To Be Queen (33 page)

“You would go to a nunnery, then, and leave your lands to France?”

I stood, my eyes blazing. All my father had taught me of hiding my true feelings while bargaining was gone like so much smoke.

“Never,” I said. “Never, so long as I draw breath.”

We stood facing each other like two enemies across a shield. I heard a bird singing somewhere in a hedge close by, and the wind in the tall fig trees, whispering above our heads. I stared Eugenius down. It was he who looked away first.

“Very well, then. You want to be free to return to Aquitaine as duchess in your own right.”

“My right of birth,” I said, “as my marriage contract states.”

“Of course, of course.” Eugenius spoke to soothe me, but I did not sit again. When he saw my strength, unsheathed before him, he let his own attempt at pretense go.

“Very well, Lady Alienor. I will consider your position. But please remember that I must consider your husband's position as well, and that of all of Christendom.”

“You have much under your hand,” I said.

Eugenius met my eyes, and for a moment, I thought I had made an enemy. But then the gleam of appreciation came into his gaze, and I saw that he admired not just my form and beauty but my mind.

“And if you are set free of this marriage, would you take counsel before bringing your next husband to your bed?”

“You mean to say, will I allow the Holy See to choose him?”

Eugenius did not speak but smiled, and bowed his head.

I smiled in answer, for I was closer to a victory than I had hoped. I knelt before him, my light veil showing the bronze of my red gold hair. I bent my head as if in prayer, knowing what a beautiful picture I made. What man can resist a kneeling woman?

“Let it be with me as God has wrought,” I said.

For a long moment, there was nothing between us but birdsong and silence. Then, deep from Eugenius' chest rose a laugh that warmed my insides, curling my woman's parts with fire. The strength behind that laugh called to me. I was not dead yet.

That knowledge buoyed me as nothing else had in months. Still I kept my eyes down, my head bent, and let him take me in.

Eugenius offered his hand, his laughter done. He raised me to my feet. He met my eyes, and I saw his laughter still gleaming there. My blasphemy in quoting the Virgin Mary at the Annunciation had not offended him. I could not see what lay behind the doorway to his mind, but I knew he was no true child of the Church, as I was not.

“Perhaps God will send a Shepherd to lead you in your time of need,” Eugenius said.

I smiled at him, my hand in his. “But, Your Holiness, He has sent me you.”

I waited in yet another garden while Louis met with Eugenius alone. Brother Francis, who clearly had thought to go in with the king, was left outside in the cloister garden with me.

I sat, fingering my rosary as if in prayer. Francis glowered, his hatred for me barely concealed beneath his anger at not being taken into the papal presence with Louis. I remembered well the night in Sicily when Brother Francis told me of my lover's death in front of all the company, and how he had gloated over my pain. I smiled at Louis' confessor, pleased with his discomfort at being left outside with me.

After my meeting with Eugenius, I was certain that the pope's time alone with Louis would not be long. But as afternoon began to fade toward evening, torches were brought out to the garden. Eugenius' steward came to find me and, on bended knee, offered to take me inside for some refreshment. Louis still had not emerged.

I broke my fast with a little bread and cheese, my eye turned all the while toward the inner door. Francis did not eat, nor did Amaria. They both kept watch, like two dogs eyeing each other over a coveted bone. In this case, I was that meaty morsel. I laughed out loud at that thought, and Eugenius' steward came back.

“His Holiness asks that you take mass with him in his chapel.”

With a long look to Amaria to acknowledge this delaying tactic, I followed Eugenius' man deep into the bowels of his palace. The chapel was small, clearly one meant for His Holiness' private use. When I arrived, Francis was left outside the door, so that when I emerged into the candlelight within, I stood with only Amaria, Louis, and Eugenius himself.

“And will you celebrate mass?” I asked the pope. “You honor us.”

Louis came to my side and took my hand, guiding me toward the altar. Even then, I did not smell a rat, though one lay dead and rotting at my feet.

I met Eugenius' eyes, but he was the jocund conspirator no longer. Behind me, Francis stepped into the room from the shadows of the corridor. I saw that the lowly brother had dressed from head to foot in a robe of cloth of gold that almost matched my own in quality. The pope himself wore ermine with his papal robes, and on his head rested his papal crown.

“We come together to unite once more in the bond of matrimony these sons of the Church, Louis, King of France, and Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. I raise my hand and bless you both, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May your marriage be fruitful. May, as God commanded, you multiply, and fill the earth.”

Even two years ago, I would have been grateful for a full nursery, never mind a full earth. But that night, I heard the death knell of my hopes in Eugenius' voice. Louis had swayed him. For whatever reason, Eugenius had decided to support our marriage, and to leave me and my freedom in the dust.

I felt the floor slide out from under me, but Amaria was there to catch my arm, and hold me up. I drew strength from the dark blue of her eyes. She smiled at me, her dour countenance wreathed with light, and I remembered myself. I had lost the battle, but I would win the war.

Eugenius led us himself to his own bedchamber adjacent to his private chapel. His room was dressed in cloth of gold, as I was. Gilded tapestries depicting the life of Christ covered his walls, gleaming in the lamplight. A bright gold tympanum stood over the curved softness of his bed. The bedclothes were turned back, and I wondered for a moment if he had thought to have me there himself, before falling to Louis' fervor. No matter. I would live as I had been born to. I would take this day as it came.

There was no irony in Eugenius' voice as he stood next to his own bed, blessing the sheets with holy water, laying his hands over mine and Louis', joined in benediction.

His Holiness did not look at me, but left the room. Amaria followed him, though I knew she wanted to stay, at least long enough to help me take down my hair.

It was Brother Francis who left last. After a few murmured words to Louis, my enemy strode from the room as if he owned it, stopping only at the door to look back and smile on me in triumph. Like all who journeyed with us, Francis knew that I had asked the pope for an annulment. No doubt he thought that since I had been denied what I wanted, I would now become a biddable, obedient wife. It was clear from the look on his face that Francis was certain that I would give up all hope of freedom, and that the Aquitaine would stay safe in Parisian hands. Clearly, my enemy did not know me.

Finally, my husband and I stood alone in all our finery, the pope's words ringing in our ears.

“I will bed you, Eleanor. His Holiness has taken away the sin of it. He will pray for us, that we might have a son.”

I turned from Louis and drew the crown of France from my head. I laid it on a table that stood between two braziers. I began to undress in the firelight.

Louis did not move, but watched me as I drew off first my veil, then my cloak, then my belt and overdress, until I reached the fine soft linen of my shift.

I began to take down my hair from its elaborate braids. The strands of pearls and diamonds laced through them I set on the table next to my discarded crown. Louis still did not move to undress himself, but watched me, as a snake watches its charmer.

My bronze hair fell past my shoulders almost to my waist. It would have covered me, but I had no need to hide. As always, I would do what must be done. One night would not mean pregnancy. I told myself this as I stepped forward, and took Louis' hand in mine.

“Husband,” I said. “Shall I help you with your sword?”

He did not react to this double entendre as I had intended, nor did he laugh at the irony of it, for he heard none. Instead, he took his hand from mine and drew his sword belt off, and then his gown, followed by his shirt, until he stood in nothing but his garters and his shoes. I knelt before him then, and untied those. Louis caught his breath, to see me kneeling at his feet. I had never yet met a man not moved by the sight of a woman brought so low.

I meant to speed the progress of this night's affairs, so that Louis might turn to his prayers and I might get a little sleep. So once Louis stepped out of his shoes, I rose and drew my shift from my body in one smooth motion. I might be seven and twenty, but I had borne only one child. I was still beautiful, my breasts high and full, my belly a slight curve at my waist, beckoning a man's eyes lower.

Louis drank me in, as if I were water in a desert. Very gently, he touched my face. I was strong, but I knew I could not abide tenderness from him. Not this night. Not ever again.

So I took his hand from my cheek and drew him down with me onto the pope's borrowed bed. The tympanum above our heads swayed with Louis' motion. I took to looking at it as Louis moved inside me. We had been long apart, and Louis had had no other woman, so it was over quickly.

When he had done, he lay down, his arm slung across my waist, like a band of iron. Louis did not fall to praying as I thought he might, but went at once to sleep. So I was left alone with my thoughts, my husband beside me, the false tympanum of papal power above our heads. I watched as the firelight climbed that gilded silk long into the night. Though all was quiet now, I did not sleep. I simply lay still, as if waiting for Raymond to come for me.

I knew he would not. Even had he lived, Raymond could not have helped me. I must help myself.

I had been strong enough to make myself queen. Whatever this pope's leanings, I knew also that I was strong enough to set myself free.

We stayed near Rome at the pontiff's villa for a few days more before setting off overland for Paris. My stomach roiled and heaved as we set out by litter. I could not face another sea voyage. It was autumn, not the best time to travel over the mountains of Italy, but I wanted to be gone from that place. Louis indulged me in this. He also stayed away from my bed.

It seemed, however, that the damage had been done. The pope's blessing had some effect, and our night under the papal tympanum. By the time we reached Paris, I knew I was once again with child.

Alix, my second living daughter, was born on a warm day in June in the year 1150. She was small, her blue eyes closed in tiny slits against the light. I kissed her forehead, and handed her at once to her nurse. I named her for my own beloved nurse, the woman who had stood as mother to me in place of my own. My Alix had died that winter, just after my return from Rome. Since little Alix was a girl, Louis did not care who I named her for.

Marie was brought in to me. She looked down upon her little sister, then kissed my cheek. I gazed into her sweet face, hoping to see some semblance of myself, or of my father, but there was nothing. She was Louis all the way down to the heart of her, even to her soft golden hair.

 

 

LOUIS TOOK THREE MASSES A DAY, PRAYING FOR THE KINGDOM, and stayed away from my bed. I left him to stew in the pot of his own folly, until the feast of Christ's Mass ended. In the early days of January in the year 1151, when the Yule log had burned out, I went to Louis' rooms once more to broach the subject of an annulment. But before I could speak, he wrapped me in furs and brought me down to the castle bailey without saying a word. His face was pale as he handed me into a litter. He stayed silent as we rode to the cathedral of St.-Denis. Louis was taking me to see Abbot Suger.