by Anne O'Brien
‘Eleanor! Wait!’
He followed me, of course, as I strode along the open-sided loggia with its lambent light. I did not slow my steps. If he wished to continue the argument he would have to keep to my pace. I would match my steps to his no longer.
‘Eleanor …’
There he was at my side, then stepping in front of me when I made no move to halt.
‘This hurts me. I love you. How can I agree to what you ask?’
I saw tears gather in his eyes and was forced to look away. Galeran and de Deuil could have him, with my pleasure. I would be free of him.
‘I have always loved you.’
Now I stopped. ‘Love?’ My lip curled. My belly curdled at his tears. This weak, silly man who thought he could provide me with the husband I needed! I had given him too much of my life, but no more. Grabbing the front of his robe in my two fists, I shook him to make him understand. ‘Perhaps you do love me, if it’s some sentimental emotion that demands you shower me with presents. It’s not my idea of love. What is love if you can exist for longer than a year with no desire to actually touch me? I was not meant to live my life as chaste as a virgin. I am young and my blood races with life. I want a man’s hands to awaken me to passion, a man’s body to be roused with desire for me. What I don’t want is a furtive scramble that leaves my flesh cold and unresponsive.’ Horror at my outspokenness chased across Louis’s austere features but I did not let up. ‘I feel no physical response to you, Louis. And after your treatment of me, I have no other feelings beyond disgust. I don’t want this life. I wish to end it.’ I stepped around him and resumed my sprightly stride. ‘Nothing you say will make me change my mind, so don’t try. And if you consider my argument, you’ll see the value of it for yourself.’
‘But an annulment?’ He pattered behind me. Louis, of course, would never understand. How could I ever have thought he would? ‘The ignominy of it—the King of France forced into this position. The humiliation …’
I whirled round to face him. ‘Is that all you can think about? Your humiliation? It’s no better for me.’
‘I know, but—’
‘You don’t know! You don’t know anything! We don’t have to actually tell the world that you don’t sleep with me, Louis. Now, that would be humiliating!’ Temper surged, adding force to my intent. ‘We don’t have to air our differences in public for the inns and whorehouses to gossip and laugh over. It’s so easy—a mere legal matter of consanguinity. Nothing more. Nothing less. Our marriage can be ended in cold-blooded legality, and save face for both of us.’
‘Eleanor, can we not—?’
‘No, we can’t. Whatever it is. You need a male heir and I’m unlikely to give you one as things stand. I want my freedom from this prison of your making.’
I could almost see the thoughts jostling in his mind. Still, as I continued towards my rooms, he would not let me go and I knew he would placate me, flatter me, anything to stop me shouting my demands to the four corners of the earth.
‘I will consider it, I suppose.’
Just as I thought! ‘Good! You consider it, Louis, but don’t take too long over it.’
‘I’ll need my counsellors and my barons to agree, of course.’
How slippery he could be. ‘Why do you need to ask their permission? Are you not King?’ I turned and faced him at the door to my quarters. ‘Do you not have the power to dictate your own life? Surely you’re answerable to no man.’
‘Yes, I have the power. But I will still ask Abbot Suger’s advice.’
‘Do as you will, but our marriage is at an end. And unless you agree to come to Raymond’s aid, I will withdraw my forces from your command and act independently. The decision is yours, Louis.’
I opened the door at my back.
‘Eleanor …’
‘What now?’ The vitality was leaching from me, leaving me surprisingly exhausted.
‘Why now, Eleanor? Why after all these years?’
Why indeed? I looked at Louis Capet, Louis my husband, King of France, and had no very clear answer. And then saw the man who stood there, hand on my sleeve, a plea in his voice. I saw the dust-begrimed feet in the clumsy leather sandals. The plain woven robe with the heavy cross that banged against his hollow chest when he moved. The rounded shoulders and scanty hair, the death’s head from years of fasting and abstinence with shadows as deep as red wine beneath his eyes. Skin as pale as wax, as if the blood beneath ran cold as ice—how was it possible for a man to be so colourless after months of crusading? The hands that clutched and gripped.
And I knew the answer.
‘Why do I want an annulment, Louis? Because I cannot bear to live with you one day longer.’
I entered my room and closed the door in his face as if I was closing the door on my marriage. I felt victory throb through my blood. I had done it. I had made my desire public. Now I must pursue it to achieve my salvation. Oh, I was presumptuous in my glee. I saw full well the obstacles that faced me. Louis would fight me tooth and nail. But I would persuade, argue, fight. I would do whatever it took to break this foul bond.
Louis could not leave me alone. In palace, in gardens, at leisure in my own rooms, even in the meadows to loose the leopard, there he was at my heels. If I heard the approaching slap of his wretched sandals once, I heard them a dozen times. He hounded me, soft and persuasive like summer rain, Galeran invariably in his shadow.
‘Don’t say it.’ I stopped him before he even started. ‘Don’t say that I’ll see sense.’
Unendurable. Insufferable. The taint of Galeran was on his skin. I could almost hear the Templar’s brutal advice. Go and persuade her. She’s only a woman. Take her a gift of eastern jewels to win her over. I turned my back on Louis and the chest of gaudy gems he had placed before me.
‘I see sense now, Louis. I don’t need gifts, I don’t need persuasion. You should be putting your mind to helping Raymond to save Antioch. And if you think to change my mind over our annulment with this tawdry gesture—you won’t do it.’
‘His Majesty is anxious to continue his journey to Jerusalem.’ Galeran bowed with a slimy pretence at respect.
‘His Majesty is perfectly free to do just that—if his conscience can bear his betrayal of the Prince of Antioch.’
‘There’ll be no annulment,’ Louis howled. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘I think they hear you in Jerusalem.’
Suddenly he was shouting, his words ricocheting off the arched walls of the sun-filled courtyard, all control gone. ‘How dare you hold me up to ridicule before the whole world? As for helping your precious prince … He disgusts me. His lifestyle—the abomination he has created here. Why should I put myself and my forces in danger for him? I owe him nothing. All I see is a licentious court, immoral and louche, tolerating such debauchery as intermarriage with Saracens and acceptance of their religion. Listen—even now …’ He stabbed his finger towards the sound of the call to prayer beyond the window. ‘He’s been seduced by the east—a popinjay in silk slippers and loose gowns more suitable to the seraglio. No, I’ll not help him. And neither will you and your forces! I forbid it!’
I shrugged elegantly, seating myself on the stone edging of a little pool.
‘You’re a selfish woman, Eleanor. You’ve undermined my Crusade at every step on the way.’
I trailed my fingers in the warm water, disturbing the golden fish that swam to the surface in search of food.
‘Your behaviour here in Antioch is deplorable …’
I laughed aloud, leaning forward to see my reflection.
‘By God, Eleanor!’ Louis’s fury was magnificent. ‘They are saying you behave like a whore!’
‘A whore?’ Now I looked up, but in no way disturbed. ‘Do you believe every silly rumour you hear? Are you going to ask me about Saladin? What do you think, Louis? Does it have the ring of truth? Or is it some fabulous fiction worthy of my troubadours?’
‘There! You see? Are you never serious?’
&nbs
p; It was a magnificent tale. Seduced by the subtleties of the east, I, Eleanor, had cast my eyes around for a more suitable mate than my bloodless King, and lit upon Saladin, an eminent Turkish leader. When Saladin, equally enamoured, had sent one of his galleys to whisk me away to a life of Saracen luxury, I snapped at the chance, abandoning my forces and embarking in the dead of night.
But Louis was warned by a serving wench. And picture this. My brave husband threw on his garments and rushed to stop me just as I was setting my foot on the galley. Louis took my hand and led me, unresisting, back to my chamber, asking me why I was running away. Such love and devotion from him, to rescue me from a fate worse than death.
Raymond had roared with laughter when he’d first heard the calumny.
‘It’s a monstrous tale.’ Louis was outraged.
‘Particularly if you consider that Saladin is a child of twelve years!’ I couldn’t subdue a peal of laughter. ‘I think I called you a rotten pear, Louis, and claimed to love Saladin more.’
‘It’s not fitting that the Queen of France should be held up to ridicule,’ Galeran intoned in pompous disapproval.
‘It’s not fitting that His Majesty or his ministers should listen to such filth,’ I retaliated. I’d had enough. ‘Let the gossipmongers have their fun.’
But beneath the laughter I was angry: with Louis that he should even pretend belief in so outrageous a slander; with Galeran that he should dare to take me to task.
With a cursory gesture, Louis motioned for Galeran to leave us alone together. ‘Is your reputation strong enough to withstand the rumours that your relationship with the Prince is … inappropriate?’
‘Not again, Louis.’ I yawned.
‘They say you share his bed.’
My hand itched to remove the sanctimonious disapproval from his face. ‘Do they? And do you believe them?’
‘I’ve seen you together. He touches you. He kisses you. He walks alone with you.’
‘He cares for me. His kisses are not intimate.’
‘He is your father’s brother, Eleanor. It is immoral!’
I stood, unmoving, as I absorbed the imputation. So that’s what they were saying, was it? And Louis had believed it sufficiently to repeat it to my face. The itch became more than I could bear. To my shame, I struck out to leave a red weal on the pale skin of his cheek. I did not temper my strength.
Louis flinched but did not retreat. ‘Do you deny it?’ he demanded.
‘No. I neither admit nor deny anything.’
‘You will moderate your behaviour, Eleanor.’
‘Do you think?’ I smiled. ‘I am no longer answerable to you, Louis.’
* * *
So they said I shared Prince Raymond’s bed, did they? The gossipmongers, the trouble stirrers, my enemies. They whispered incest and scandal. They would destroy my name, coating it in the blackest of filth. For so is incest, the worst of perversions, the lowest depravity.
Would I commit such a sin?
Apparently I would. I did. Oh, the rumours were right enough! But not until after Louis’s accusation. I was guilty as accused and I stepped into it with my eyes open.
Raymond, Prince of Antioch, with all the glamour of an eastern potentate in appearance and in fact, became my lover. How seductive is absolute power wielded with confidence and finesse. One snap of his fingers and his will was done. One glance of an eye or lift of a brow and his minions ran to do his bidding. And how beautiful he was to my jaded eye after those weeks of fear and hardship when death had threatened from every side. Oh, yes, I was seduced. I fell willingly into the romance of the moment.
Ah, Raymond. You lured me into fatal indiscretion.
I loved him, I adored him, my senses overpowered by his sheer physical presence. Did I know it was wrong to allow desire to rule? Perhaps I did, but I made no apology for my intemperate emotions. How could I not feel the power of his presence, respond to it against all the teachings of Holy Church, or even of good sense? I had been raised to political awareness, but one smile and the gleam in those dark blue eyes, and my political wisdom shrivelled into dust at my feet.
He had thirty-six years under his belt and was truly a magnificent animal, more handsome than any man had the right to be—but not the hard russet gloss I had known in the Count of Anjou. Oh, no. Raymond was large and golden, a virile lion of a man. And such physical strength he had. I could not imagine Louis—or any man—able to halt a destrier by the simple clenching of his thighs. Hercules, Raymond was called with affection, and so he was, a handsome Greek hero to shoulder twelve labours and emerge with a triumphant crown.
I’ll not blame Louis for my fall, but what woman wed to a shadow of a man with no steel in his scabbard would not have given more than a passing glance to Raymond of Antioch? He was everything Louis was not—an adventurer, a reputable warrior, a charmer of women, a skilled horseman as his minstrels were forward in telling. My heart leapt as they sang of his hunting, his exploits against the Turk. Beneath the power, his manners were sophisticated, his demeanour gentle and courteous, as smooth as the oriental silk of his robes.
Nothing better than a degenerate owner of a seraglio, Louis had been quick to denounce, yet there was no gluttony or drunkenness or debauchery at Raymond’s court. Raymond was strangely abstemious. Unless it be counted against him when, to honour me at a banquet, golden nets suspended above our heads were released, to shower us with scented rose petals, floating down on table, on marble floor, on shoulders.
Raymond’s eyes, disarming in their directness, invited me to enjoy the foolishness, the deliberate extravagance created just for me—and I fell into the romance of the occasion as into a bottomless but softly cushioned pit. I swear Raymond was capable of wooing the angelic host down from heaven.
Louis retired, silent in his censure, petals caught incongruously in his hair.
So much for romance. Ah, but should I have gone to Raymond’s bed? It was the magnificent Roman baths within the palace that proved my final undoing, if I wished to believe that I needed to be seduced. Tiled, heated, with the music of splashing water from myriad fountains, the main bath was large enough to swim for those so inclined, comfortable enough with silk-cushioned seats for those who would take their ease. It became my custom to luxuriate in the warm waters in the late afternoon with wine or sherbet and sugared sweetmeats, seated on the steps in a loose bathing robe, the silky water caressing my limbs.
I had not seen him since the war council when Raymond strolled in to join me.
Did he know I was there? Certainly he did.
‘Impressive, Eleanor!’
‘I was, wasn’t I?’
Despite the smile there were lines of strain beside his eyes and mouth I had not seen before—doubtless the product of the growing threat to his lovely city—as he lounged on the poolside with a groan. For a moment he simply sat, then scrubbed his hands over his face and smiled at me. Without a word, and without any self-consciousness, he stripped off his robe and, naked, eased into the water beside me, where he stretched his arms along the sides of the bath and sighed deeply.
‘I don’t think I could ever return to the West,’ he said, head tipped back against the warm stones, hair curling out into the water. ‘Cold winters. Ice and snow to freeze a man’s balls. There’s too much comfort here.’
‘All eastern rulers run to fat. So I’ve heard.’ Was my encouragement of him indeed reprehensible?
‘So I too have heard.’ He sighed in the warmth. ‘And what do you think now, Eleanor? Having seen one in the flesh?’
He smiled with deceptive sleepiness, turning his head so that I caught the glint of sharp blue beneath his eyelids, and I regretted my ill-considered flirting. Conscious of the transparency of my garment, I swam away to the other side. Was I sure of this? Was this what I wanted?
‘You have left me, delectable Eleanor,’ Raymond mourned. With delicious grace, he poured wine and held out the cup to offer it to me with a crook of his finger, so that I swam back.
Taking the exquisite glass, the warm water lapping discreetly over my breasts, I sipped, watching him over the lip of the cup.
‘Louis’s preparations to leave are moving apace,’ he said, surprising me with the change in direction. Were we here to discuss matters of policy? ‘By the end of the week.’
‘I know.’
He tilted his chin. ‘Are you, then, determined to stay?’
‘If you’ll have me.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He leaned to kiss my temple. ‘My lovely Eleanor. You’d stay here with me for ever if I had my way.’
What would your wife say if I did? I admit to giving no thought to Constance. Leading a retired life, as she did with her women, I saw little of her, not at the feasts or the hunting parties, or even strolling in the gardens. Occasionally I visited her in her strangely sequestered life. What did Constance do with her time? She’d have been better, I thought, keeping an eye on her handsome husband.
‘I think I might stay,’ I replied.
With a toss of his head to spray an arc of drops into the water, Raymond drained his cup. ‘No, you won’t. I know you too well. Aquitaine sings in your blood. You’ll find an excuse to go home.’
‘You know me far too well. After only eight days.’ I drank the rich wine of Antioch and sighed in pleasure. ‘It seems a lifetime.’
‘A lifetime …’ Raymond took the cup from me and placed it on the side. ‘Come here.’ Linking his fingers with mine, he pulled me gently through the water until I stood before him, swaying to keep my balance. Fingers drifting down my arm, barely stirring the air between us, he kissed me between my brows, then transferred his lips to where my hair curled damply at my temple.
He sniffed.
‘What?’
‘Whatever you’ve used on your hair is magical,’ he murmured. ‘I swear you’re a witch.’
‘I use no spells.’
‘No?’ His eyes were quizzical on mine, and very solemn. ‘I’ve been faithful to Constance until this moment—even in my thoughts … But now …’
I shook my head, a sudden bolt of panic now that truth stared me in the face.
‘Come with me …’ Raymond invited.
