Devil's Consort

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘My thanks, lady.’ He bowed low and touched his mouth to my fingers.

  The heat prickled along my spine to centre in my loins. ‘It was my pleasure,’ I replied with cool grace.

  We returned to our seats. Count Geoffrey lifted his cup.

  ‘A toast, lady. To our friendship.’

  ‘To our friendship.’

  I lifted my cup and drank as I ignored the discreet nudge of Aelith’s elbow.

  He wanted more than friendship. So did I.

  As we supped, one of my minstrels sang of the pain and pleasure of unrequited love.

  When I see the lark moving its wings in joy against the light,

  Until at last it forgets and lets itself fall,

  By reason of the sweetness that fills its heart,

  Oh, such envy comes to me of those whose happiness I see,

  That I marvel that my heart does not melt away

  At once with desire!

  Anticipation shivered over me despite the heat of the room. Desire melted in my bones. Oh, yes. I would have that happiness for myself.

  The next day we hunted. A group of us—Aelith, Count Geoffrey’s knights and gentlemen, a crowd of hunt servants—on a bright day with racing clouds and a lively wind, the perfect day for flying the hawks. Carried by our huntsmen, I had ordered up two of the descendants of my original white gerfalcons—superbly proficient at bringing down cranes and herons. How long had it been since I had flown them? I had forgotten how beautiful they were, how supremely fitted for flight and killing, as they stretched their wings and rattled their jesses. How magnificently elegant they were. Out of courtesy I offered one to Count Geoffrey.

  ‘They match their owner in elegance,’ Geoffrey commented, but instead of accepting my offer he summoned one of his own huntsmen with a bird tethered to a wooden perch.

  ‘Oh …!’

  It was difficult to find words. The golden eagle was indeed majestic, casting my gerfalcons into the shade. Golden-eyed, it panted through its open beak, its talons flexing as if it could already sense its prey.

  ‘I thought eagles were the preserve of emperors,’ I remarked, impressed but a little astonished at his presumption.

  ‘They are. But what a waste,’ Geoffrey had a gleam in his eye as he smoothed his gloved hand over the fine feathers. His self-aggrandisement was a remarkable thing. ‘Only two emperors to monopolise so magnificent a bird. I think we can be a little flexible here. Why should I not fly an eagle in my own lands, where I am more an emperor than any other man?’ He took the bird onto his wrist.

  ‘I would fly the gerfalcon, lady.’ And there was Henry on a lively bay at my side, voice creaking with adolescence, his eyes fixed not on the eagle but on my beautiful birds. They were no less fierce than those of the gerfalcon. Taking one of the birds for myself, I signalled to the huntsman to transfer the second bird to the boy. It settled on his wrist, talons tightening.

  I gasped. ‘Your wrist!’ I gestured to the huntsman a second time. ‘A glove, if you please.’

  ‘I don’t wear a glove,’ Henry replied, his whole attention on the white raptor, stroking his fingers over her remarkable feathers.

  ‘But she will mark you. Does it not hurt?’

  A careless shrug was Henry’s only physical response. ‘I’m used to it.’

  These two Plantagenets, father and son! Such confidence. Again I was amused. Yesterday Henry had admired my beauty. Today I had paled beside the silver plumage of my hunting bird.

  ‘My stubborn son, with a mind of his own.’ Geoffrey dropped his reins to clout him with his free hand. ‘I’m not so sanguine.’

  We flew the birds at rabbits and a heron that we flushed from the river bank, then loosed the hounds to pursue hares set up in the meadow. The Angevins pursued them with great energy, riding as if born to the saddle, leaving the rest of us to follow in our own time.

  I watched them with narrowed eyes.

  ‘See, he is not hunting me at all,’ I remarked to Aelith, not altogether pleased. Geoffrey might have lit an outrageous need in me, but for the moment he was as much taken with the hunt as his son.

  ‘Not at the moment, he isn’t,’ she chuckled.

  ‘I’ll soon change that …’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so. Since when is Anjou a match for Aquitaine?’

  Suddenly, opportunely, a gamecock lifted from the grass almost beside my mare, taking wing with a harsh cackle and a clap of primary feathers. My mount shied, head tossing, eyes rolling. Then she was away and running. With a sharp cry I hung on but she grasped her bit and pulled out of my control across the open pasture. I clung with knees and hands as I heard the pounding of other hooves.

  ‘Hold on!’

  I knew who it was, having seen him detach himself from the group who pursued the hare and spur his horse at a fast-approaching angle towards me. Now he bore down on me from the right, as my mare showed no signs of slackening her headlong flight, drawing level, reaching for the bridle just above the bit. As he drew his own stallion to a slower gait, he brought the mare close and under control, sliding an arm around me for support.

  For a moment he looked down at me. For that moment his mouth was a breath away from mine. My eyes were wide on his and I could not look away. My fingers curled within the leather of his hunting jacket.

  Lord, I wanted him. But common sense slammed back into me with the force of a buffet from a shield. I slid my hands up to push firmly against his chest until he released me.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ I brushed my hand over my sleeves as if to remove a layer of dust. ‘The bird startled her and I was careless.’

  ‘No harm done.’ He restored the bridle to my hands. ‘It would not do for the Lady of Poitou to come to harm when under the Seneschal’s care.’

  My heart thudded anew.

  As we returned, stepping placidly towards the waiting party, Aelith coming towards us with a sly look in her eye, I slid the brooch with its sharp point back into the shelter of my glove. Poor mare. She did not deserve to be used so but I was not in my right mind.

  ‘I have never known a horse to bolt with you before,’ Aelith observed, wide-eyed.

  ‘Nor I,’ I observed without hesitation. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  The Angevin came to my solar to ask after me. Perversely I surrounded myself with my women and kept Aelith at my side.

  ‘Are you recovered, lady?’

  I remained seated in my high-backed chair, my feet on a footstool, my hair loose and only lightly veiled.

  ‘I am well.’

  ‘You could have been injured, lady.’

  ‘You have little confidence in my skill in the saddle, my lord. I have ridden since I was a child.’

  ‘Your talent is clear for all to see. The fault must be with the mare—a mannerless beast.’ For the length of a breath I thought his glance held an unsettling scepticism, as if he saw my guilt, but then it passed—or he was better than I had thought at dissimulation. ‘I’ll see you are better provided for next time. Will you hunt with me again, lady?’

  ‘If you wish it.’

  ‘The hunt is everything to me.’

  ‘So I see. Is the chase better than the final victory?’

  ‘It depends on the quarry, lady. The end can be sweet indeed.’

  His face was stern, his meaning clear. And I was at fault. Had I not led him into the conversation? I nearly dismissed my women. Nearly. But I did not. I was not so lost to discretion or awareness of the dangers. I needed to think.

  But it almost destroyed me to dismiss him. The curve of his mouth as he bowed and went out held more than a hint of complicity. It would have been the height of good sense for me to leave Poitiers immediately and continue south. If I stayed—what would I do if he pursued the Aquitaine hare in earnest? Would I give in or would I resist?

  Resist. Of course I would.

  ‘I presume you have planned a campaign against this man?’ Aelith asked quizzical
ly.

  ‘Of course. I am wooing Louis’s Seneschal to keep him loyal.’

  Aelith snorted.

  Every day that I remained in Poitiers I woke to feel vibrant life race through my blood. Every night I detested my empty bed. The Count of Anjou kept close attendance and continued to take me by surprise when one evening he took the lute from the minstrel, ran his thumb across the strings and to a ripple of comment began to sing. He had a fine voice. Obviously the people of Poitiers had heard him sing before. It was a song I knew well.

  Since, love, our minds are one what of our doing?

  Set now your arms on mine, joyous our wooing.

  O Flower of all the world, Love we in earnest!

  Honey is sweet to sip out of the comb.

  What mean I? That will I show, little one.

  Not words … but deeds shall be Love’s best explaining.

  Finishing with a flourish and a self-deprecating grin, the Count handed the lute back to the minstrel while I, dry-mouthed, joined in the applause. Oh, he was clever. Clever enough not to be too obvious. Both subtle and gifted, he had delivered the sentiments of the song as much to my women and to Aelith as he did to me, but I knew towards whom his intentions had been directed. I knew!

  I shivered and turned away from his challenging stare.

  ‘Do you sing?’ I ask Henry, to hide my blushes.

  ‘No, lady.’ The croak in his voice was harsher than a raven’s. As ever, his clever fingers were busy, investigating an engraved and pierced incense burner. He drew in his breath as he scorched his finger-ends.

  ‘Have you no liking for music?’

  ‘I like it well enough, but I’ve no voice for it. I prefer to hunt and fight.’

  ‘He’s young,’ Geoffrey laughed as he retook his seat. ‘He’ll learn the way to a woman’s heart, and that to be in her bed can be as satisfying as winning a battle.’

  ‘Have you found it so?’ I was flirting. Flirting damnably.

  ‘I have, lady. And I will again.’

  I expected him that night. I knew he would come, and had dismissed my women, claiming restlessness that would keep them awake. Aelith was the last to go

  ‘What?’ I demanded sharply.

  ‘Nothing—but …’

  I was ill-tempered with nerves. ‘You told me to take him. He wants me. Why should I not have him? I’ve taken no vow of chastity. If I leave it to Louis I’ll never have a man in my bed again …’

  ‘Eleanor!’

  I covered my mouth with my hands. I had never admitted it—other than to Bernard in my confessional. Not even to my sister. The shame was too heavy.

  ‘Does he not sleep with you?’ she whispered, aghast.

  I told her at last and hid none of my humiliation.

  ‘Then, if I were you—’ Aelith at her pragmatic best ‘—I’d welcome the Angevin to my bed without a second thought. You want him.’

  ‘Yes.’ I wet my dry lips with my tongue. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then take him. Enjoy it,’ she whispered with a quick embrace. ‘You deserve more than a cold bed and a celibate husband. But don’t fall for a child.’

  Wise advice. ‘Send Agnes to me, will you?’ I asked as she left me.

  We made preparations, Agnes’s knowledge being vast and specific.

  ‘I’ll not guarantee it, lady, but use it if you’re set on this path.’

  She provided for me a plug of wool impregnated with sticky cedar gum, an old Roman remedy that was, she said, better than nothing.

  Geoffrey Plantagenet did not come.

  When I rose next morning, tired and fretful, in no good humour, it was to learn that he had ridden out early, leaving no message for me, giving no reason for his absence. His son was gone too so there was no chance of an interrogation, even if I would so demean myself. He was away all day. Nor did he return to sup in the hall.

  Was he not my Seneschal? Did he not owe me an explanation?

  Between anger and a strange relief, I forced down enough mouthfuls of roast meats so not to draw attention. I could not bear the minstrels to sing but ordered up a coarser entertainment from a troupe of acrobats. A mistake. Even the lithe and sinuous jongleurs made me think of the Angevin. I retired early, dismissing my women, refusing Aelith’s compassion. I did not want compassion.

  I closed my door on a calm solitude I did not want.

  And there he was. Smooth, charming, subtle. But now I knew him for what he was. A clenched fist in a gauntlet of the softest kid. His self-interest might be masked but it was there right enough beneath the damask tunic.

  His bow was perfection. ‘I am vain enough to hope that you missed me, lady.’

  His absence had been quite deliberate. A cunning ploy, to play ducks and drakes with my emotions. I would not have it! We would play no longer. This would be on my terms, not his. I would call the tune and he would dance to it. I walked towards the window that had yet to be shuttered against the night sky and looked out as if the stars filled my interest.

  ‘Do we have business to discuss? Were you absent on my behalf?’ I waited. ‘Well?’

  ‘I sense your displeasure, lady.’ He answered evasively. ‘If that is so, I ask your pardon.’

  ‘It matters not to me where you spend your time, sir. As long as you fulfil your role of Seneschal, I have no call on your presence.’

  ‘I see I am in disgrace.’

  I heard his footstep, sensed his approach. He was standing behind me.

  ‘Send me away if you wish it, lady.’

  I was playing with fire here and knew it, but I was so lonely, with such an urgency in my heart to know the feel of a man’s body on mine. Not brief or perfunctory, not reluctantly. I wanted a lover who craved me beyond his own self-control.

  ‘You deserve that I should dismiss you.’ I was cold.

  ‘And why is that?

  ‘You neglect me. You absented yourself all day without my permission.’ So much for good intentions. I flinched at the admission I had not intended to make but I kept my back turned against him.

  ‘You think I left you willingly?’ He managed to infuse his reply with a slide of regret.

  ‘Did you not?’

  ‘As your Seneschal it is my duty to keep peace in your lands.’

  ‘And was your journey urgent?’

  ‘Who’s to say? I would not risk your safety.’

  ‘You have an answer for everything, have you not, Geoffrey?’ I used his name, deliberately.

  ‘Not everything, Eleanor.’ It shivered through me. His breath was warm on my neck. And there, following it, the brush of his fingertips. ‘Send me away if that is your wish. But do it now. Before it is too late.’

  Oh, I knew it had all been contrived and he was an inverterate schemer. I also knew when I was beaten and raised my hand to press his against my shoulder so that his palm was warm against my exposed flesh.

  ‘Well?’ Now his lips were against my throat.

  ‘I don’t want you to go.’ Had it not been inevitable from the beginning?

  ‘Eleanor …’

  Slowly he turned me round, and bending his head placed his lips on mine. His touch was light, his clasp on my shoulders insubstantial, as if allowing me the choice to step away.

  I did not.

  Geoffrey’s arms banded round me, his mouth hardened against mine and I sank into the embrace. Louis’s kisses had given me no warning of this. This was a long, dark slide of tongue and teeth, of ruthless possession, into a heat of blatant need in my belly and my loins. From there to my bed was no distance at all, where I discovered that I might lack the experience but I had the desire and a sense of what would please the Count of Anjou. Moving with effortless skill, making me feel neither awkward nor inept, he loved me.

  Pinioning my wrists above my head, he looked down into my eyes.

  ‘Your monkish lover does not satisfy a woman of your temperament. But I can.’

  I was swept along by his words. My skin heated, my breath caught and my emotion
s no longer obeyed me.

  That night the Angevin conquered Aquitaine.

  I had had no idea.

  Three weeks. For those three weeks I was Countess of Poitou, not Queen of France. I was a young unwed maiden again, not a married woman with a child. I was desired and indulged, flattered and beguiled with delicate pleasure. I was neither ignored nor rejected nor made to feel less than my worth. I was alive, under a breathtaking surge of excitement that I never wanted to end.

  We rode, hunted, feasted, loved. I accompanied him when he rode to test the atmosphere in the neighbouring lands. I sat with him when he dispensed justice. I learned much of him as a man, as a ruler. His justice was fair, tempered with mercy, but he was no fool. Those who threatened the peace of Poitou were punished with a heavy hand.

  Louis and Matilda remained as shades on the edges of our perception.

  At night he was my lover. Or we lay together in my bed in late afternoon, a stolen moment when the rest of the household slept or whiled away the surprising heat of the late autumnal day.

  ‘I think you will go soon,’ he remarked. He stroked his hand down the length of my haunch.

  ‘Yes. Soon. But not today.’ I was sated and drowsy.

  ‘One thing …’

  I lifted my head, intrigued to see him suddenly so serious. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m looking for a suitable wife for my son. It’s time he was betrothed.’

  Ah! So matters of state had crept up on us. Had I expected it? Perhaps I had.

  ‘And have you someone in mind?’ I asked carefully. I would not pre-empt the discussion I foresaw.