Devil's Consort

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘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.

  Just a question, rather than a demand, allowing me the ultimate choice. Before God, I could not put the whole weight of blame on his shoulders. Without a word I went with him. To a robing room, a comfortable divan clothed and cushioned in silk. What passed between us there should remain unwitnessed, unsaid. Enough to say that my Prince of Antioch reminded me of all I had known, and astonished me with much I did not.

  ‘We would be damned for this,’ I said when I had the breath to speak at all. ‘We would be condemned.’

  ‘We would be damned and condemned for all manner of things. Are we not free to choose our sins?’

  It was wrong. It was, of course, however I might try to excuse what we did together, however much Raymond might persuade me that we did no wrong, that we hurt no one. Incest. An unpleasant word, gathering to it all the condemnation and vituperation of those who held to the high tenets of Christianity. It would be beyond Louis’s comprehension that I should even consider it, much less indulge in it. But it was not beyond mine.

  To me, what we did together was out of love, hurting none. To Louis it was a cardinal sin, punishable by the fires of hell, no more, no less.

  But what would God’s judgment be?

  Raymond might be too close to me in name, in blood, but I had no knowledge of him as family, neither was he of an age to be in authority over me. We were alike in all things, the reflected other half of each other. The blood of Aquitaine ran true and drew us together.

  When I was finally called to stand before the Almighty on the day of my death, what would I say?

  I was my uncle’s lover.

  Would He damn me to everlasting hell for it? Had He damned my grandfather for adultery? My grandmother for her betrayal of her husband and family? Surely He would judge what was in our hearts, Raymond’s and mine. Not evil or viciousness. Not cruelty or revenge. No, God would not strike me with his wrath. He would touch me instead with his compassion. His tears would mingle with mine. He would understand when I finally stood before him. I knew it.

  It was, after all, merely a matter of degree, was it not? So close with Raymond to be called incest, a damnable offence. Close enough with Louis simply to bring the legality of my marriage into question, but not to damn me to everlasting perdition.

  If Raymond had been my cousin, there would have been no objection.

  See how well I could formulate an argument to my purpose.

  My only regret. That Raymond had a purpose of his own. Oh, I had no doubt that he loved me, that he desired me, but he wanted to secure my influence, the power of my forces, and what better way than through my bed? Not like the Angevin, secretive and hard edged, but open and warm. I knew from the beginning what Raymond wanted from me for he never hid it. Neither did it mean he had no true affection for me. We loved each other honestly, with genuine care, knowing that we would be condemned but considering it of no account.

  Why did I allow myself to tread that dangerous line?

  Perhaps I’d lost my mind in the mountains of Cadmos and the horrors of Attalia. Just a little. That’s all I can say in my own defence.

  Did I think of Constance? No, I did not. Not once. Perhaps for that I deserve to be condemned.

  I was asleep—until some sound, some movement in the air, pulled at my consciousness. I opened my eyes, lay still. Nothing. My room was empty, dark, so it was not even near dawn. Perhaps it was a roosting bird stirring in the gardens—the windows were open to admit the cool air. I closed my eyes.

  A slide of a booted foot. The rasp and chink of mail. Someone was in my room. Slowly I sat up, my heart beginning to beat hard.

  ‘Agnes?’

  The shadows moved.

  With a sudden spurt of fear I grasped the handle of the knife I kept beneath my pillow—a misericord—the deadly, thin-bladed dagger that could be slipped between the joints of body armour that the crusading knight carried to deliver the coup de grâce if they were ever in danger of being taken prisoner by the Turks. I had taken to keeping one close after Mount Cadmos.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

  The blade suddenly gleamed along its length in the light from a partially shaded lantern. I tightened my fist, raised it with intent to strike.

  ‘Damn you!’ An oath quickly cut off. ‘Oh, no, you don’t …’

  A flurry of movement and my wrist was seized in a hard grip, the blade plucked from my fingers by a mailed fist. Saracens come to murder me? Their attack on Antioch a terrible reality that had already begun? But why no melee of fighting? Why no outcry from Raymond’s guards or from the crusading forces?

  ‘Not a word, lady, if you know what’s good for you!’ the same harsh voice of command hissed in my ear.

  I had no intention of obeying despite the fear that curled in my belly. ‘Let go!’

  The mailed hand was clapped over my mouth to stop me crying out, then the folds of a heavy cloak dropped over my head and wrapped round me as if I were a parcel of cloth for delivery. I thought a rope was wound around the outside to pinion me securely, to bite into my flesh. I was helpless, immobile, a prisoner in a dark and airless prison, reeking of wool and sweat. The fear bloomed to fill my lungs, my throat. Surely I would suffocate. I had to concentrate on shallow breathing. I must not panic. I must not use the air needed to fill my lungs.

  I was lifted, carried clumsily, roughly, clutched and shaken when I struggled.

  ‘Lie still, damn you.’ A snarl of a whisper. ‘Be still if you don’t want to suffer more.’ And because I was indeed helpless, I lay still as I was carried from my room. Since I understood the orders, it was not the Saracens. I felt no better for the revelation.

  I knew when we had left the palace from the change of footsteps from marble flooring to stone paving. Then I was dropped onto cushions covering a harder surface that moved beneath me. A litter or a palanquin, I thought, hearing the strike of shod hooves and feeling the distinctive sway. The cloak was loosened to allow me air but the ropes were left in place as the busy sound of military activity reached me, the rasp of voices, quietly but clearly giving orders.

  Abducted!

  I lay on my side, hot, sweaty and terrified, unable to move other than to roll—to no advantage unless I wished to fall blind from the litter—and considered.

  I could imagine only one man who would undertake this assault, and I knew exactly where the advice had come from, even the hand that had guided the practicalities of my imprisonment. I might even have recognised the solid body that imprisoned me, the voice that threatened me, if I’d had my wits about me. And what could I do about it? Nothing. All I could do was lie in this stuffy shroud and endure it as the litter began to move. But now my heart began to settle to a steadier beat and my breathing ease. I no longer feared for my life. My
death was not the object of this chain of events. And the perpetrator?

  Louis, of course.

  Since I would not go to Jerusalem of my own free will, Louis would ensure that I did so under duress. Without clothes or possessions, or my women. Doubtless we would be reunited at some point in the future. Who would have believed him capable of such trickery? But it was entirely within Thierry Galeran’s odious planning.

  As fear drained from me, fury raged to replace it and I lay and fumed, pulling ineffectually at the ropes. Galeran had dared to set hands on me, had dared to carry me off without my consent. Galeran, that paid minion, had forced me, Duchess of Aquitaine, against my will.

  I had not even been given the opportunity to make my farewell to Raymond.

  The hours passed, dark emerging into light. The litter lurched and swayed without compassion. I simply lay and endured.

  When the sun rose and we were at a distance from Antioch, quite as I expected, Louis saw fit to release me. Lifted from the litter, I was carried into the pavilion erected temporarily as Louis waited for the rest of his forces and mine to catch up with us. God knew what he had told my commanders. At this point I did not care. My anger had reached vast proportions.

  Silent and resentful, head throbbing, I stood as the ropes were loosed and the cloak unwound, and there was Louis standing in front of me, his face a mask of frozen disapproval. He looked at me, lips twisting in distaste at my dishevelment and dusty night robes, all too revealing. Without a word he took the cloak, dismissed the man who had unwrapped me and, deliberately at arm’s length, held out the heavy folds to me.

  ‘Put this on. You are not suitably dressed. Your garments will arrive soon and you can put your appearance to rights.’

  So he did not wish to touch me. I took the mantle but let it drop to the floor, refusing to look away from Louis’s denunciation. I refused to cover myself as if in shame.

  ‘My appearance is the least of my worries, Louis. You can hardly blame me for it. It was your doing.’

  ‘Do you expect me to apologise, Eleanor?’

  He did not look sorry. In fact, he looked amazingly satisfied. Here was a confident Louis I rarely saw and I reined in my own temper. Anger would not help, and I needed to know his intentions.

  ‘You have treated me like a chattel,’ I remarked as calmly as I could.

  ‘Do you deserve any better?’

  ‘It was my wish to remain in Antioch. You knew that.’

  ‘I could not allow it. I had to remove you for your own good. Once we are settled in Jerusalem the rumours will, hopefully, die a natural death.’

  ‘Remove me for my own good?’ Control was becoming more difficult and my breath caught on the enormity of it.

  ‘Do you not hear what they say of you? Or were you so steeped in sin that you closed your mind to them? Galeran made me aware—’

  ‘That toad!’ I spat. ‘It was all his idea to abduct me, wasn’t it? You’d never have thought of that on your own.’

  ‘All I know is that it would be better for you if you did not remain in Antioch.’

  ‘How magnanimous of you! To have my well-being so much at heart!’ But I recognised that there was no arguing with him. ‘What happens when we reach Jerusalem?’

  ‘You will remain under my surveillance.’

  ‘A prisoner?’ A little flutter of alarm.

  ‘If you wish.’ How inflexible Louis had become. Between us, Galeran and I had driven him beyond his usual dithering. Here was firm conviction, determination that astonished me. ‘I shall keep you under armed guard if I have to, to preserve what reputation you have left. As for our marriage …’

  ‘Will you give me an annulment?’

  ‘This is not the time to discuss it. Neither are you in a position to ask favours of me.’

  ‘Favours? I ask no favours. Only my rights.’

  ‘You will stay with me in Jerusalem,’ he continued, as if I had not spoken. ‘We’ll not talk about what happened in Antioch—we’ll pretend this unfortunate little incident never occurred. You’ll see, Eleanor, when sense prevails, that my actions were for the best.’

  How typical of him. How horribly typical. To close his eyes to what he did not like, to refuse even to speak of my sin with Raymond out loud. And with Galeran to bolster his self-righteousness I could not see my way forward. All my plans had gone awry. Louis was refusing an annulment and I no longer had the weapon of the control of my forces to hold over him.

  Damn him! Damn him to hell! But I knew I must be careful, very careful, now.

  At last he moved towards me, stooping to retrieve the cloak, placing it around my shoulders as if I were an invalid in need of care. And, no, he did not flinch from touching me. His words were gentle, so gentle I felt an urge to strike out at him again. I did not want gentleness from him.

  ‘You have lost your way, Eleanor. I will look after you. You will stay here, in this pavilion, until your garments and your women arrive. They you will robe yourself suitably and bear yourself with dignity before your Aquitanian forces.’

  How damnably condescending!

  ‘You will find that your captains are no longer willing to follow blindly where you order. Your behaviour has condemned you in their eyes.’

  He could not have made my situation plainer. I shrugged and cast myself down on a divan to wait. I had no choice, had I? When, later, clad demurely in silks and fine linen as befitted my status, I left the pavilion to watch my troops approach, nothing could be clearer than that my captains could not meet my eye. Amongst my forces rumour at my expense had been well spread, thoroughly stirred to such a pitch as to put me firmly in disgrace. It did not take much guessing as to the owner of the viperous tongue.

  I was alone and powerless. Dependent on Louis.

  Time for thought as I travelled in my solitary litter. Time to apportion blame. It was all my fault, of course. I had committed the sin, if that’s what it was. I had made the choice—and so I must accept the consequences. Taking Raymond as my lover had been. unwise, at best. I would admit to that, even if I would not accept Louis’s accusation of depravity. But now my foolishness had become a sword to be used against me, with Galeran’s hand on the hilt, to wound me and sully my reputation for ever.

  So, what about practicalities? What was my plan now for the future? To remain with Louis? It had been made spectacularly clear to me that any planning had been taken out of my hands. My belly lurched, and not with the sway of the palanquin.

  I set my mind to feverish decision-making.

  With so few options, on one point I was unshakeable. I would have to go to Jerusalem because Louis had decided I must, but I would not stay there at Louis’s pleasure with my name on the lips of every crusading knight in torrid speculation. I could not bear it. Once there I would hire a vessel and I would return to France, to Aquitaine, where I would remake my reputation. I would rid myself of Galeran and Louis.

  In my own lands I would make my reputation shine again.

  Yes, that’s what I would do. I was determined on it.

  There would be no mending of my reputation for a while yet. My residence in Jerusalem proved far longer than I had either foreseen or hoped.

  And why?

  I could not believe I had been so thoughtless, so blind to consequences. But I had been: I had taken no Roman precautions. How should I, when that single sultry afternoon with Raymond had not been premeditated? How wilful is the body when one would wish most to subjugate its natural impulses. How ironic that my reluctant womb should fall prey to Raymond’s masculinity.

  Foolishly, carelessly, impossibly, I had fallen for a child.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A CHILD. And with Louis in his chosen state of holy celibacy he was not the father. I carried Raymond’s child. In that one heated, pleasure-filled afternoon in the bath house of the palace at Antioch, where we had knowingly and wilfully committed the Great Sin with rare enjoyment, Raymond had got a child on me. I had given no passing nod to any conseq
uences beyond the thrill of the moment. Now the consequences had to be faced, as they must when Fate unwinds the skein of life, and not only by me, but by Louis also. So the King of France expressed to his army his wish to remain in the Holy Land above and beyond the demands of his Crusade, to celebrate Easter in Jerusalem in the most sacred Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Well, so he might, but he had a clutch of more worldly motives, not least a profound desire to be rid of the embarrassment of me. How could he even contemplate returning to France with me full and rounded with Raymond of Antioch’s child, Louis smiling sourly as if the child were his?

  When I told him, his reaction was so predictable as to be ridiculous. Did he condemn me in righteous anger? Did he damn me for a whore and a strumpet? Neither. At least, not on that occasion. Instead he placed me somewhere between a fallen woman and a leper. In the softest of voices, without recrimination, he offered to pray for my delivery from eternal damnation and for the soul of the bastard child. I think I wish he had railed and roared his fury at me instead. But he could not. My fertility pointed too forcefully at his own lack.

  ‘Have you considered my request for an annulment, Louis?’ I asked mockingly when he paid me a dutiful visit to ask after my health, entrenching himself distantly on the threshold. Was it not the obvious path forward? ‘You have had enough time to weigh the good against the bad. Do the scales not lean heavily in my favour now? Do you want a whore as a wife?’

  For the first time since my unwelcome news Louis’s eyes focused on the swell of my belly beneath my loose robes. Then he took in the luxurious fittings of the room, the hangings, the furniture, the soft light. The flagon of ale and jewelled cups, a gift from Queen Melisende of Jerusalem. The low music of the lute in the background. Mouth set, without speaking a word, he strode across the room, ripping a folded manuscript from the breast of his robe and handing it to me. It was much travelled, I noted as I opened it, and Abbot Suger’s careful ecclesiastical script leapt from the page. I read rapidly through the polite introductions, the refusal of more money, and homed in on the one passage that was guaranteed to sway Louis.