Devil's Consort

by Anne O'Brien

  But why did the man not write to me? Why leave me in suspense?

  Aelith complained that I was no good company, and when she threatened to leave me to stew in my own ill-humour, I took myself in hand. What point in fretting over so much outside my control? I was my own woman. I was ruler of Aquitaine, and it was time I acted as such. Gone were the days when I would be barred from the councils of government. Gleefully I turned my mind to annulling all the acts and decrees made by Louis, issuing charters in my own name to underline my autonomy. It did my heart good to revoke the grant of the forest of La Sèvre to the abbey of Saint-Maixent—and then promptly restore it in my own right, for my own gratification. How inconsequential in the scope of my marriage to the Angevin, but how amazingly satisfying to see Louis Capet’s name removed and replaced with mine!

  It took my mind off the possibility that my acquaintance with Henry Plantagenet might have come to an untimely end before it had begun.

  After some heart-searching, leaving Aelith in Poitiers, I made a private visit to the chateau of Belin near Bordeaux where I was born, and where a child called Philippa, a child who barely drew breath, was buried in the graveyard, as I had instructed. It was a simple stone, recording only her name, for who else would visit this sad place other than I? I wept with my veil pulled over my face. For the baby, for myself. And for Raymond, Prince of Antioch.

  That was the last time I allowed myself the luxury of tears for what was past. I set myself to look forward, for better or worse.

  ‘There’s a force approaching your gate, my lady,’ my steward informed me, six weeks after Henry Plantagenet had deposited me within my courtyard, as the late spring dusk of May sank rapidly into night. ‘Not big, but showing no device. Do we keep the gates shut? It’s late to leave someone benighted but they’re not announcing themselves …’

  ‘Keep the gates shut.’

  I did not waste energy or words in pretending ignorance. I had known of his approach, not because he sent me word—of course he hadn’t, he would not see the need—but my scouts had informed me of his approach with a small force of Angevins. It had given me time to consider my welcome, and I did not feel welcoming.

  Oh, I knew what the outcome would be, what woman in my position would not? Yet I was of a mind to be difficult. I was fascinated to see what he would do. After a lifetime of the entirely predictable Louis, Henry Plantagenet was a blank scroll.

  So I kept the gates closed against him. He could hardly expect me to open my gates to some nameless force after dark, could he? Keep your gates closed, he’d said. And, by God, I would! Of course it was pure mischief on my part, mixed with sharp anticipation, the heady brew of honey and spices stirred into hot wine, enough to make the blood sing. I suppose I was testing him. What would he do? Go back to Normandy and dissolve our agreement? No, for I was too valuable to him. Settle in for a siege? Beg or threaten? Cajole or scowl? I knew I would find out on the morrow.

  From my vantage point on the battlemented gatehouse, well concealed, I watched his arrival in the minutes before all was hidden in dark shadow. No mistaking his figure at the forefront of his soldiers on the familiar bay stallion. Mail covered by a long surcoat, head covered by coif and helmet. He dismounted. Removed his helmet, handed it to his squire and pushed back the coif. Seeing the gates shut in his face he stood foursquare, fists planted on hips, and observed my fortress. He rubbed his hands over his face, spoke to the man at his side. And then he laughed.

  I expected him to at least send his herald to announce his arrival, even to demand entrance. Henry took one more long look at the closed gates and unresponsive guards and did nothing except turn his back and issue a series of sharp orders. Within the hour a small camp of tents and horse lines had been erected on the open space before my gates.

  For the rest of that night we heard nothing of importance from the Angevin camp, but plenty of noise. Of the soldiery settling in, of singing and raucous laughter as barrels of ale were broached—where had they come from?—as the campfires were lit and the scent of roasting meats drifted across the space. I expect my cattle and sheep had paid the price, along with my cellars. Later, women’s laughter was evident. I closed my ears to it. Henry could do as he pleased.

  After supper I went to watch again, Aelith with me.

  ‘So it’s the Count of Anjou, is it? Why has he come?’ she asked from her position of ignorance at my shoulder.

  ‘Who’s to know?’ Glad of the dark as the moon slid behind a cloud. I could feel her eyes on me.

  ‘Eleanor—you’re not thinking of making an alliance with him, are you?’

  ‘Would it be so bad?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ A long moment of thought that I would not break. ‘Eleanor—you’re not thinking of marrying him, are you?’

  I kept my counsel.

  ‘You are, aren’t you? Eleanor! All he wants is Aquitaine!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you would take him on those terms? An adventurer?’ I noted she did not say he was too young. ‘Would your vassals accept him?’

  ‘Yes. It won’t be easy, but they will. He’ll win them over. But I won’t wed merely for a strong sword arm and an army.’

  ‘Do you love him?’ She sounded aghast at the thought.

  I tilted my head. ‘Do you remember when you decided you wanted to wed Raoul? And nothing could stop you?’ I replied obliquely.

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘And you would not turn aside, even when it took us into war and the horrors of Vitry—not that you would have known of that, of course, but the warnings of war were stark enough.’

  ‘Yes. I remember.’ I felt the defiance in her even after all the years that had passed.

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘I loved him. I knew we were meant to be together.’

  ‘Yes. And that’s what I think about Henry Plantagenet. I don’t know about love as you might recognise it. But there’s a bond between us—we’re destined to be something together, of that I’m certain.’ I smiled. ‘Would you do the same again, Aeli? Knowing the outcome?’

  ‘Ah! A clever trap for me to fall into.’ She shook her head a little.

  ‘No trap. Just the truth. If it were me, and the object of my affection was Henry, I think I would risk my life and my reputation to keep him’

  ‘So you will wed him.’ Aelith did not sound convinced.

  ‘Yes.’

  Her smile was wry. ‘Be it on your own head. I wouldn’t want that man in my bed. He’s too opinionated by half. I wouldn’t risk one broken fingernail for him.’

  Oh, but I would. I’d risk more than that.

  ‘You need a long spoon to sup with the Devil,’ Aelith continued, turning from the seething encampment.

  ‘Then I’ll make sure I have one,’ I laughed. ‘A deep one at that. And you’re wrong,’ I informed my critical sister as we trod carefully down the steps into the courtyard. ‘He doesn’t just want Aquitaine.’ I couldn’t stop the proud curve of my lips. ‘He wants me as well.’

  Next morning I expected the arrival of Henry’s herald, bedecked in gaudy red and gold Angevin lions, to make Henry’s greetings and request entry. And I would meet with him, as a gracious hostess, and open my gates. My terms, my timing. How foolish—but magnificently pleasurable.

  Not so.

  The three obligatory blasts of the herald’s trumpet shattered the early morning quiet, so early as to get me from my bed. The sky was barely paling. I wrapped myself in a velvet chamber robe, slid my feet into slippers and headed for the gatehouse, but not before a further series of ear-splitting blasts. And as I sped up the steps to the battlement walk, breath catching, the trumpet was replaced by—

  ‘Eleanor!’

  A roar of a voice.

  ‘Eleanor! Get yourself out here!’

  No herald, no blast of a trumpet this time, but Henry, hands clamped around his sword belt, bellowing our private concerns before the whole of my household and his troops. Above his head th
e Angevin banner lifted aggressively in the sharp breeze. He was regarding me much like the lions passant guardant, flapping above his head. How remarkably the clarity of his voice carried, and how embarrassing—if embarrassment was a state I was prepared to acknowledge. At least he was unnervingly succinct.

  ‘At last. Would you lie abed with an invading army at your door, woman? Open the damned gates!’

  ‘Good day, my lord.’ I looked down on him, heart thudding, and not from my efforts to get there. ‘Talk of the Devil?’

  I saw his answering grin.

  ‘No time for pleasantries. Time’s short. I’ve soldiers waiting to sail for England.’

  ‘And you made time for me? I’m honoured.’

  ‘Only just. If I’m mistaken in you, Eleanor, I’ll leave within the hour. I’ve already struck camp.’

  And so he had. Damn him.

  ‘All agreements between us are off. Trust a woman to be tricky,’ he bellowed, while I clenched my teeth, sensing the ripple of interest through our growing audience. ‘And I’d be grateful if you’d return Melusine’s gold. If you don’t want it, I know a grateful lady who does.’

  ‘Only one?’

  At my side Aelith giggled.

  ‘Just throw it down.’

  ‘No.’

  I think Henry grimaced.

  ‘I’ll not be back, lady. If you’re in need of protection, my brother Geoffrey will be pleased to come to your aid. I’ll send him word.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  Thus a stand-off, superbly created by the pair of us. And a ridiculous piece of mummery it was too. I think we both enjoyed it, both knowing full well that Henry wouldn’t leave me. And I wouldn’t let him go.

  I ordered the gates to be opened.

  From that moment I knew who would hold the upper hand in our marriage. It might not please me, but I accepted it.

  The result? A breathtaking descent, a whirlwind, a storm, my courtyard filled with Angevin lions on tabard and pennon almost before I had made my way down the steps from the outer wall. Yet I kept him waiting long enough to acquire a veil and filet and an elegant over-tunic in patterned damask.

  ‘My lady.’ Henry handed his mount over to his squire.

  ‘My lord.’ I curtsied.

  ‘Good to see you took my advice and kept your gates closed against robbers and thieving rabble! Very commendable, Eleanor.’

  I think I flushed. He was mocking me, I knew he was mocking me, but his face was as grave as stone mask.

  ‘You could have let me know—my lord.’ I was wonderfully gracious.

  ‘I didn’t know myself. My supporters in England are urging me to invade before the rank and file lose patience and turn back to Stephen. I haven’t long, Eleanor. But I did make time for you.’ I liked the glint in his eye. ‘A cup of ale would be acceptable.’

  I led him to my solar where he sank into a cushioned chair to the detriment of the embroidered covering from dust and horsehair. He looked entirely out of place amongst the cushions and soft hangings and my women, who fluttered predictably.

  ‘What have you been doing with your new independence?’ He stripped off his leather riding gloves, frowning at the forefinger of one of them, picking at the loose threads. So he would talk politics. I followed his lead, intrigued.

  ‘Removing any trace of Louis from Aquitaine.’

  ‘Which I’m sure you enjoyed.’

  ‘With the greatest of pleasure. As Louis’s wife I was forced to do what Louis—or Abbot Suger—wanted and was given little voice in their decisions.’ I smiled, but with a warning in mind. ‘Here the authority is now mine again. I am sovereign.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’ He looked up from the glove. ‘D’you think they’ll take to me?’

  ‘No. You’ll have to win them round.’ Whether he did or not, I knew in my heart my days of autonomy were numbered. ‘And your barons? Will they approve of this match? Will they show me respect?’

  ‘By God, they will! Or they’ll feel the edge of my sword.’ He leaned back, completely at ease. ‘Besides, how should they not? Look at the wealth you bring me. There’ll be some voices raised against your reputation but most will see the sense of not crossing me.’

  I laughed. There was no guile in Henry, at least for today.

  ‘Tell me about England.’

  ‘It’s ripe for the plucking,’ was all he’d say, hinting nothing of the real force that drove him to claim his inheritance, or the dangers of his enterprise. ‘I’ll not be defied in this, you know. Stephen wants his son Eustace to be crowned King now, to ensure his future inheritance.’ Henry grunted a laugh. ‘It needs papal permission, and His Holiness, quite sensibly, is keeping his head down.’

  As he spoke, he picked up the glove again. Then beckoned to the nearest of my women, Florine, whose attention, of course, was divided, and not evenly, between her embroidery and our conversation.

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘A needle and thread, if you please.’

  Flustered, Florine handed over the needle and thread already in her hand. Henry regarded it quizzically.

  ‘I’d rather not stitch this in green. Or in silk …’

  ‘Forgive me, my lord …’

  Henry took the offered ochre thread and began to stitch the hole in the seam of his glove with considerable aplomb and not a little skill. My women looked aghast. I was amused. Agnes, now standing at his elbow with a cup of ale and a platter of cheese with a heel of flatbread, found it impossible to keep a still tongue.

  ‘We have servants to do such tasks, my lord. Or any of my lady’s women.’

  ‘But I can do this just as well.’ He continued to apply the needle, rapidly stitching up the loose seam. ‘As I was saying, in England …’ He looked up as the quality of the silence around him struck home. His teeth showed in a sudden grimace of understanding.

  ‘So you disapprove?’ He looked at me. ‘It’s Herleva’s blood. As a superior tanner’s daughter, her skills were manifold. And I inherited them. I’m not ashamed of it.’

  Agnes looked askance.

  ‘Why the curled lip, mistress? The Lady of Aquitaine has the same blood as I. Solid stock was Herleva, and I’ll not hear otherwise.’ He completed his stitching, biting off the thread with sharp teeth, and returned the needle to its owner. ‘There—as good as new.’ He took a mouthful of ale but waved aside the food. ‘I’ll eat later. Now I must …’ His eye focused on me. ‘I see you are wearing my gift, lady.’

  I put my hand to my throat. Melusine’s necklace, of course. The opals had a distinctly baleful quality but today they seemed to glow warmly in the early light. ‘It never leaves me.’ I think I smirked. It had been a last-minute thought after my veil and filet, but there was no reason for Henry to know that.

  ‘Then, lady, we have business to discuss. And even less time as you kept me waiting overnight. Is there somewhere we can exchange plans—in private?’

  He stood up, thick-set, powerful, filling the room with his energy. It would have been impossible to refuse him. I led him to my private chamber.

  ‘What is it you wish to discuss?’

  ‘My rights.’ He closed the door firmly.

  ‘Rights?’

  ‘Of betrothal. They’re binding. And I’m claiming them now.’

  Henry was already stripping off his attire—tunic, boots, hose, chausses all dropped and scattered on the floor—with unconscionable speed. And then, as I did not resist, he dealt with my garments too with the same admirable application as he had stitched the glove. I felt as if I were at a centre of a campaign: both siege and seduction in equal measure. Henry was assuredly skilled in warfare and his techniques between the sheets had, I considered, much in common. Cunning deployment distracted me and stole my breath, stealthy advance tricked me, until rapid attack and refusal to retreat ended in overwhelming invasion. Such thorough attention to detail he had. I was stalked, captured and destroyed.

  But then, as my body glowed and my mind struggled to gras
p the pleasure, I rethought Henry’s approach. Perhaps it was not a military conquest after all, rather a sumptuous feast of which we both partook, a banquet which we both shared with equal enjoyment.

  ‘You are mine,’ he had once said. ‘And don’t forget it.’

  After an hour in my bed with him, I was not likely to do so.

  ‘Do I measure up?’ he asked impudently, sprawled at my side.

  ‘In which area?’ I could be as arch as any woman in the correct circumstances.

  ‘In any you like.’

  I smoothed my hand over the interesting array of scars on shoulder and torso that I had already discovered, mementoes of a lifetime of lively combat. Oh, but he was impressive, with the smooth musculature of an athlete. And forsooth he had no modesty. But why should he? His possession of me had been both lengthy and magnificently all-encompassing.

  ‘You exceed all my expectations,’ I admitted. ‘I think I have been waiting, all my life, for you.’

  ‘The feeling’s reciprocated. You’re a beautiful woman.’ His hands were cradling my face so that I could not look away, the directness of his gaze overwhelming. ‘I believe I love you, Duchess Eleanor. I thought I did. Now I’m sure.’

  Now, that I had not expected, spoken with such an intensity of feeling, and it drove me to reply in kind, in honesty. ‘I’ve waited a long time to hear a man say that.’ I was shocked at the sudden imminence of tears.

  ‘A man you can love?’ Henry demanded.

  ‘I might,’ I hedged.

  Henry laughed. ‘You give nothing away, do you? But I think we are both satisfied with each other.’ Henry kissed me enthusiastically. ‘You do realise—you might just carry my child, my love. You have to wed me.’

  But when I expected a repeat performance of Henry’s assault, he sprang out of bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  His reply was muffled as he pulled a tunic over his head. Already he was searching for hose and chausses. ‘Get up, my love.’ He sat to pull on his boots and looked across at me. ‘Get your bishops and friends and family and witnesses to the cathedral, Eleanor, and we’ll marry.’

  ‘Now?’ Sweet Jesu!

  ‘Why not? Can you think of a better time?’