The Autumn Throne (39 page)

By morning the storm had blown itself out and the sky was once again a sharp, brilliant blue. But so much snow had piled up in drifts that they had to dig their way out. Jacques had marked the boundaries of the road with two hammered stakes before the worst of the storm hit, so at least they knew where to begin, but it was hard and precarious work and beyond the stakes there were no boundaries, just mountains like jagged white teeth in a giant’s mouth.

A mile further on their entourage came to a place where the track was partially blocked by snow, boulders and uprooted fir trees. There was just enough room to inch their way round it, but the route was hazardous and they had to ease along in single file. Alienor set her jaw and didn’t look down as she led her horse along the slender margin of snowy path between the rock fall and the void.

The path narrowed further. Berenguela’s maid began to whimper and was silenced by a terse command from her mistress to pray to God and get on with it. Alienor nodded approval and Berenguela rose further in her estimation.

A step, another step, and still the way was as thin as a pauper’s ribbon, all tattered at the margins. The sun turned westwards and as the light shadowed blue in the hollows, a sudden clatter came from ahead, a scream, and several dull thuds. Alienor’s horse tossed its head and jerked on the reins and she flattened her palm against its neck, soothing, and
murmuring. Zylda’s whimpers began again and Berenguela ordered her in a steely voice to be silent.

In front of them the line began moving again. Tentative, foot by foot. From somewhere Alienor found the courage to go on, but the first steps were terrifying, and she felt the same tension in her horse.
I refuse to die here. I will live to see tomorrow’s dawn. One pace at a time, as God wills. One and then another. And never, never look down.

At last, under a grey-blue sky illuminated by bitter moonrise, they arrived at a wider path and an open section of snow field where they could make camp and recover from their ordeal. One of the pack horses and its keeper had gone over the side into the ravine and were now food for the lammergeyers – as they could all have been. She shut off that thought with the vigour of bolting a door against the enemy. She would not let Richard down. Whatever happened she would bring Berenguela to him, whole and in one piece.

Berenguela’s olive complexion was grey, and the brown shadows under her eyes were as pronounced as bruises, but she was coping; only the rapid fingering of her prayer beads revealed her agitation. Her maid shivered and sobbed under a blanket, and for now, Berenguela had left her to that indulgence.

‘That poor man and beast,’ she said to Alienor. ‘I pray that his soul finds its way to heaven. It could have been any of us.’

‘Indeed, God rest his soul, and we should give thanks to Him that we have been spared.’ Alienor watched her breath frost the air. ‘Once over these mountains, the journey will improve. This is the worst part.’

‘I do not think it could worsen.’ Berenguela gave a distorted smile. ‘Besides, there is no way back.’

Alienor could not read the emotions in Berenguela’s eyes, but the top layer was like her own – an indefatigable determination to see this through.

The next evening the party reached a proper pilgrim hostel, with welcome fire and torchlight, and good stabling for the
weary horses. Eating hot vegetable pottage with shreds of smoked meat and hard, dry bread, Alienor thought she had never tasted anything so delicious. Even the raw red wine with an aftertaste of pine pitch matched for the moment anything she had drunk at court in Poitiers.

They were joined by a silk merchant with a fur-lined cap pulled down over his ears, and a bulbous red nose pitted like an orange. His name was Etienne and his journey was the reverse of theirs, for he was on his way home from Sicily to Montpellier, having been conducting business in Palermo.

Alienor would not usually have invited such a man to join them, but tonight she was mellow, and this kind of peril where one could be alive one moment and a corpse at the bottom of a ravine the next created a climate of camaraderie among those forced to travel. In winter there were few pilgrims but messengers, merchants and clergy still had to use these pathways and brave the elements.

‘You should be on your guard on the roads beyond through Italy,’ Etienne cautioned them. ‘Bands of brigands roam at large and prey on the unwary – although perchance they will not trouble you when they see the strength of your escort.’

‘If they trouble us, my sword entering their bodies will be the last thing they see on this earth,’ Mercadier growled, hunching over his wine. ‘But my thanks for the warning.’

‘My party were threatened a couple of times,’ the merchant said, ‘but we stood up to intimidation.’ He indicated a handful of dour, well-built soldiers sitting at another trestle. ‘It pays to hire the best you can afford. I advise you to stock up on food when you can too, for the French army has been through and all but picked the land clean of supplies. Even if you think food will be available because you have the authority to command it, you cannot have what is not there.’

Alienor thanked him for the advice. She knew all about food shortages from her journey to Outremer with Louis. ‘Since you have come from Sicily, do you have news of King Richard?’ she asked. ‘And of my daughter the Dowager Queen?’

He wiped
his lips. ‘Madam, I heard that King Richard was in dispute with Tancred the new king, about the Queen’s dowry.’

Alienor’s gaze sharpened. ‘What is there to dispute?’

Etienne refilled his cup. ‘King Tancred refused to release the gold and the ships promised by King William because he said that with King William’s death that promise was null and void. He even kept the Queen hostage for a time, but was eventually persuaded to release her to your son.’

Alienor compressed her lips. She was not surprised at such perfidy, but she was angry.

Enjoying his tale, the merchant rested his cup on his rotund belly. ‘The Lionheart swore that unless Tancred gave up the dowry and Queen Joanna, he would go to war against him … and he did. He took Messina and burned it. They came to an agreement after that. I do not know more because I left, but I heard a rumour that King Richard gave Tancred the sword of King Arthur to seal their pact.’

Alienor raised her brows as she remembered Richard’s pride in Caliburn before he left for Outremer. Why had he given it to Tancred, and just what sort of pact had he made? She needed to know more, but this merchant couldn’t tell her and it was impossible to find out anything in the middle of the Alps in these frozen winter months.

More wine arrived, hot from the fire and mulled with nutmeg and cinnamon from her coffers.

‘The King of France refused to help King Richard take Messina, but insisted they share the spoils according to the treaty they had made,’ Etienne added.

Alienor made a scornful sound. ‘That comes as no surprise.’ Philippe of France made Henry look like a saint as a political player. There was never a time when he was not manipulating the chess board, and making up the rules as he went along.

The merchant paused for effect before dropping his next nugget of information. ‘Madam, it is also said that the French
King has been very taken with King Richard’s sister, the Dowager Queen.’

Alienor coughed at the notion of Joanna married to Philippe of France. ‘Oh, that is too preposterous to contemplate!’ she spluttered. ‘I sincerely doubt I will ever address the King of France as my son-in-law.’

Etienne nodded wisely, as if he spent every day of his life in the counsels of royalty. He spread his hands. ‘I can tell you nothing more, madam, I am sorry.’

‘I thank you for what you have been able to give, messire,’ Alienor said. ‘We are forewarned and forearmed – at least a little.’

It snowed again overnight, heavily, and they lost another four days sheltering in the pilgrim hostel playing dice, singing songs and telling stories until finally the weather improved sufficiently for them to set out on their way again. Bidding Etienne farewell and Godspeed, they ventured into the hostile white landscape. Another guide, Pieter, had joined Jacques and the men felt the way along the route using long wooden prods to probe the snow and make sure the ground underfoot was safe. Step by step, mile by slow mile they made their way through the mountain passes. Christmas was celebrated in yet another hostel, sheltering from the snow.

Berenguela wept as they attended mass on the day of the Christ child’s birth, their surroundings not unlike a stable with people and animals crowded together. She gave precious frankincense resin from her own supplies to be burned in token of the wise men’s gifts to the baby Jesus.

‘I have knelt at the place of Christ’s birth.’ Alienor inhaled the scent of the sacred smoke. ‘At the shrine in Bethlehem where the manger once stood. I have kissed the very place.’

‘He was born just like us’ – Berenguela had her hands clasped under her chin, her expression exalted – ‘and he died to redeem our sins.’

‘God willing you shall bear sons and raise them in Christ,’ Alienor said
softly. She imagined dandling Richard’s heir on her knee – a little boy with coppery hair, sea-blue eyes and a smile like the sun. But as yet that child was no more than seed in Richard’s loins, and this earnest young woman praying at her side was the ground in which it must be planted.

Berenguela’s colour heightened. ‘God willing,’ she repeated. ‘It is my dearest wish.’

By mid-January they had reached Italy and, with the relief of mauled survivors, left the snow-clad mountain ramparts behind. Hostels became more frequent along the route, but they had to be on constant watch for roving parties of soldiers. The merchant Etienne had been right: food was indeed scarce. They had the money to obtain supplies but it was basic, subsistence fare and sometimes they went hungry. Mercadier slept little and kept a constant watch, his mood irritable as he shepherded the entourage on its way.

Arriving at the castle of Lodi just outside Milan one bitter evening they found themselves competing for accommodation and stable room with Emperor Heinrich of Germany who was on his way to Rome to be consecrated in that title, although he was already bandying it about. He had a claim to Sicily through his wife Constance and was intent on pursuing it against Tancred whom he considered had usurped his rightful throne.

Heinrich and Alienor were not allies, but since they were sharing accommodation on neutral ground they were courteous towards each other, albeit in the manner of two fighters circling, and not trusting to turn their backs. Heinrich was an ally of Philippe of France, and Alienor had no intention of revealing to him that she was bringing Berenguela to wed Richard. If he found out, he would send messengers at speed to Philippe, and that was the last thing Richard needed. Thus Berenguela remained in the background, as an unspecified lady of Alienor’s chamber, and Alienor gave out the story that she herself was on her way to bring her widowed daughter home.

Among the
young courtiers with the Emperor was Alienor’s grandson Heinri, Richenza’s brother. He acted as interpreter because he spoke fluent French as well as his native, paternal German. At seventeen years old he was tall and handsome, with a tumble of dark auburn curls and bright hazel eyes.

‘How is your father?’ Alienor asked when Heinri made a personal visit to her chamber.

‘Well enough, madam,’ he replied. ‘His joints are stiff these days and his eyesight poor, but he continues as best he may. He misses my mother. He never thought she would die before he did because he was so much older.’

‘Indeed, and I think of her every day, and pray for her. You have a look of her a little.’

Heinri smiled sadly. ‘My father says that.’

Alienor told him how his siblings were faring in England and directed him to pour wine. He did so with a slight flush to his face at serving his grandmother and being under her scrutiny. She watched him with pride and a little sadness, wishing that Matilda could be here to see her eldest son on the cusp of manhood.

‘The Emperor keeps you close?’ she remarked. ‘I suppose that is a mark of favour, and at the same time he can watch you and control your family.’

Heinri presented her with the cup. ‘Indeed that is so, Grandmère, but at the same time I am learning from him and from the court. It is good training.’

At Alienor’s grimace, Heinri shook his head. ‘The sword cuts both ways,’ he said with a pragmatic shrug. ‘To know one’s enemy one has to keep him close. I will not be banished as my father was.’

Alienor nodded approval and thought that this young man would do very well indeed. He had learned the political lessons swiftly and had a wise head on young shoulders.

Next day, as the women were breaking their fast, Heinri visited them again, but this time he was tense and agitated. ‘A
messenger has just arrived from Sicily in search of my lord,’ he told them. ‘He does not bring good news for him; I do not know whether it is good for you or not, Grandmère.’

Alienor bade him sit and directed a squire to pour him watered wine. She pushed a basket of bread and platter of cheese towards him. ‘Tell me.’

He refused the food and took a token sip of the wine. ‘Uncle Richard has made peace with Tancred of Sicily.’

‘Yes,’ Alienor replied, ‘I knew that already.’

‘My lord did not, and he is displeased that Uncle Richard has agreed to acknowledge and uphold Tancred as king there in exchange for ships and supplies.’

‘Your uncle does what he must,’ Alienor said.

Heinri brushed his thumb over the metallic sheen on the goblet. ‘To seal the agreement, Uncle Richard swore an oath to Tancred. He has made Arthur of Brittany his heir and promised a marriage between him and Tancred’s baby daughter. He sealed the pact by presenting him with the sword Caliburn.’

Alienor inhaled sharply. So this was the rest of the tale that Etienne the silk merchant had not known. It all made sense now, but she wasn’t sure it added up to wisdom. From the German point of view the news was of treachery because Richard had thrown in his lot with Tancred. On the Angevin side, making his deceased brother’s infant son his heir had the potential to destabilise all of Richard’s lands, because John would not see it as political expedience, but as an act of betrayal. If Richard died in the Holy Land there would be strife throughout his dominions.