The Autumn Throne (62 page)

‘I am twenty, madam.’ A red flush spread upward from his throat into his face.

Taking pity, she stopped embarrassing him. ‘What brings you to Fontevraud?’

‘Grandmère, I have news for you. It is not good, but my grandmother asked me to deliver it personally rather than send a messenger. She has a letter for you.’ He handed over a parchment secured with Isabel’s seal.

Alienor’s heart sank. Was there ever going to be good news? ‘At least it has brought you to me. Clearly you know what is
written and your voice is better than my eyes, so you might as well tell me what it is.’

He swallowed. ‘I am sorry to tell you that my grandsire Hamelin died at the end of May. He had been unwell with a cough since the winter. We thought he was getting better with the spring but he died suddenly at Lewes from pains in the chest. He has been laid to rest in the priory and I have come from his funeral to let you know.’

Pain surged in Alienor’s own heart. She and Hamelin had often had their differences, but she had been fond of him. Isabel must be utterly devastated because Hamelin was her world. ‘I am sorry to hear such news, may God rest his soul. He was an honest man who always gave of his best and he was my dearest brother by marriage. How is your grandmother?’

He grimaced. ‘She is not well and in deep mourning. She is at Lewes, spending time in prayer for his soul and preparing his tomb.’

Such irony. That she and Isabel should now be in the same position. Old women sitting at the gravesides of their dead husbands.

‘My mother is comforting her.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

He hesitated, then added, ‘They have made amends with each other and my mother was fully reconciled with my grandsire before he died. My half-brothers and -sisters are at Lewes also.’

Alienor had not kept abreast of Belle’s second marriage to Gilbert L’Aigle. ‘Your mother has children?’

‘Gilbert and Richer are five and three, and Alais is nine months old. My mother is well and sends you her duty and regards.’

Alienor gave a thin smile. Belle would indeed do that, but how sincerely was a matter for debate. ‘I thank her, and am glad,’ she said, and after Richard had looked at the progress on the effigies, she brought him to her chamber to offer him refreshment.

‘Where
will you go now? Back to England?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Grandmère, but first I shall visit my father. He will already have the news by swifter messenger, but I wish to see him for his own sake.’

Alienor patted his arm. Not many people would say that about John and it warmed her to hear Richard speak in such a way. By whatever quirk, he had done well by this bastard son of his.

‘You know there is still trouble between your father and Philippe of France? Your cousin Arthur is not as dutiful as you are, and is creating difficulties. Only yesterday news came that he has been knighted and is preparing to make another attempt on your father’s domains.’

‘Yes, I had heard.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Everyone knows he is a pawn of the French.’

‘Yes, but even pawns can be dangerous.’ Alienor sighed wearily. ‘I have been thinking this morning that I should go to Poitiers and bolster the resolve of my vassals – it might be safer at the moment than here.’

His eyes widened. ‘You think Arthur would attack Fontevraud?’

Alienor gave an acerbic smile. ‘I doubt he would call it attacking, but I am concerned that he may choose to pay a more forceful visit on his grandmother and the tombs of his ancestors than you have.’

‘I could escort you to Poitiers if you wish.’ He bowed, and when he raised his head, his eyes were bright and alive. ‘Indeed, it would be my honour.’

Alienor felt amused and tender. He had not completely mastered the art of concealing his thoughts and emotions behind a courtly façade. Here was a young man off the leash and eager to taste some of the world before he returned to mundane things. He would be a knight errant, protecting his grandmother and being useful at the same time. Amid all the heartache and shame his conception had engendered, good had come from it. She smiled, her spirits lightening despite
the seriousness of their discussion. ‘Then it will be my honour to have you ride at my side and be my escort and equerry,’ she said.

Two days later on a sticky morning, Alienor set out for Poitiers. She wore a gown of cool, pale linen and a straw hat over her wimple, and rather than ride this time she opted to journey in a decorated cart with Richenza and her ladies, escorted by knights. Richard rode alongside the cart in pride of place astride the glossy golden palfrey Alienor had especially given him for the journey.

Alienor watched the countryside roll by through the open arch at the back of the cart. She had her own grey palfrey in the train and could ride it if she wanted, but for now she was content to be passive. The cart jolted when the road was uneven and potholed, but she was well bolstered by cushions and fleeces. Indeed she was so comfortable that she dozed for a while, then woke and dozed again. At one point she woke to find Richenza watching her with a fond smile.

‘I used to think it comical the way old people fell asleep the moment they sat down,’ Alienor said with self-deprecation. ‘I had no patience, but now I am one of them and it is not so amusing.’

‘You are entitled to rest, Grandmère.’

Alienor gave a small snort. ‘But there is no rest for the wicked they say and I must have been very wicked at times in my long life.’

‘I do not believe that!’ Richenza declared with staunch indignation. ‘Others have wronged you, not the other way around.’

‘Oh, I have done my share.’ Alienor waved her hand. ‘There were times when I hated your grandfather so much that I prayed for his death. I expect he prayed often for mine too though.’ She looked at Richenza, who was clearly deciding how to respond. ‘My grandmother, now there was a lady who lived her life as she chose. Her name was Amaberge, but my grandfather called her Dangereuse.’

Richenza
laughed. ‘Why did he do that?’

‘Because she was, I suppose. She was no great beauty but she had a glamour about her that forced everyone to look at her – and she was fierce. She cared little for what people thought.’ Alienor chuckled at the memory. ‘Petronella and I were terrified of her when we were children, but we were fascinated too. She used to wear gowns with great hanging sleeves – they are out of fashion now, but they were the style back then. She taught us how to use them to convey feelings without words – the lightest sweep and a turn of the wrist to flirt with a man.’ Alienor demonstrated with her age-mottled hand, yet the movement she made was alluring and graceful. ‘And then to perhaps drape that sleeve across his face as an invitation to greater intimacy.’ Her smile hardened and her action became a sudden swipe. ‘Or to express contempt and anger. We learned all that from her. How to command an audience. My grandmother was always the centre of attention and could not bear for others to have it. She was unpredictable and wild. I remember her screaming at my grandsire and throwing laden dishes from her table at him, one after another, until there was food splattered all over the walls. He let her, because he knew after that they would go to bed and it would be like the mating of lions.’

Richenza listened open-mouthed.

‘They left their given spouses to live with each other,’ Alienor said, enjoying her tale. ‘They were the fire and nothing else mattered when they were burning together.’ She smoothed her gown over her knees. ‘My mother was very different, but that is often the case. The children either become like their parents or else they flee in the opposite direction. My mother was a gentle soul who had no desire to flaunt herself before others. I am both of them and neither. Your uncle John is exactly like his father.’

She closed her eyes again and almost instantly fell asleep.

It was dusk by the time they arrived at the small walled town of Mirebeau, and despite having slept for much of the journey, Alienor
was still tired. She decided to stay a day to recover and then move on to Poitiers. Age constricted the world to what could be done with a weak flame and a candle stub. Once she could have ridden astride like a man for more than thirty miles and still been ready to dance and politic. Now all she wanted was some decent wine, a little food, and her bed.

Climbing to the top chamber at Mirebeau was an ordeal, but she forced herself to the task even though each step was agony to her hips and knees. Her reward was a well-appointed and airy room with a comfortable bed that the servants were already making up with her own mattresses, sheets and coverlet.

She took a light meal with Richenza and then retired, but left the bed curtains open and the shutters too, so that she could observe the deep blue bowl of the night. There was a tinge of murky purple to the clouds, and occasional flashes of dry lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Storms had never bothered her. She enjoyed their wild spectacle providing she was safe behind walls.

At the other end of the room Richard and Richenza were talking softly as they played chess. The sound of their laughter and easy camaraderie was comforting and made her feel secure.

She was only vaguely aware of Richenza coming to bed later. The storm had brought rain, but the direction meant that it was not blowing into the chamber, and its steady sound was soothing. Feeling the soft brush of Richenza’s lips on her cheek, she murmured a sleepy response and turned over.

Once more the darkness took her down. She wanted to dream of Richard as a baby, a boy and then a grown man in all of his beauty; she wanted to dream of being young, vivacious and unfettered; but there was only darkness with faint ripples on the surface. Not unpleasant, she could float in comfort, but it was heavy and thick.

She woke in the morning to the pain of stiff joints, a dry mouth, and the bleariness of too heavy a slumber; it was an effort to sit up in bed and call for a drink. Belbel was swiftly
at her side to provide the necessities, see to her dress and comb and braid her thin white hair.

‘Where is Richenza?’ Alienor looked round as she left the bed and walked stiffly into the main chamber.

‘She went out a few moments ago, madam. Messire Richard summoned her, but I know not why.’

Alienor sipped her watered wine and went to the window. The air smelled fresh and green after the storm and the sky was forget-me-not blue. A day that once would have sent her running down the stairs in search of adventure.

A servant entered the room bearing fresh new bread and a crock of honey, and Alienor’s senses began to stir and move away from the darkness. She was attending to her meal when Richenza and Richard returned.

‘Ha, you scented the new bread!’ Alienor said with a laugh, but grew serious as she saw their faces.

‘Grandmère, there is an army approaching led by Arthur of Brittany,’ Richard said. ‘They are crying the warning in the town. Several hundred strong coming along the road from Tours.’ He swallowed. ‘The walls are not strong enough to hold them.’

His words jolted Alienor’s senses into full awareness. ‘He is clearly not paying a social visit to his old grandmother. Send the seneschal to me and secure the gates.’ She had known she was vulnerable. In Poitiers she was safe, but en route she was a tempting target. She turned to Richard. ‘Take the fastest, freshest horse in the stables and ride to the King. Tell him as he values Aquitaine, he must come to me as fast as he can.’

Richard shook his head and puffed up with indignation. ‘I cannot leave you, Grandmère, it would be desertion and cowardice!’

‘No it would not,’ Alienor snapped, her candle burning high now. ‘Do as I say and abandon your foolish notions of chivalry. If you do not reach your father and he does not come, what do you think will happen? There are others here
who can better defend me. Make haste – already you have no time.’

Richard’s ears reddened at her rebuke, but he rose to the occasion and with a swift nod strode to the coffer and snatched his cloak off the top. He fumbled to gird on his sword and dagger and Richenza hurried to help him.

‘Take bread,’ Alienor ordered, and tied her breakfast loaf into the cloth on which it had been served. Belbel grabbed a leather bottle from a hook in the wall and filled it from the flagon of watered wine.

Alienor removed her favourite, distinctive topaz ring from her middle finger and presented it to him. ‘Give this to your father. He will know what it means.’

Richard slipped the ring onto a cord around his neck, knelt to receive her kiss of blessing, and was gone at a run.

At least now her grandsons would not be fighting each other, Alienor thought, and Richard was the best person to send anyway.

‘It will not be the first time someone has tried to capture me,’ Alienor told Richenza who was biting her lip. ‘I became wife to Louis of France because my father died and they dared not leave me unwed. Your grandfather’s own brother tried to abduct me when my marriage to Louis was annulled and then William the Marshal saved me from ambush by the Lusignans more than thirty years ago.’ She laughed with angry amusement. ‘Time and again I have known how powerful I am just by the efforts made to seize and imprison me, although I must admit I never thought I would be facing siege from my own grandson.’

‘What will happen if Arthur captures us?’

Alienor picked up her cup again and sent Belbel for more bread. ‘That I do not know. Indeed I would say I do not care, but it affronts me that a youth of his years should have the disrespect to besiege his aged grandmother, no matter who is influencing him. He wants me to yield him Aquitaine, but hell will freeze over first.’

‘I
do not want to frighten you, Grandmère, but what if you die in his care and he claims you have ceded Aquitaine to him?’

Alienor pursed her lips, deepening the spider lines surrounding them. ‘No one will believe him except Philippe of France. However, I have no intention of falling into his hands. Help will come.’

‘But—’

‘Enough!’ She drew herself up, becoming a queen, filled with regnal power and ready to fight to the death. ‘I will hear no more, do you understand me?’

Tears shone in Richenza’s eyes, but she set her jaw. ‘Yes, Grandmère, I do.’