by Anne O'Brien
‘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.
‘Not only will my son inherit my estates,’ Geoffrey was continuing, ‘but through Matilda, my wife, he has a direct claim to the throne of England.’
Louis continued to be unmoved. ‘Except that your wife’s cousin Stephen is securely on the throne of England with a son to follow after him. I don’t believe there’ll be too many English lords who would raise his sword in the Lady Matilda’s cause.’ He might spend an inordinate length of time on his knees but Louis still had a finger on the pulse of power in the neighbouring states, courtesy of Abbot Suger.
‘Matilda faces difficulties, I can’t argue against it,’ Geoffrey growled. ‘The English barons are reluctant to cede power to a woman. Unlike the sophistication of Aquitaine, where sex is no obstacle to power.’ He bowed his head to me, a glint in his eye. ‘But Stephen’s claim stands on shaky ground. My son Henry has the legal right and I think England will be open to the man with the weightiest sword. Would you care to venture with me, Majesty? To have your daughter wed to my son, and ultimately be Queen of England?’
Louis laced his fingers thoughtfully and cast his eye over Henry, who returned it, skin heating with the sudden attention.
‘What do you say, Henry Plantagenet?’ Louis asked him directly.
‘I say that by the time the lady, your daughter, is of an age to wed me, I will be King of England.’
I tried not to smile. Such arrogance, such assurance in his own talents. He had the confidence of a man twice his age.
Taken with the thought, Louis narrowed his eyes. ‘I think it has merit.’
‘And I think Her Majesty is not against the match.’
Louis turned slowly, looking beyond Geoffrey to me. ‘Eleanor?’
‘I was gratified to meet with Her Majesty in Poitiers when she travelled there,’ Geoffrey explained, before I could consider a reply. His smile was as innocent as the skin on a dish of warm milk as he dropped the dangerous little pebble in the pool and waited to see how the ripples would form. ‘We had an exchange of opinion over the possibility—on more than one occasion.’
‘I was not aware,’ Louis said, a crease digging between his brows.
‘Her Majesty was pleased to show me some of her favourite hunting grounds,’ Geoffrey explained. ‘We had excellent sport.’
Well, now. My spine stiffened beneath the layers of linen and silk brocade as a quick shiver ran its length. The Angevin was deliberately playing with fire here and I might be a brand for burning.
‘You were in Poitou when Eleanor was there?’ Louis asked.
‘Indeed, sire.’
Louis’s eyes snapped to mine, and I recognised what I read there. Had I not seen it before? Jealousy, as vital and green as the braiding on Geoffrey’s expensive sleeve. So Geoffrey would make mischief for me, would he? It was no secret that Louis doted on me as a mother hen on her chick. The tale of Marcabru, my much-lamented, banished troubadour, had lost nothing in the telling. So the Count of Anjou would stir that pot of eels for me, would he? I continued to smile but anger—and not a little contempt—began to stir. How dared he sit there, juggling with danger, holding the truth over my head, threatening to allow it to fall on my neck like a fine-edged sword unless I sided with him. Would he do it? Would he uncover my indiscretion before Louis and the whole court?
Would he accuse me of infidelity unless I sided with Henry as a royal bridegroom?
I took a sip of wine to ease my dry throat.
No. No! Mentally I shook my head as sense took a grip. Of course he wouldn’t. It would be far too dangerous for him—Louis’s vassal discovered in a sinful relationship with his wife. But he thought to threaten me with enough suspicion to cause me harm. Did he truly consider me so weak that I would support him in return for his silence? Fury flared again—that the man I had taken as my lover should put me in this invidious position, and even worse that it was of my own making. He would pay for it. I would make him pay. I summoned my resources and smiled at Louis.
‘I went from Poitou straight to Aquitaine before I returned home, Louis—and so in the expanse of time I probably forgot so trivial a discussion with your Seneschal. And, yes, I believe my lord of Anjou mentioned his hopes over the marriage.’ I allowed my smile to encompass the Angevin, and lifted a shoulder carelessly. ‘But I suppose I forgot that too. No decision could be made without your consent.’
‘You did not tell me.’ Louis’s face was set in obdurate lines.
I lifted a shoulder again, beautifully negligent. ‘When I returned you were taken up with an urge to go to Outremer. You could talk of nothing else. What point in discussing a marriage of our daughter who is not yet two years old? I thought the plan had merit—an Angevin marriage for Marie, with the prospect of England as well.’ I smiled serenely at Geoffrey. ‘Now I
’m not so sure. As you say, Stephen seems to have the upper hand in England.’
It delighted me to watch a shadow of what could only be temper flit through Geoffrey’s eyes, although his face remained carefully expressionless.
‘I see advantages to the match,’ Louis said slowly, avarice replacing suspicion. ‘Marie as Queen of England …’
‘I think it is far too important a decision to be made without deep thought, Majesty.’ For the first time Abbot Suger intervened, had he but known it, as my ally. I could have laughed aloud, but lowered my eyes to my softly clasped hands. ‘I think it would be wise to sleep on it.’
Louis looked thoughtful.
‘Excellent advice,’ I purred.
‘Yes! I will pray for guidance.’ Louis smiled ingenuously at his Seneschal. ‘Dine with us tomorrow, my lord Count. I will give you my reply.’
So he would hold me to ransom, would he? No one would do that, certainly not the Count of Anjou. And if he thought he would find his way to my bedchamber to renew his persuasion in person, he underestimated me entirely. Was this why he had seduced me in the first place? The idea flirted with my mind, refusing to let go. Had the conquest of his mouth and hands been simply to pull me into compliance with his plans for Angevin aggrandisement?
My anger was so strong my hands shook with it as I threw a silver goblet against the wall of my bedchamber. The resulting dents in the precious metal gave me no comfort at all.
I had no idea where Geoffrey spent the night. If he sought me out at all, he would have found my rooms empty, for I spent the hours at Louis’s side in Notre Dame in a night vigil. Yes, I actually did that. How slowly the minutes passed. How cold it was. I yawned and fidgeted and had to force myself to stay awake, but it was a valuable exercise. Louis and I prayed together for divine guidance in the matter of our daughter’s husband. Surprised at my presence, Louis was warmly grateful and reassured of my loyalty.
Yes, I prayed, but not quite along lines that Louis would approve. I spent those night hours in meticulous planning, and in a measure of self-blame over that turbulent autumn liaison when I had allowed desire to overcome good sense. I should not have mistaken the intentions of the Angevin. A queen must never put herself into the hands of a subject.
Returning to my chamber at dawn, I dressed with care and sent Agnes with a message.
‘Tell my lord Abbot that I need a moment of his time. And tell him that it might be politic if His Majesty was kept in the dark—for the time being.’
We had a most informative discussion, Abbot Suger and I, in which a copy of a certain document exchanged hands. Abbot Suger’s reluctant compliance became overlaid with enthusiasm. An unlikely ally but in extremis I would work with God’s thorn in my flesh.
I admitted to a sense of pride in my plotting. Declaring war on the Angevin, I would play to win. A pity that it would mean the end of Henry’s hopes to wed Marie. He would have made an admirable husband.
We dined. Privately. Should I mention that I wore emeralds? Not the single jewel of Geoffrey’s gift but a heavy chain of gold set with more than a dozen of them, shining in baleful glory. I saw them take Geoffrey’s eye. I was aware of a tension in him lurking below the well-mannered exterior, and from the beginning he left me in no doubt of his intentions.
‘Majesty. You are more beautiful than the songs of the troubadours.’ And then the sting of the snake’s tongue. ‘You shine brilliantly in this dark setting, far more dazzling than when I recall you in the golden warmth of Poitou.’ How innocent of malice he appeared, hiding the venomous snake that would swallow me whole. ‘The emeralds become you, Majesty.’
‘Do they not? And so many of them! A gift from my husband on the occasion of Marie’s birth.’ I smiled at the Angevin snake and then across at Louis.
‘Eleanor is worth all the wealth of my kingdom.’ Gratified, Louis touched my hand. It took so little effort on my part to gratify him.
‘The Lady’s reputation goes before her.’ Geoffrey leaned back in his chair, confident of his imminent victory. ‘The marriage, Your Majesty. Have you considered it?’
‘I have. Prayed over it throughout the night. With Eleanor at my side.’ I felt the slide of Geoffrey’s sardonic expression in my direction. ‘I’m of a mind to give my consent.’
‘An excellent decision.’ Geoffrey all but rubbed his hands together. ‘Do we draw up an agreement for when the infant is older?’
‘No, my lord.’ It was the quietest of interjections. ‘The marriage is not viable.’
Geoffrey froze. Louis looked startled, Henry interested. I feigned total ignorance.
‘It is not appropriate that our princess marry the Angevin boy.’ Still low and even, Abbot Suger’s voice held the authority of Almighty God. ‘I will not countenance it, Majesty. Neither will the Church.’
Irritation rapidly replaced Louis’s amazement. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes. A problem. And after past history you should be aware of it, sire.’
‘Speak up, man.’
‘It is Her Majesty …’ Abbot Suger inclined his head to me ‘ … and Lord Henry. A matter of consanguinity. They are related in the third degree. They share a common ancestor. It is too close for marriage between the two young people.’
Louis’s hands clenched on the table edge as if an arrow had pierced his gut, his voice strangled in his throat. ‘I’ve had my bellyful of consanguinity.’
‘Indeed, sire!’ Suger fixed him with a stern expression. ‘It would not be politic for you to cross Holy Mother Church—again.’
‘And this can be proved?’ I asked in spectacular astonishment.
‘Indeed, lady. Proved beyond doubt—by an eminent scholar.’
Of course it had been. Had I not informed him of the connection myself? What a valuable hour the Abbot and I had spent with the Bishop of Laon’s document between us. Now I listened as the worthy Abbot set himself to explain with pompous exactitude, not needing to do anything other than continue to appear surprised, that I was related by some distant connection back through Duke William of Normandy and his whore Herleva to Henry Plantagenet. Suger had learned his script well, his voice clipped and assured.
Barely listening to the complicated lines of descent, I allowed my eyes to flicker to Geoffrey. He did not seem in any way disturbed by this. For a moment he met my gaze and then smiled at Louis.
‘I’ll not dispute it. But dispensations have been sought and acquired for such in the past. Think, Majesty.’ He spread his fine hands on the cloth. ‘You are going crusading. The journey is long and the dangers great, life is cheap. If you don’t survive the Crusade, your daughter is barred from the French succession through Salic law. Now, if she’s betrothed to my son, we might manage to weasel around such legislation. Henry and the little princess would rule France and Anjou together. And, with God’s will, England too in the fullness of time.’
Again I saw the shine in Louis’s eyes at the unfolding of such an extent of land. ‘France and England united. And Aquitaine, of course.’
‘No, sire.’ There was Abbot Suger, reliable as ever, drawing Louis’s attention back from the gleam of avarice. ‘No Angevin should be King of France. Get yourself a male heir, sire. How would our barons accept the prospect of this manner of circumventing Salic law? Rebellion on our hands—and you out of the country … Such a marriage is not permissible through the teaching of Holy Scripture. I don’t need to remind you of it, do I?’
For a moment I saw Louis’s face darken in anger against the hectoring tone of his minister. Now was the time for some careful intervention. I pulled on Louis’s sleeve.
‘My lord. If you are in any doubt over this …’ I let a little smile curve my lips as I angled a glance at Geoffrey. He thinks I’m going to push Louis into Angevin arms. He thinks I’m going to throw my weight behind this increase in Angevin power. By God, I won’t do it!’I want only the best for our daughter. But you know it cannot be. Do you not realise where the strongest voice will be in op
position to such an alliance? Abbot Bernard himself. He has no truck with consanguinity. He will condemn it—and he’ll condemn you too if you allow it to go any further.’
Louis struggled with indecision and anger in equal measure.
‘Does the King of France bow before the dictates of the Abbot of Clairvaux?’ Geoffrey needled.
My fingers tightened on Louis’s plain wool. ‘You know you must not become inveigled into the trap of consanguinity again, my lord. You remember how it ended last time.’
Vitry-le-Brule. Excommunication. I was very sure of my ground here. And for Louis? It was the final straw. His narrow features hardened and he all but choked the words.
‘Vitry. Of course. I have decided, my lord Count. I will not give my consent.’
Thank God. I had won. It had been balanced on a knife-edge but I had done it.
To give him his due, the Angevin kept his disappointment well hidden. His nostrils flared, his mouth was thin-lipped, but his reply was even. ‘I regret your decision, my lord.’ But I was in no mood for admiration. Time now to twist the knife. I would risk all on the Angevin’s unwillingness to betray either of us. I would accept his challenge and prove I had nerves to match his. Did he truly think of me as a foolish woman, gulled into believing my reputation in danger?
‘My lord of Anjou,’ I informed Louis dispassionately, ‘has expressed his reluctance to join the weight of his forces with ours in the Crusade. Perhaps you could add your voice to mine and persuade him?’
Pleased to escape the previous quagmire, Louis looked suitably shocked. ‘Not go to fight for Christ?’ How desperately predictable he was. How easy to manoeuvre. ‘Every Christian lord should answer the call to take up the Cross.’
Geoffrey inclined his head stiffly. ‘I must not. I have to protect my interests in Anjou and Normandy. If I take my troops to Outremer, I cannot guarantee peace at home—which would be in no one’s interest. And I have my duties in Poitou—’
‘I would have thought your family obligations would have swayed you, my lord,’ I interrupted.
