayers. When I turned my head to look at him, his face was serene and completely unaware of the disillusion that I suffered.
Eventually I slept. When I awoke with daylight, he was gone, the Book of Hours carefully positioned on the empty pillow at my side, the page open to the gilded angel. The linen of my bed was entirely unmarked. There were no bloody sheets to testify to my husband’s duty towards me or even his desire.
Well, I could have faked it, couldn’t I? A quick stab to my finger with my embroidery needle—but I did not. It had not been my choice and Louis must answer for his own lack. Faced with the Abbot’s gentle enquiry the following morning, I was haughty. I was defiant but icily controlled.
‘If you wish to know what passed between us in the privacy of our bed, you must ask the Prince,’ I informed him.
I silenced my women with a blank stare and a demand that I would break my fast as soon as they could arrange it. Perhaps now rather than in their own good time. I would not show my humiliation but coated it in a hard shell, as my cook in Bordeaux might enclose the softness of an almond in sugar. As for Aelith’s obvious concern, I shut her out. I could not speak of what had not occurred, even to her. If I had, I think I might have wept.
What passed between the Abbot and the Prince I had no idea.
In a bid to impress my subjects, Abbot Suger himself, in the glory of the great cathedral, placed the golden coronets to proclaim us Count and Countess of Poitiers. Louis accepted his new dignity with an unfortunate show of shy diffidence, whereas I spent the ceremony taking note of those who bent the knee and bared their necks in subservience, and making an even more careful accounting of those who did not.
Such as William de Lezay, my own castellan of Talmot, my hunting lodge. So personal a servant to me, he should have been first in line. He was not. Always an audacious knight with an eye to his own promotion, he sent me an insolently verbal message by one of his knights, who trembled as he repeated it. He had a right to tremble. I
considered consigning him to a dungeon for a week for his weasel words—except that the sin was not his. One does not punish the messenger, my father had taught me. It only increases the trouble tenfold.
De Lezay was unable to attend my coronation: there were too many demands on his time. He informed me that such a ceremony was not to his taste, to acknowledge a Frank as his overlord. Such dislike of all things Frankish even overrode his sincere allegiance to me, with my pure and undisputed Aquitaine blood. I almost spat my disgust at the sly insincerity. With careful questioning, I discovered that the man had recently increased the number of troops at Talmont and was preparing for siege conditions.
So he had taken my castle for himself, had he?
He would hold it in the face of my objection, would he?
My temper began to simmer. That he should dare to inform me so blatantly of his defection. But that was not the worst of it. De Lezay’s messenger, remarkably straight-faced, handed over a small flat leather packet. And within it as I tore it open? A handful of white wing feathers, beautifully barred and speckled with grey and black, fluttered to the floor.
By God! I knew the original owners of those magnificent feathers. The simmer of temper bubbled and overflowed. The sheer insolence of the gesture! The birds were mine! My rare white gerfalcons, a gift from my father, kept and bred for my own use. Not fit for the wrist of a commoner such as William de Lezay.
‘God rot his soul in hell!’
The messenger trembled.
‘May he burn in everlasting fires!’ My voice was close to shrill.
‘What is that?’ Louis enquired mildly, entering the antechamber as my rage reached its zenith. He gestured to the knight to rise to his feet. ‘What has this man said to disturb you?’
‘News of de Lezay.’ I could barely force the words out. ‘My own castellan at Talmont. He has stolen my birds. And my hunting lodge. And—before God!—has the audacity to inform me of it.’ I still did not know what hurt most, the lodge or the gerfalcons. ‘My castellan! My father’s chosen man!’
Louis’s features relaxed. ‘Is that all? Most have taken the oath. He’s the only one to refuse.’
All? Is that how he saw it? My temper did not abate. ‘One is one too many! And he thinks he can get away with it because I am a woman.’ I rounded on Louis. I stared at him.
Louis Capet, Prince of France. Looking capable and surprisingly efficient in wool and leather hunting clothes, a knife in his belt. I tilted my chin to appraise him. His hair gleamed beneath his felt cap. Today he looked like a knight capable of holding his own. And there it was. I might not lead a punitive force against my errant castellan, but. Of course! Louis would uphold my rights for me, because they were now his rights too.
Ah … but would he? I was not certain of Louis’s mettle. When Louis had suspected Angoulême of setting an ambush, he had been quick to hitch his tunic and flee. What price de Lezay keeping his low-born fingers latched onto my property? But I strode to Louis’s side and took his arm, tightening my fingers into the fine cloth. I was determined. Louis must not be allowed to run from this. He must be a warrior lord, not a fool to be ridiculed and despised.
‘What will you do about it?’ I demanded. ‘De Lezay defies you as much as he defies me. He usurps my power and yours. Let him get away with this and we’ll have an avalanche of insurrection on our hands. I can just imagine him with one of my—of our—priceless white raptors on his fist, laughing at us from the battlements of Talmont.’
Louis studied the floor at his feet. Then stared thoughtfully at the messenger for a moment, to the man’s discomfort. Finally he looked at me. ‘What would you have me do, Eleanor?’
‘Punish him for his temerity. Take back my property.’
‘You wish me to launch an attack against him.’
‘Yes.’
Louis blinked as if struck by this novel idea. ‘Then if it will please you, I will,’ he replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. ‘I would not have you distressed in any way.’ Astonished pleasure lit his face. ‘I will restore your birds to you. And your castle.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ I made my smile gracious to hide the flood of satisfaction, and reached up to kiss his cheek. I was not powerless in this marriage after all.
‘It will be my wedding gift to you—the restoration of your property …’
‘Ah, Louis. I knew you wouldn’t fail me.’
Before the end of the day Louis and a band of well-armed Frankish knights set out for Talmont to teach de Lezay a much-needed lesson. I watched them go, wishing that I had been born a man and so could ride out to protect my own, but accepting that I must be content with my triumph so far. Ready enough to respond to my promptings, perhaps I could yet magic a dominant, forceful man out of the sweet, shy trappings that made up this Prince of the Franks. A warrior out of a bookish man of thoughts and dreams rather than deeds. Perhaps I could, if I could get him into my bed to do more than praise my hair. The sight of him, face stern and beautiful, clad in chain mail with his royal tabard and glossy stallion, fired my hope.
‘Have you led an expedition before?’ I stood at his side as he prepared to mount.
‘No. It wasn’t considered a necessary part of my education at Saint-Denis. But I must start somewhere.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I dislike the idea of shedding blood.’ He squinted at the stallion tossing its head in impatience.
‘Even if it’s warranted?’ I gripped his hand to steady his nerve. ‘I know you’ll do the right thing. God go with you. I’ll pray for your safe return.’
‘I too have prayed,’ he replied solemnly.
A little tremor of worry unsettled me, but I thought there was no need. Louis was well enough armed and escorted. I could see nothing but victory for him. Surely they could put de Lezay in his place without bloodshed. As I stepped back from the melee of departing horsemen, I saw Abbot Suger watching us. He approached, bowed, but his eyes were on the departing figure of his Prince.
‘I hope the outcome will be as you wish, lady.’
‘Do you not approve, my lord?’
‘I do. It’s vital to the peace of the realm to put down any breath of treason at this early stage of your union. But the Prince is not always wise in his choices.’
‘He needs guidance,’ I replied coldly.
The cool eyes now turned on me. ‘As long as it’s wise and measured guidance. I advise you to have a care, lady.’
I bridled. ‘Is that a warning, my lord?’ My suspicion grew that the royal counsellor condescended to my intellect, believing me incapable of understanding the nuances of government. ‘As my husband’s wife, I will stand at his side. You must accept that. He is no longer the child under your jurisdiction at Saint-Denis.’
‘As long as you accept that I might not always allow you free rein, lady. On this occasion it is to our advantage, but it may be that in future …’
It was a challenge, issued and accepted on both sides. I learned in that one short exchange that Abbot Suger would stand against me, keep me from influencing Louis if he considered it best for the future of France. Was he my enemy? No, nothing so extreme. But a clever, astute man, with government at his fingertips, in his blood, the Abbot was not a man to underestimate.
Barely had the sky paled into dawn than I heard the noise and commotion of Louis’s return in the courtyard below the window of my chamber. Before I could do more than leap from my bed, pull on a chamber robe and lean to look down, Louis was bounding up the stairs, flinging back the door. Flushed with excitement, the energy still lay hot on him, whilst on his gauntleted fist sat a white gerfalcon, hooded but in a serious state of ruffled disturbance. The bells on its jesses rang as it lifted its wings and flapped wildly, uttering harsh cries.
‘I did it!’ Louis announced in the doorway.
‘Perhaps you should place the bird on the bed pole. For all our safety.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ He strode across the room to transfer the magnificent bird to the carved
pole where it sat in a sullen hunch and rustle of feathers. Clad in leather jerkin and chausses, all heavily stained with sweat, Louis was jubilant, hair wild, eyes blazing. Stripping off his gauntlets, he swooped on me, gripping me by the shoulders. And then he transferred his hands to cup my cheeks, hold me still, and he kissed me full on my startled mouth. A hot, demanding, intemperate kiss that broke my lips against my teeth. He lifted his head.
‘Eleanor!’
And kissed me again.
‘I’ve brought your gerfalcons here for you. All of them.’
I felt an urge to laugh at the foolish extravagance of the gesture, but I could not spoil Louis’s pleasure. Neither did I have the breath to reply at length. The passion in him astonished me.
‘That’s wonderful,’ I managed.
I don’t think he heard me. His fingers dug into my flesh, hard enough to bruise. ‘I led the expedition. It was a glorious success. You’ll need a new castellan, Eleanor.’
‘What?’
‘A new castellan.’
H swung away to pace the room as if he could not contain the energy that victory had brought, brushing at the bed hangings with one hand, stroking the other down the feathers of the now quiescent hawk.
‘Is de Lezay dead, then?’
‘Yes. By God, he is. And deserved it. I’ve no regrets.’ The words spewed out, heated, excited. Uncontrolled. ‘It was so hot. And we were not careful. We took off our chain mail and sent it on ahead with our weapons on the baggage carts …’
Stupid! Louis must have read it in my astonished stare for he came to a stand in front of me again and tempered his voice.
‘It was very quiet—no danger, our scouts reported—but when we followed our baggage into Talmont, the first knights were taken prisoner. So we had to fight it out with the rebels.’ Suddenly the exhilaration snapped into furious temper. ‘No one will dare to stand against me in future. We killed them all. Including de Lezay.’
