Devil's Consort (7 page)

‘I did not sing and feast. Not at Saint-Denis.’

‘What is that? A palace?’

‘A monastery.’

‘Did you visit there?’

‘I was brought up there.’

The words sank in, but with them not much understanding. ‘You were brought up in a monastery?’

‘Did you not know?’

‘No. As a priest?’

‘More or less.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’ I could not imagine it. My quick anger was replaced by interest.

‘Yes.’ A smile softened the tension in his jaw and the feverish light in his eye faded. ‘Yes, I did. The order of the day, each one like the last. The serenity in the House of God. Can you understand?’ His voice took on an enthusiasm I had not heard before, his pale eyes shone. ‘The perpetual prayers for God’s forgiveness, the voices of the monks rising up with the incense. I liked nothing better than to keep vigil through the night—’

‘But did you not learn the art of government?’ I interrupted. ‘Did you not sit with your father and hear good advice and counsel?’ Surely that would have been of far greater use than the rule of Saint Benedict.

‘I was never intended to rule, you see,’ Louis explained. ‘My elder brother—Philip—was killed by a scavenging sow at loose on the quay. Philip fell from his horse when it reared.’ Louis’s voice was suddenly hoarse
with suppressed grief. ‘There was no hope for him—his neck broke in the filth of the gutter.’

‘Oh!’

‘He was an accomplished warrior. He would have been a great king.’

‘My son.’ A soft voice from Louis’s other side broke in. The ever-present Abbot Suger, sent by Fat Louis to keep his eye on the son and heir. He leaned forward, a slight, elderly man with deceptively mild demeanour, to look at me as much as at Louis. ‘My son, the lady does not wish to hear of your life at Saint-Denis. Or of Philip. You are heir to the throne now.’

‘But the Lady Eleanor asked if I had enjoyed my life there.’

‘You must look to your future together now.’

The Abbot had the thin, lined face of an aesthete. His hair was as glossily white as an ermine, his small dark eyes just as inquisitive. They summed me up in that instant and I suspected they found me wanting.

‘Of course. Forgive me.’ Louis nodded obediently. ‘That life is all in the past.’

‘But I think you miss it.’ I was reluctant to allow the Abbot to dictate the direction of our conversation.

‘Sometimes.’ The volume of noise rose around us again as Louis smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I was intended for the Church, you see. I was taught to value abstinence and prayer. To give my mind to higher pursuits than—than this.’ The sweep of his hand to the now roistering crowd was, whether he intended it or not,
entirely derogatory. Unfortunately Bernart, roaming the room with lute to hand, chose the moment to swing into a well-loved song, with a raucous chorus for all to join in. Since the wine was flowing, the merrymakers were in good heart.

Louis smacked his hand down on the cloth, making the silver dishes dance. ‘Listen! How can you approve of that? Your minstrels sing of lust and intimacy not sanctioned by the Church or by any moral code. They have no respect for women and encourage them to behave without restraint.’

The hearty phrase ‘these flaming whores’ was bellowed from a hundred throats, both men and women.

‘It is immoral. Degrading. Such verses should be forbidden. Such foul-mouthed braggarts as this … this scurrilous minstrel should be whipped through the streets for their impertinence.’ Louis’s voice rose alarmingly.

‘But he is not a scurrilous minstrel,’ I objected. ‘He is Bernart Sicart of Maruejols.’

A blank look, and derisory at that.

‘He is famous throughout Aquitaine. My father thought very highly of him.’

‘His words are insulting and offensive! I don’t want him at my court.’

A trickle of fear, as hard and cold as ice, invaded my chest. It hadn’t taken my new lord long, had it, to wield his new authority over me? He did not know me very well.

‘I’ll not dismiss him.’

‘Even if I demand it?’

‘Why should you? He is mine and I’ll remain his patron. You’ll not change my mind in this.’ I closed my lips against my lord. I was beyond terms of respect.

As Louis sought for a reply, quietness fell, as sometimes happened in a crowd.

‘Colhon!’

I heard the comment drift across from my left. No attempt was made to mute it and I froze, my fingers clenched around my spoon, in humiliation for Louis—for myself. I felt my skin flush as bright as his. Abandoning the spoon, I curled my fingers round Louis’s wrist. I could feel the temper rising.

‘Do you think that of me? As ruler of Aquitaine? That I am immoral, my thoughts fit only for the sewer?’ My cheeks might flame, my temper might burn, but my voice was tight with control.

‘No. I think you are beautiful beyond measure,’ Louis replied with disarming candour, his voice returning to its low timbre. ‘I think your mind is as fine as your face. I can find no fault in you. I can’t believe you are my wife.’

My mind struggled to grasp the quick lunge and feint of this conversation. Was Louis so naive that he would think to win my favour by this lurch from condemnation to flattery? How dared he pick and prod at my own people, at my way of life, within an hour of our marriage? So he could find no fault in me. I admitted to no fault in me! Or with the uninhibited behaviour and language of my guests. Temper remained hot in my blood as I retrieved my spoon in a pretence of sampling a dish of succulent figs.

Clearly disturbed at the flash in my eye, Louis lifted his cup, intending to take a hearty swallow of wine—but Abbot Suger was instantly there to place a hand on his wrist.

‘Perhaps not, my lord.’

And Louis immediately pushed away the cup. ‘No. It would be better if I did not.’

‘Do you always take his advice?’ I demanded.

‘Yes. My lord Abbot always has my best interest at heart. He would never advise me wrongly.’ Louis looked puzzled. ‘Do you have no one to advise you, lady?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know what to do, what decisions to take?’

I had to think about that. It was not a question I had ever been asked, to justify my desires and needs. The answer was simple enough. ‘When my father was alive, we travelled constantly. I watched and I learned. And
now I act as I know he would have done. He was a good man. I miss him,’ I admitted.

Louis’s face was transfigured by a blinding smile. ‘You need me, Eleanor. I will advise you.’

Could a child brought up as a monk give me advice, brought up as I had been in my father’s court? I did not think so. ‘I hope we will come to an agreement,’ I compromised.

‘My lord will rule your lands wisely, my lady,’ Abbot Suger interposed.

I bit back a sharp reply. Of course, it would happen whether I liked it or not. I lowered my voice, leaning towards Louis, suddenly intent on mischief.

‘If we are speaking of advice, my lord—try this dish.’ I offered a flat silver platter stacked high with translucent grey shells. ‘Oysters are known to raise the humours and make a man think of a night heating the bed linen with a beautiful woman. Oysters give a man magnificent stamina.’

He looked at me as if I had struck him. ‘My lady!’

‘I am your wife. Is this not a proper conversation?’

Louis swallowed. ‘I think it is very forward, madam …’

I hooded my eyes. ‘It would please me if you would try them. I shall. We might both be pleased with the result tonight.’

Louis le Jeune looked like a hunted rabbit. With regret, I thought we were both in for some inexpert fumbling before we came to know each other. I wished my husband might have some experience, even if he
lacked finesse. Entirely oblivious to my anger, my barely concealed scorn, Louis accepted the oysters without comment. I prayed silently that the old wives knew the efficacy of the succulent shellfish.

Barely had he lifted one, unenthusiastically, to his mouth than a courier approached down the length of the hall, pushing aside servants and guests alike. I expected him to come to me, but, of course, he would approach Louis—no, he bowed before the Abbot, which spiked my irritation further. The messenger stooped, whispered in Suger’s ear so that I could not hear. The Abbot issued a number of terse replies, brusque enough to fix my attention. Relaying the information to Louis, there passed between Abbot and Prince a welter of instructions and affirmations as the courier left the hall as fast as he had come.

I had been involved in none of it.

‘What is it?’ I would not be kept in the dark.

Louis turned reluctantly to me. ‘A problem.’

‘Well?’ I raised my beautifully plucked brows.

‘We leave now.’

‘Leave … You mean the palace? In the middle of the feast?’ As bad as I had feared.

‘We leave Bordeaux. It is not safe.’

‘Not safe? How could it not be safe in my own streets, my own city? No one would dare harm me here …’

Abbot Suger offered the explanation, speaking around Louis, his expression bleak. ‘An ambush, I am informed, outside the walls, my lady. Planned for tomorrow, under
the auspices of the Count of Angoulême. Your vassal. He will take you both prisoner and assume the power in Aquitaine for himself.’

‘Angoulême? I don’t believe it. A show of force would soon drive him off …’

Louis took my hand, actually patted it as if I needed his comfort. ‘I’ll not risk it. I’ve given orders for my camp to be struck and your immediate possessions packed. We ride at once.’

So he would order the disposition of my own possessions. ‘Are we to run away?’ I asked between disbelief and fury.

‘No, no. We’ll forestall him. A far better course of action.’

‘It seems cowardly to me. Where do we go?’ To leave now before the bridal night? I had a sudden vivid picture of spending it in a ditch, beside a road.

‘It’s arranged, by my lord Abbot. We stay at the castle of Taillebourg tonight.’

‘It’s … it’s more than eighty miles to Taillebourg!’

‘It’s owned by one of your vassals who did homage to me—so it’s safe for us.’ Louis stood. Everyone on the dais surged to their feet, startled. Louis ignored them. ‘Make ready, my wife.’

I had, of course, no choice but to comply. It was as if the prospect of action had given Louis a much-needed bolt of confidence, and I could do nothing but walk at his side between the ranks of guests. Pairs of eyes followed us, in shock or amusement. Did they think we
would pre-empt the bridal night? That Louis was too urgent to wait? All I saw on his face was strain, perhaps even fear.

Stopping only to change my marriage splendour for garments more suitable for an all-out flight, I was hurried from the palace—my vassals still unaware and feasting in the Great Hall—and rowed across the Garonne to where Louis was already preparing to mount and waiting for me, clad in mail as if expecting trouble to descend on our heads at any moment.

‘Lady!’ He waved his hand impatiently as I stepped from the boat, Aelith and some baggage following me. ‘What took you so long? Do you really need all of that? We mustn’t stay. I’ve ordered a horse litter for your comfort.’ He pointed to the cumbersome transport with its enveloping curtains, slung between four sturdy horses. I had travelled in such a palanquin—but rarely—and remembered the bruises and bone-shuddering jolts. And the tedium.

‘I thought we were in a hurry,’ I remarked.

‘We are.’

‘Then what point in a litter? I’ll ride.’

‘I think not. It’s too slow,’ Louis fretted, pulling me to one side with a hand around my forearm as if he would rather not have me question his decision in public view.

‘Slow?’

‘Too slow, with a sidesaddle and planchet for your feet and a groom to lead.’

Now I understood. I despised the litter but not as much as I despised the wooden seat with its solid foot-rest to allow a lady to ride in safety. I shook Louis’s hand off. He might be my husband of five hours but this was not good sense. ‘I’ll ride astride. No need of a groom or a leading rein. I’ve ridden all my life.’ I pulled on a pair of serviceable leather gloves, keeping my eyes firmly on his.

‘What?’ He was horrified.

‘I can keep up with you, my lord. Fetch me a horse to match your own.’

Louis cleared his throat and looked askance. Would he deny me that right, to decide the manner of my travel?

‘That is what I wish. And I will do it.’ I left him in no doubt.

‘The lady is right.’ The Abbot, stripped of his ecclesiastical garb for leather and light mail, strode up to chivvy us along. ‘If she is willing …’

‘She is!’ I flashed a warning look, by now thoroughly exasperated. ‘And we are wasting time here, if the danger is so great.’

So I had my way. Louis, his face flaming with high colour, was obviously nettled by my boldness, but I left him no choice. ‘Good!’ I nodded at the well-muscled mount that was brought forward for my approval, and raised my foot for his hand. ‘Lift me, and then we can
be gone.’ As I mounted astride, I tried not to look for any sense of grievance in his resigned expression. But it was there.

We rode at breakneck speed, changing horses at every river crossing, soon outstripping the escort of Frankish knights who at first pounded around us, a human wall of defence against my recalcitrant vassals. I tried not to let the snarls against treacherous southerners hurt my heart, even as I accepted the rightness of them. So we rode as if the Devil himself pursued us rather than the Count of Angoulême—and we saw no trace of him. Hour after hour, without rest except to snatch a mouthful of bread and a gulp of wine to sustain us. Abbot Suger urged us on at every brief halt. And since he had our safety at heart, and my own people were the cause of our flight, I could hardly resist, even though I could have fallen from my saddle with weariness towards the end. Aelith, as rank and filthy as I from sweat and dust, fared no better, but Louis showed surprising stamina. Or perhaps it was determination not to be bested twice in one day by a woman.