The Autumn Throne (55 page)

‘There’s a messenger. Uncle John is here and asking to see you.’

Alienor’s belly churned. She had been expecting him, but did not know how she was going to feel when she saw him. Her sole surviving son. ‘Give me a moment to compose myself. Let me finish my prayers first.’

‘I can tell him you are indisposed,’ Richenza offered.

Alienor shook her head. ‘I am well enough for this.’ She pressed Richenza’s hand. ‘Bless you, child, go on.’

Richenza
left the room and closed the door, and saw John walking along the path towards her, almost swaggering. Belatedly realising she should be kneeling to him, she made her obeisance.

A patronising smile on his lips, he gestured her to stand up. ‘Where is my lady mother, niece?’

‘She is at prayer, sire,’ Richenza answered, ‘but she knows you are here and will see you presently.’ She planted herself firmly in front of the door.

An irritated look flashed across John’s face. ‘Then I shall wait. There is no need to stand there like an angel with a drawn sword. My mother is perfectly able to defend herself, and I mean her no harm.’ He chucked Richenza under the chin in an avuncular way, pinching just a little too hard, and, setting her aside, entered the room.

Feeling the draught at her back, sensing John’s presence, Alienor deliberately continued to pray. Only when she was finished did she rise and turn around.

Despite being prepared, the sight of him still jolted her and she found herself searching his face for traces of Richard. Perhaps there was an echo in his eyes and something about the way he stood, but most of all she saw Henry. ‘I knew you were coming, but I had not expected you so soon.’

He remained where he was and she wondered if he was expecting her to kneel to him. She would do it in public formality, but not in her own private space. Going to him, she set her arms around him. ‘I am glad you have come,’ she said. ‘You have been in my thoughts and prayers.’

He returned the embrace awkwardly, and his body was stiff. ‘I could not believe the news about Richard,’ he said. ‘I never thought … it was so sudden. It’s like always having a mountain in your life and suddenly it is no longer there when you look up.’ Drawing away, he straightened his tunic and avoided her gaze.

‘Do not think because you are the youngest, you are the least,’ Alienor said, wondering if that was the source of his
discomfort. ‘You have my support and I will do all I can to protect and sustain you in your kingship now it is your turn.’

‘And I thank you, Mama. I rode hard to get here, but I cannot stay for long. I have much to do and little time to mourn. In the gap between the death of one ruler and another taking the reins there is always grave danger, and I do indeed need your cooperation in all things.’

She was taken aback by his direct approach, but then that had been how his father had reacted in the face of death, brushing it aside, pretending it did not exist.

‘I have secured the treasury at Chinon, but there are rival claims to my power. Already Philippe of France has moved towards my borders, and so has my dear nephew Arthur with his mother. Constance would have Anjou and Maine for her brat.’

‘Arthur is your brother’s son, and my grandson,’ Alienor reminded him.

‘But he’s still a brat.’ He eyed her with suspicion. ‘I take it I do have your support?’

‘Of course you do! I would not prefer Arthur over you, ever. You are my son, flesh of my flesh. In my eyes, my heart and mind, Arthur has no right in this except Brittany, but it still does not stop him from being my grandson.’

‘Whether he is kin or not, he will try to take what he can.’

Alienor felt as though she was a cushion with all the stuffing dragged out. It was difficult to care about anything, but she tried to rally. ‘Just tell me what you want and I will do it.’

‘I want you to keep watch over Anjou and Normandy. I want you to contain any unrest while I have to be elsewhere. Use Mercadier; he knows what to do. Employ the best messengers and send news to me swiftly of everything you do because then I can decide how to act. It is imperative you keep your own vassals in order. I need you to go to Aquitaine and take their homage and then go to Philippe of France and swear to him for Aquitaine. But leave the big decisions to me.’

Once Alienor would have bridled at being thus addressed. She
would have fought tooth and nail for the right to be involved in those decisions, but that was before her spirit had been brought low by Richard’s terrible, premature death. Rekindling the fire from John was never going to happen. ‘As you wish,’ she said wearily.

He gave a curt nod that encompassed acknowledgement and departed to his own lodging.

Not long after John had ridden away leaving Mercadier on guard in Anjou, and Alienor preparing for her visit to Poitiers, Berenguela arrived at Fontevraud with her entourage to pay her respects at Richard’s tomb. Alienor had hoped she would make a fine and fertile queen for Richard, but the marriage appeared to have been a thing of role and external show, barren within. Now Berenguela came as a widow with claims of dowry. She had proved her tenacity on their journey over the Alps and Alienor suspected she would bring that fortitude to pursuing what was owed.

Alienor welcomed her courteously, but seeing Berenguela brought tears to her eyes and made her wounds bleed all over again. ‘You must be tired after your journey,’ she said, swallowing down her grief as they embraced. ‘Richenza will show you to a chamber where you can rest and refresh yourself.’

‘Thank you, madam.’ Berenguela’s own eyes were wet. ‘For all the difficulties we faced together crossing mountains, this has been the hardest journey of my life.’ Her gown was sombre, almost nun-like, and the first fine age lines etched her face in the clear spring light. She clasped her hands prayerfully. ‘I was sorry not to be here for the funeral, but I knew you could not wait.’

Alienor said nothing. She had grieved herself raw, and the pain was bottomless. It would have made no difference whether Berenguela was there or not. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she let them run.

‘I always feared he would die untimely in warfare,’ Berenguela said, biting her lip, ‘but there was no stopping him.’

‘He
was born to do what he did. It was his nature, like a hawk is born to fly or a lion to hunt. Take away that nature and he would not have been whole.’

‘He was always courteous and chivalrous towards me,’ Berenguela added, wiping her face delicately with her cuff. ‘Even in the battle camp, he made sure I was looked after. He spared that thought.’

Alienor nodded. Their eyes met, communicating without words the things that could not be openly said for to do so was to tread on the thinnest glass.

‘May I see his tomb?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Alienor could not bear the thought of accompanying her there. It was difficult enough to shoulder her own emotions, let alone be burdened with whatever Berenguela might display as she knelt at Richard’s grave. ‘The Abbess will show you. You will wish to spend some time alone with him, but forgive me, I am not well enough to accompany you.’

‘I understand,’ Berenguela said. ‘And thank you.’ She held Alienor’s gaze for a moment longer then curtseyed and withdrew, her step graceful and self-contained, but with an air of sad resignation.

Later, when Berenguela had refreshed herself and paid her respects at the abbey, the women dined together in Alienor’s quarters. As they ate a light meal of chicken spiced with honey and pepper, Berenguela gently raised the subject of her dowry – as Alienor had known she would.

‘You must write to John on the matter,’ Alienor said. ‘It is in his hands now.’

‘I thought you might write too and add your words to mine,’ Berenguela requested. ‘I know he has many concerns and this must seem a small one to him, but I need the means to sustain myself.’

‘Indeed, I shall do so.’ Alienor inclined her head. She did not want to think about it because although as one woman to another she had sympathy for Berenguela’s circumstances
and payment was due according to the marriage contract, it was another drain on an already depleted treasury. It was like paying coin for goods from which there had been no satisfaction even while it was not entirely the vendor’s fault.

After they had finished their meal, Berenguela took out her sewing and the women sat together on the window seat. Alienor watched her work with painstaking care, embroidering small gold lions onto the cuff section of a man’s blue silk tunic. One sleeve was complete, the other half finished.

‘I was making this for Richard,’ Berenguela said sadly after a while. ‘I cannot bear that it should be incomplete even though he will never wear it.’

Alienor’s throat closed as all the grief welled up in her again. ‘Leave it,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘He is dead. What will you do when it is finished but put it away in a coffer? It should be like his life and remain undone.’

‘No.’ Berenguela shook her head with firm vigour. ‘This is for me, and I shall finish it because it is my duty and my last gift to him as his wife. I have to finish it, because how else shall I steer my life?’

Alienor pressed her lips together lest out of her bitter grief she said something terrible about the duties Berenguela had not performed while Richard was alive. Her daughter-in-law might just give her a reply she did not want to hear.

‘I am sorry,’ Berenguela said. ‘I should not have brought it forth in your presence. It was thoughtless of me.’ She folded the tunic with careful, tender hands and returned it to its basket.

‘Perhaps,’ said Alienor, recovering a little, ‘but we each do what we must to continue.’

‘I should retire if I am to be on the road early tomorrow, and I have my prayers to say.’ Berenguela stood up.

Alienor rose too and did not try to prevent her from leaving because there was no more to say that would not intensify the grief and bitterness. ‘I am glad you came.’

‘So am I – and it was more than duty.’ Berenguela performed a deep curtsey. ‘My lady mother, I honour you.’

‘And
I you, daughter.’

Alienor gave Berenguela a formal kiss on either cheek, and then a warmer embrace that spoke of the ties they had shared, but she was relieved to see her depart. Tomorrow she would wish her Godspeed on her way and send her out of her life.

Almost as soon as Berenguela had gone, Alienor departed Fontevraud herself with Richenza and rode south, leaving Mercadier to deal forcefully with the Angevin vassals whose loyalty was suspect and to push Constance and Arthur out of the province and secure the territories for John. She received reports and sent messages by return as she rode from castle to castle, taking stock of her domain and homage from her vassals. Condolences and respects were paid to her, and anxious questions asked to which she issued reassurances. She was their duchess, they were to trust her. She was here and ready to listen to their concerns. Forced to take up the reins, she clung to her work because there was no one else; she had always done her duty and she was a duchess and a queen.

The spring sun warmed her bones as she rode through old haunts and the familiar places of her youth. Deep sadness and nostalgia settled on her like a heavy cloak, but there was something in the sensory detail that uplifted her too, like a gold thread hemming the garment’s border. Glimpses of childhood enlivened her soul, and even though her body was old and stiff with years, she remembered how it felt to be limber and sprightly. To climb trees, and run. To dance with swift steps, heel and toe, circle and spin.

She visited the bustling port of La Rochelle and drew the salty tang of the ocean into her lungs while she watched the trading vessels dock and embark. And then on to Talmont, one of the hunting preserves of the Dukes of Aquitaine. Ghosts awaited here of long-ago picnics, childhood romps, and flirtations. Barefoot at the sea’s edge, her toes lapped by the white lace of spent waves, and the sun sparkling on the water like
coins. A man’s laughter as she chased him with a ribbon of darkly shining weed. She could still hear the old songs faintly on the wind. Time had not stolen her memories but enhanced them, making them perhaps better than they were, but she would settle for that and not complain.

Everywhere she went she took the homage of her vassals and made the point that she was and had always been the Duchess of Aquitaine. Before. Now. Until her heart stopped beating. Her sole task was to survive.

In June she came to the town of Niort, two days’ ride from Poitiers, and rested there for a few days. On the second morning, not long after she had risen from prayer, Alienor received news that her daughter Joanna had arrived at the gates in distress and was asking for her.

Alienor dismissed all the servants but Belbel and having embraced Joanna drew her to a cushioned window bench. Through the gap in Joanna’s cloak the swell of pregnancy was unmistakeable, and her daughter looked tired and harassed.

‘Come, come.’ Alienor signalled Belbel to bring a footstool. ‘What are you doing here when you should be resting in Toulouse?’

‘There is strife among my husband’s vassals.’ Joanna wearily passed her hand across her forehead. ‘Dear God, when isn’t there strife? I came to bring troops to the besieged castle at Casses, but Raymond’s own knights betrayed me. They turned rebel against us and burned the camp. I had to flee just as I am.’ Her chin trembled. ‘I came to ask help from Richard, but now I hear rumours that my brother is dead. Is that true, Mama? I do not want to believe it … but what are you doing here otherwise?’

Alienor took Joanna’s hand. ‘Oh, my love, I am afraid it is true.’ She struggled to hold back the tide of grief so that she could speak. ‘Of a crossbow bolt that festered in his flesh, taken at a petty siege that he need not have been conducting. I reached him before he died, and I brought him back to rest at Fontevraud a few weeks ago.’

‘No,’
Joanna said in a choked voice. ‘Not Richard.’ She put her hand to her mouth and heaved.

‘I say that to myself over and over. I cannot accept it, yet I must.’ Her voice cracked and she gripped her hands together. Striving, holding on. ‘Your brother John is King now. We have to look to him.’