Henry nodded. He said, ‘I came on one errand, as messenger boy for the Queen. She orders me to ask you for something she needs before Easter. But now …’
‘But now you have another reason to be here. Is that the case?’
Henry nodded. From his time with Douglas he knew it was possible for a man to read the thoughts in another man’s mind and he suspected Father Bernard had this power. I’ll pretend he’s a horse, Henry thought. He put an image of Rachel in his mind. Instantly, an image of Eleanor appeared in its place.
‘It’s important you concentrate on your errand for the Queen,’ Father Bernard said.
But that’s only half your meaning, Henry thought. The monk yanked on a rope beside his desk. Outside a bell rang; a moment later a novice entered. ‘Fetch me the bundle of things I prepared recently,’ he said. The youth departed.
They remained in silence until he had returned with a large bundle. Bernard waved him off and took another sip of medicine.
‘You consider yourself married in the eyes of God,’ he remarked as if he were noting that the weather was cold. ‘Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t. I don’t pretend to know the view of heaven on such matters. But it seems to be something that troubles your mind, young man.’
Will I rush in? Henry wondered. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m about to become a father for the second time –’
‘For the fourth,’ Bernard corrected him.
‘Well, yes. If you count the indiscretions of my youth. But the second time with my wife. However, I want to marry Queen Eleanor when Louis divorces her.’
The monk nodded. ‘So what is your question? Can you have two wives, one “in the eyes of God”, the other in the eyes of Mother Church? Of course you can.’ He looked hard at Henry. ‘I think that’s the wrong question.’
‘What’s the correct question?’
‘Don’t ask.’ He smiled. ‘Like another sip?’ He offered his medicine flask, passing it across his desk. As Henry took the flask from a hand so skeletal it seemed made of candlewax, Father Bernard stood. Their interview was over. Don’t ask whom? Henry wondered. Don’t ask what?
‘You’re to deliver these things to the Queen as soon as possible, to give her time to familiarise herself with them. As you’ve understood, she’ll soon be in great danger.’
Henry flashed him an image of the mare, Selama. The monk nodded and raised a questioning eyebrow. Henry tried to send a picture of Douglas, but found he could not.
‘I’m bringing a man from Scotland who’ll protect her, if anyone can,’ he said.
Bernard chuckled. ‘He’ll be a Highlander, will he not?’
Back in Rouen, Henry said to Guillaume, ‘Everything was a riddle. I even wondered if he were drunk.’
‘It’s odd you say that,’ Guillaume replied. ‘Douglas sent word – I decoded it – that he must go to Chartres before he can travel to Beaugency. He’s bringing two barrels of the Water of Life for a holy man in the cathedral. His ship has already sailed.’
Henry frowned. ‘That means …’
‘I know,’ Guillaume said. ‘Douglas left before your letter arrived.’
‘I wish to meet my grandson,’ Matilda told Henry. She now referred to herself as the Dowager Empress.
He, Rachel, the baby and its wetnurse travelled in a small carriage from Isabella’s house up to the palace. Henry was so nervous he had a fit of hiccoughs. ‘I will hold Geoffrey,’ Rachel announced when they arrived.
Matilda swept into the chamber, unsmiling. Her gown of dark grey was formal, impressive and elegant. Henry prayed silently to himself: Rachel, just stand your ground with her. He need not have bothered. Rachel, already heavy with their next child, had the gracious serenity of a goddess and it was Matilda who, he realised, was awed by the younger woman. Her eyes fastened on her grandson. ‘May I?’ she asked. Henry wanted to applaud as his wife, calm and majestic, handed the baby to his grandmother. The little boy smiled at Matilda, kicked his legs with excitement and snatched at her veil. His every action lit the Dowager’s face with delight. He chewed her finger. She pealed with laughter. Who is this woman, Henry thought. She never treated us like that.
They sat down to breakfast and Matilda spoke in Latin to Henry, ‘You have a fine heir. If it comes to the worst, and you don’t get a legitimate one, you can adopt him.’
Henry said, ‘Mother, Rachel understood every word you just said. Her Latin is excellent.’
Matilda flushed slightly. ‘I beg your pardon, my dear,’ she said.
Rachel made a small gesture to show she took no offence. ‘I also read and write Greek and Hebrew,’ she said casually. ‘I’ll teach them to him, in case he wishes to enter the Church. It’ll be greatly to his advantage to be able to read Holy Scripture in all three languages from a young age.’
Matilda nodded slowly. Henry could see that his mother was reformulating the image she had made of Rachel. ‘You are wise beyond your years, dear girl,’ she said. ‘My Henry is very lucky to have you.’
Later, as they rattled downhill in the carriage, Henry said, ‘You fascinated her!’
‘For a moment, I was terrified. But then I saw she was just a lonely old woman, disappointed in life, with no one to love her.’
‘I love her,’ Henry mumbled.
He decided not to tell Rachel he’d slaughtered Matilda’s pet monkey. One afternoon he’d come across Hambril poking his finger into duck turd, then licking it. With a reflexive disgust, he chopped him in half.
When they alighted from the carriage Isabella asked, ‘Well?’
‘Total success,’ Henry replied. ‘The Dowager Empress is in love with her grandson.’ He added shyly, ‘I think she’ll love Rachel, too. But what an ordeal! I need a cup of wine.’
For Rachel’s delivery, Henry installed her and the midwife in the guest apartment where they had first lain together. On the Feast of St Valentine, the exact day her baby was due, Rachel gave birth to a daughter. But the cord had wrapped around her neck and despite the skill of the midwife, the infant arrived dead.
Henry spent three days in bed beside Rachel, weeping and caressing her, cleaning up the blood that seeped from between her legs. ‘Our next one will be born in Le Mans,’ he said. ‘All our children in future must be born in Le Mans.’
When he emerged from the apartment, he discovered Orianne had been waiting to speak to him for more than two days.
‘The Queen would like to meet with you,’ the girl said. ‘She wishes to ask your advice.’
‘No letter?’ Henry asked.
‘No, lord Duke. I’m to memorise your response. She suggests the abbey at St Varent, not too far from the chateau of your friend, Baron de Cholet. She asks if you could be there on the twenty-eighth of this month?’
Henry sighed. ‘I can.’
‘She further asks if you and your brother could come in the guise of pilgrims.’
Henry nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’m very sorry your baby died.’
‘But my wife is unharmed. She’s mourning, of course. But unharmed,’ he replied.
As the girl was about to leave he added, ‘Stay a moment.’ In his writing chamber he found a small parchment and drew on it two intertwined hearts, broken, with tears falling from them. He did not use his thumb or the quill or anything else to sign the drawing.
‘Why did you send her that?’ Guillaume asked afterwards.
‘If I’m to marry Eleanor, she must get used to the idea that my heart stays with Rachel. I’m not going to be her puppy, like Louis. Not even her golden leopard, like poor Papa.’
Guillaume said, ‘Father Bernard has greatly affected your thinking. Before you went to see him you found the idea of marriage to Eleanor repulsive. But now …’
‘I still find it repulsive,’ Henry interjected. ‘I can’t help remembering the sight of her teeth marks on our father’s neck.’ As he spoke a sudden change of mood gripped him. ‘That’s it!’ he said. ‘Guillaume: I’ll warn her I have a penchant fo
r blindfolding the women I lie with. Then you can sneak in and …’
‘My liege,’ Guillaume said, ‘stick your head up your arse.’
As he was leaving the chamber, Henry called after him, ‘We could take it in turns. You’d go first. Then I’d go. She’d think she’d married Samson.’
Guillaume stared at his brother. ‘Sometimes I think you’re mad. When will you tell Rachel?’ he added.
Henry groaned. ‘I can’t upset her yet.’
Matilda asked Rachel to stay on in the palace. She sent her personal masseuse and physician to look after her, and had the kitchen prepare special dishes for a woman recovering from stillbirth. After ten days Rachel gently, firmly, insisted she must return to ‘the house’. Several times a week she brought baby Geoffrey to his grandmother. Isabella thought with ironic amusement: now she who taught Henry to keep a falcon hungry, is the hungry falcon herself.
Henry and Guillaume had to leave for the Chateau de Cholet a week after the baby was stillborn. Isabella observed her son choose his clothes for the journey, and that among them was a grey hooded riding cloak of the type pilgrims wear. ‘Whose shrine will you visit?’ she asked. Her expression was sceptical.
‘I apologise, Mama, that I must go away for a few days. Henry and I will be back before his nineteenth birthday.’
‘Matilda is arranging quite a celebration in the palace. She’s inviting the town’s merchants, including Jews. I talk to the rabbi’s wife often these days. Matilda sent word that food they could eat would be specially provided. They’re beside themselves with excitement about being invited to the palace.’
Guillaume was rarely angry but his face flushed. ‘We’re squeezing every drop of blood from our vassals for this war. We can’t be seen to be throwing money around on birthday celebrations.’
Isabella shrugged. She continued watching him from the doorway. ‘Son, is this journey dangerous?’
‘No.’
‘So why the need for a disguise?’
‘It’s political. It could have some bearing on the invasion of England.’
She nodded. She had observed the quality of the horses they were riding. The destriers, and intuition, made her believe that Henry was preparing to meet the Queen.
In the middle of that night she woke with a scream. She rushed to Rachel’s bedchamber, but mother and son were sleeping soundly, Rachel humming a little. She’s dreaming, Isabella realised. Feeling sheepish, she returned to her own bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the year 1138, Father Bernard had inducted an Italian monk, Bernardo da Pisa, into his Cistercian order. By 1145 Bernardo was Pope Eugenius III, a man, in Bernard’s view, too innocent and simple to be Bishop of Rome. It was this Pope who had refused Eleanor and Louis a divorce in 1149; he who had thought to mend their ruptured marriage by tricking them into sharing a bed in his house in Tusculum. Throughout his pontificate, Eugenius had been Bernard’s puppet. It was to him now that the mystic wrote, instructing him to agree to a royal divorce.
Dearest Bernardo,
The monarchs were so adroit in the management of their progress south, in their holding of the Christmas Court, and later at a plenary Candlemas in the abbey of Saint-Jean d’Angély, that even when the King’s garrisons withdrew from Aquitaine and fortifications were dismantled there, few suspected the storm that is about to break over France.
In late February they took leave of each other, their parting as cordial as all their behaviour has been since they agreed to divorce. The King set out for Paris, while the Queen returned to Poitiers. It must be admitted, however, that when Hugh of Sens summoned a synod at the royal castle of Beaugency, rumours began to hiss. We shall have to handle this matter with alacrity and firmness. There are already vulgar ditties sung in the taverns about ‘an angry King’ and, regrettably, ‘the adulterous Queen’. These songs must stop.
On the last day of February, well before the synod, with Guillaume as their only guard and witness, Eleanor and Henry met.
All three, dressed in the garb of pilgrims, arrived at night at the small blue-painted chapel dedicated to Archangel Michael at the St Varent Abbey. It had only one entrance. Guillaume stood in the doorway. Kneeling as if in prayer close to the dimly lit altar, Henry and Eleanor could not see each other’s faces beneath their hoods.
Henry allowed her to speak first.
‘I was so sorry to hear of the death of your baby,’ she said.
He murmured thanks then wordlessly handed her the bundle from Father Bernard.
She stared at it, wondering what it contained. ‘Do you know what it is?’
He shook his head. She continued, ‘Before the end of March I’ll be a free woman. Father Bernard has promised that after the synod has agreed to my divorce, the approval of Pope Eugenius is a formality. The bishops’ agreement is certain. Sens has assured Louis. The Archbishop of Bordeaux and your own Archbishop of Rouen have assured me. Louis will make the petition on grounds of consanguinity and I shall not contest it. The Archbishop of Rheims will represent my interests and make sure my dowry is returned in full.’
‘You’ll be pestered to death by fortune-hunters,’ Henry answered.
His plan was to raise more and more problems for her, mentally stalking her towards the idea that he was the man she needed to protect her. Then he would pounce, asking her to do him the honour of marrying him.
‘Your Highness, they may even try to assassinate you. For the safety of Aquitaine and Poitou you must quickly find another husband and get from him an heir.’
She made no reply. It was this grim realisation, arrived at during her game of chess with Cholet a few weeks earlier, that had prompted her to meet Henry.
‘Will your brother-in-law protect you? Can he help in finding you a suitable spouse?’ Henry persisted.
The Queen remained mute.
Henry glanced up. Above the altar a candelabra lit a mosaic on the wall behind it. It showed Archangel Michael trampling Satan, his sword raised for slaughter. The martial image distracted him. It drew his attention to the angle at which Michael held his weapon: if you strike from there, with your elbow at that height, you’ll miss, he thought. The distraction cleared his mind. He knew what to do next. Do not ask, Father Bernard had said.
He bowed, as if giving thanks, sighed, and stood up. He held out a hand to help the Queen to her feet.
‘Highness, if I can in any way assist you, please let me know,’ he said. ‘Good night to you.’ He motioned her to walk before him towards the door. She stood still and stared at him.
‘You’re to marry me,’ she blurted.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, I want you to marry me.’
Henry drew a sharp breath. ‘Shall we …?’ he motioned towards the cushions on which they’d been kneeling.
When they knelt a second time Henry threw off his hood. Eleanor did the same. ‘I must tell you, Highness, that in the eyes of God and in my own eyes, I’m already married.’
‘I’ve heard that. To my maid.’
‘My wife, Rachel, is my heart.’
He could sense Eleanor’s agitation. Such heat radiated from her face he felt its warmth. She’s scarlet with a blush, he thought.
‘But you and she are not married in the eyes of the Church. And she’s still a Jew, is she not?’
‘Indeed. For remaining true to what is sacred to her, I love her even more. If that were possible.’
He listened to Eleanor’s shallow breathing.
‘Therefore,’ she said icily, ‘you are free, as far as the Church is concerned, to marry me, are you not?’
He did not answer immediately. The kneeling woman at his side seemed to writhe in anguish like the dragon on the wall.
In a husky voice he murmured, ‘I had never imagined such an honour, Your Highness. You so took me by surprise I … I babbled.’
She must have been holding her breath, because she panted an exhalation. ‘So you’ll do it?’ she asked.
&nbs
p; ‘May I call you Eleanor?’ he replied.
She nodded.
‘Eleanor, I’d be honoured to marry you. But as soon as God’s Truce ends I’ll invade England. It’s my life’s ambition to avenge the wrong done to our family: to reclaim the crown and territory that is mine by right of inheritance. How can I possibly …?’
From the doorway, in Catalan, Guillaume called, ‘People coming. Cover your faces.’
A group of five pilgrims entered the chapel. Henry and Eleanor rose and, heads bent, made their way past the newcomers to the doorway. They walked out onto the damp grass around the chapel. A white goat woke in a fright and bleated. Otherwise, the night was undisturbed, the black air still and slightly misty. There was just enough light from a ragged half moon and the glow from the chapel windows for them to see where they were going. They moved towards a small grove of trees, Henry and Guillaume keeping a sharp eye for any moving shadows. Their horses, and the guards who had accompanied the Queen, waited in the opposite direction, near the abbey.
Henry said, ‘Eleanor, nobody at all must know about this. Louis will forbid it. He may go to war against us. Nobody must know but we three.’
What about Xena? Eleanor thought. But she was so relieved she had accomplished what she needed, she did not dwell on the question. She would have preferred Henry to propose to her, but when she saw he was too shy, she decided she’d do it herself.
‘We’ll be the greatest magnates west of the Rhine,’ he added, as if this thought had just occurred to him.
‘If you win England, we’ll be the greatest in Europe,’ she replied with a laugh, as if she, too, had just chanced upon the idea.
Henry grinned. His ambition was for the House of Plantagenet to overwhelm the House of Capet. And he had already begun, by stealing Capet’s Queen. He wanted to give her a hearty kiss of appreciation. ‘May I kiss you, Eleanor?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said.
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