To Be Queen (28 page)

He reached out, and took my hand.

I felt the heat of his palm on mine, warm and sheltering, as if I had stood on a plain of ice all my life and had just come in from the cold. Then the moment shifted, and he stepped back, and away from me. I could breathe again, and the sense of being stalked by fate receded.

Louis noticed nothing amiss, but took my hand in his to lead me up the high road, into the palace at the top of the hill.

The palace gleamed white. Once inside the cool of its thick stone walls, I saw that while the outer reaches of the castle were Norman in design, for strength and for defense, the interior was Eastern. The walls were lined with marbles of every hue, and the ceilings were of whitewashed plaster held in place above our heads with strong beams of cedar. Indoor fountains sounded in every public room, and when we reached the ramparts, in the far distance I could see the blue of the sea.

All the servants in that house had the look of Saracens, but here the women did not go veiled as they had in Constantinople. They met my eyes before bowing low to me, and I saw that Raymond and his men treated these people not as conquered chattel but as human beings. As I passed into my rooms, one small boy ran to us with clean water in a silver bowl. He bowed, and offered the bowl first to me, then to Louis, that we might wash our hands. I saw that this was a ceremonial cleansing only, one to signify that we had passed into the private rooms of the house, and that we were welcome there.

I sent the boy on his way, and Amaria handed him a piece of silver for his pains. Louis seemed dazed by all he had seen, pale beneath the red of his sunburn. He kissed my hand and left me at the door to my room, and Raymond left with him.

I stood in dumbfounded silence as my women moved about me, setting up my things in the borrowed rooms. They were not as fine as the rooms the empress had lent me, but where there had been gilt and marble in Constantinople, here there were great windows that opened onto a view of the hills outside the city walls.

A garden lay beyond a latticed door, with fruit trees bearing dates and figs, and soft flowers giving their perfume. It was in that garden that I first saw a Persian rose. I sat among those flowers for a full hour as my women made my rooms ready.

They took me into the bathing chamber that led off my sleeping quarters, and the tub there was large, if not as deep or as wide as the one in Constantinople. The water was scented with rose attar, so that the scent of the garden followed me into the bath, and perfumed my hair. I lingered in the water overlong, and found I could not bring myself to leave my rooms, even when the time for dinner came. I sent word to Louis that I was unwell, that the sun had blinded me, making my head ache. Louis sent back a basket of figs, and a flagon of sweet wine. He was kind to me always, though the divide between us was wide since the massacre.

I ate nothing and drank not even a sip of the wine. A torpor had come over me, but I was too restless to sleep. Amaria sent my women away, and they went to sup with Louis and the king's men, off to flirt and seduce as they might. I stayed abovestairs, and kept my doors locked.

Amaria knew me well, almost as well as I knew myself, but she had never seen this mood come upon me. Neither had I.

I sat outside in the walled garden and listened to the wind from the distant sea. I could smell the salt on the air even as the sunlight faded, and the moon rose, casting milky light and shadow over the roses. Amaria knew I needed to be left in peace, though she did not know why. She let me sit without her in the garden, my thoughts my only company.

I was alone when he came to me.

He stepped out of the shadows like a phantom, or an assassin, though I knew from the first that he was neither. He said nothing, but sat down beside me, careful to keep a distance between us on the marble bench.

He did not speak, and neither did I. After the first moment, my heart began to calm its frantic pace, and the silence rose from the ground around us, unbroken but for the sound of the wind.

“If I believed in God, I would say He has a sense of humor. Would you not agree, Alienor?”

He spoke my name from the first with the lilt of our homeland, in our own tongue. I savored the sound of it.

The moon was rising over the fig and almond trees. The scent of roses still clung to the warm air, and to my skin. I heard him draw a deep breath, and knew he was taking in the scent of the rose oil in my hair.

I did not meet his eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt shy with a man beside me.

“I would agree, Uncle. God would have a sense of humor. But He does not exist.”

We sat in silence for a long moment before he spoke. “Never call me that again.”

“No,” I said. “I will not.”

He reached out then, and took my hand. It was a simple gesture, and a natural one, fed not by lust or by fire but by the need to be known. By the need to acknowledge that we had both been alone for many years, until we laid eyes on each other. We could not speak of it, then or ever, so we did not. I saw that, like me, he was a man raised to necessity. He, too, saw the world as it was. He, too, had been forced to remake his world many times over, as I had when I married Louis, as I would again, when I forced Louis to set me free.

I knew with utter certainty that I could not stay married to Louis any longer.

“I thought to speak of politics with you before I saw your face,” he said. “I thought to sway you to support me against the kingdom of Edessa, where the Saracens have taken the city from my friend.”

“I will do all that,” I said. “I will support you with Louis, and with anyone else.”

“I know.”

“So we need not discuss it further.”

“Not tonight.”

He still held my hand. “Did you like the figs I sent you, and the wine?”

“I thought Louis sent them,” I said.

“No,” Raymond answered. “They are my wife's favorites.”

“Ah.”

“Yes,” he said. “We are both bound to another. But you already know that.”

“I will soon be free,” I said.

I spoke for the first time in my life without fear of who might hear me. It was as if, with him beside me, nothing could ever touch me, nor harm me, nor make me less than whole. I was Alienor of Aquitaine.

Raymond kissed my hand, and his lips were like a brand on my skin. But their heat did not burn me. I did not pull away.

“I will never be free,” he said.

“I know that, too.”

I turned and met his eyes for the first time that night. He saw me smile. In the moonlight, he was as fair as I was.

“We both accept the world as it is,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I would not want to live in any other.”

His smile answered mine. The sight of it warmed my heart, even as it broke it.

“Nor would I.”

He stood, and I stood with him. He kissed me once, carefully, his lips closed over mine. I did not kiss him back, but stood still; if I moved to meet him, neither of us could stop what happened next. So I would stop it, by never beginning.

We were both short of breath as he stepped away. He did not want to let go of my hand. I watched him struggle; I saw once more that, like me, he was a man of discipline. Otherwise, he would never have been king.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he said.

“Until tomorrow.”

He melted once more into shadow. I never knew what door he used to come to me, for I never saw it.

I went to bed that night, but I did not sleep, nor did I feel the need of it. Amaria lay heavy, snoring beside me, but I could not hear her. I could hear only the wind as I breathed in the scent of roses that still clung to my hair.

The next morning, I sent a coded message to Stefan in Rome. I had made up my mind, and I would have my will. I would ask not just for the annulment to sanctify Petra's marriage. I would ask for the annulment of my marriage to the King of France.

Of course, all this must be secret. I must be careful as I made the moves on the chessboard of my life, the moves that would one day set me free. My bribes to the Holy Father in Rome and to his bishops would have to be kept buried in the dark. Louis and his Parisians could not hear of it until I was ready for them to know it. For a woman to set herself free from a king had never been done. Many kings had set their wives aside, and many would again, but never before had a queen set herself free from her husband because she desired it. I would be the first.

Raymond came to me early with a retinue in tow. He brought both Louis' men and my women, and sent word beforehand that he would call on me in my garden. So we sat on the same bench, but this time in sunlight, with our countless chaperones ranged around us. My husband was not one of them.

Raymond heard my question before I spoke it. “His Majesty King Louis has gone to visit a shrine outside the city. He sends his warmest regards, and asks that I look after your welfare while he is away.”

“And how long will he be gone?”

“Until sunset. He must be back by then. I have told him so. I can only hope that he will heed me.”

“Sunset? Is that the witching hour?”

Raymond smiled, and I saw a hint of his true self behind his eyes. But it was the courtier who answered me.

“No, my lady queen. That is the hour when the Saracens are on the move. Sunset, and just after dawn.”

“But surely we are safe from them here,” I answered. I did not smile, and I kept the irony from my voice. “This is a Christian kingdom.”

I saw the amusement in Raymond's eyes, though his face was grave. “It is, lady. We fight hard to keep it so. But the roads are dangerous. I would not leave the keep past sunset.”

“And what of before? Might we not ride out on a hunt?”

I had been in the saddle for so long that staying indoors made me feel trapped. This was true even in the beautiful garden Raymond had given me. I still had not met his wife.

“I would not take a woman hunting here. The larder is full. It will suffice. It is too dangerous to ride out. I would not be able to vouch for your safety.”

I saw at once that he meant it. I let the matter drop.

“So perhaps we will stay indoors and play a game of chess, if your schedule permits,” I said.

Raymond, Prince of Antioch, had many places to be, and many things to do other than hold court with me. I saw that he would do none of those things until Louis and I had set out on the road once more. He would stay with me, and I with him, for whatever time was left to us.

It would not be much, but we would savor what we could.

So we sat all that day, whiling away the hours as Louis prayed. We played game upon game of chess on the lapis and ebony set my husband had given me.

It was not long before our chaperones began to wander off, first to look at the rest of the garden, then to find amusement elsewhere. While chess interested us, and a few of Raymond's men, for my husbands' courtiers it held no power.

Amaria asked leave for my women to go, and I granted it, as long as they stayed in the keep. If they left it, they must take an armed escort with them. The city bazaar called to them, for they had gold to spend. Here in the East, there was much to spend it on.

I asked Amaria to fetch me a bolt of deep blue silk, and a silver belt, if one was to be had. She curtsied, something she never did when we were alone, and went to do my bidding.

So Raymond and I sat among the flowering trees, and played yet one more game of chess on the set from Byzantium.

“I have sent a man to Rome,” he said. “He left last night, after we spoke.”

“Indeed.” I raised one brow. “And why would you do this? Did you feel a sudden surge of piety? You might have sent a man to Jerusalem instead, and saved yourself a great deal of expense.”

Raymond smiled at me, and I was reminded that we were alone. “I did not send the man with prayers, but with gold. And I did not send him for myself. I sent him for you.”

The wind in the trees whispered to me, but I could not understand its language. I raised my head from the board in front of us and met his eyes. He was staring at my face as if he would drink it in.

“You take a liberty,” I said.

“I do what must be done. My man will speak with the bishops there about dissolving your marriage, and setting you free.”

I am not sure why, but his high-handedness did not anger me, as it would have from any other man. It made me want him more. The connection between us had blossomed in the night, and now simply sitting alone with him filled me with desire. That day, Raymond had not once so much as touched my hand.

“I have a man in Rome already,” I said.

The light of the late-afternoon sun caught his hair, making it gleam russet and gold. The blue of his eyes reached out and cradled me, as if I were defenseless and needed his protection, all the while acknowledging to both of us that I was not and never would be. Raymond accepted what I was, and who, as no other man ever had, save my father before him.