Читать книгу Devil's Consort - Anne O'Brien - Страница 12

WHAT a welcome we received as we rode into the city of Poitiers, making our way towards the Maubergeonne Tower, grandmother Philippa’s tower, the home I loved the most. There was not the slightest hint of the rebellion that troubled the Abbot’s mind. The streets echoed to the cries of joy of my people so that even Louis was forced to smile and wave at their overt approval. And the crowds responded, urged on by Abbot Suger’s largesse. I saw the coin passed from the bound chests in the baggage-wains to the hands of the greedy populace, even if Louis did not. Louis accepted the acclamation as his right. And why should he not? When his face was filled with happiness and he was clad in mail astride a high-blooded destrier as had been arranged for this entry, he was superbly striking, a prince that they could take to their hearts.

Hope surged within me. This night would see the fulfilment of my marriage.

I was bathed and stripped by my women and took to the soft canopied bed in my own bedchamber. Nervously, expectantly, I waited. A soft knocking at the door. It was pushed open and there, at last, was Louis, under escort from Abbot Suger but otherwise alone. Well, this would be no riotous bedding ceremony with coarse jokes and bold innuendo, and I was not sorry. But it seemed to me that Louis looked as if he was under guard to prevent a precipitate flight. His expression was mutinous.

‘It is time, my lord,’ the Abbot murmured. ‘It is your duty to the lady. This marriage must be consummated.’

‘Yes.’ Louis, wrapped about in a furred brocade chamber robe, stood, hands fisted at his sides, face sullen like a child caught out in some misdemeanour.

‘Perhaps if you joined your bride in the bed, my lord …? Now, my lord!’

It might have been a request but Suger’s face was implacable.

Allowing the robe to fall to the floor, Louis stalked across the room. I was impressed. He stripped well, as I had thought he would, revealing broad shoulders and slender hips. The ascetic life had suited him. Lean, smooth, good to look at, he was well made—but obviously not aroused.

That could surely be rectified. My nurse, left behind in Bordeaux, had been explicit in what was expected of me. I had not been raised to be timid with thoughts of the flesh.

At a further impatient gesture from the Abbot, Louis slid between the sheets and leaned back against the pillows beside me, his arms folded across his chest. Making every effort not to brush against me, leaving a chilly space between us from shoulder to foot, he sighed loudly. Was it resignation? Distaste? I think he sensed the sudden leap of trepidation in my blood because he turned his head to look at me. With another little sigh, more a controlled exhalation, I saw his body relax. His smile was warm, reassuring. No, I had no need to be anxious after all.

‘My lord,’ the Abbot intoned, wasting no time. ‘My lady. God bless your union. May you be fruitful. May an heir for France come from your loins this night, my lord.’

From his capacious garments he produced a flask of holy water and proceeded to sprinkle us and the bed with a symbol of God’s presence. With a brisk nod in Louis’s direction, he looked as if he might be prepared to stay to see the deed done. We were not an ordinary couple, to order their lives to their own wishes: our marriage must be consummated before the law.

Such a necessity proved not to be to my husband’s taste. Louis scowled.

‘We’ll do well enough without your presence, sir.’

‘It is a matter of witnesses, my lord …’

‘God will be witness to what passes between myself and my wife.’

‘His Majesty, your father, will—’

‘His Majesty is not here to express his desires. It is my wish that you leave us.’

Well! Louis’s decisiveness impressed me. Abbot Suger bowed himself from the room, leaving us sitting naked, side by side. The room was still, the only sound the soft hush as ash fell from the logs in the fireplace. I sat unmoving. My husband would take the initiative, would he not?

Louis slid from the bed.

‘Where are you going?’ I demanded when I found my scattered wits.

Without replying, shrugging into his robe again, Louis crossed the room and knelt at my prie-dieu, clasped his hands and bent his fair head in prayer, murmuring the familiar words with increasing fervour so that they filled the room.

Ave Marie. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of Grace, pray for us now

And in the hour of our death. Amen.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou.

On and on it went. Should I join him on my knees, to pray with him? But he had not invited me, neither did I think it appropriate when this occasion demanded a physical rather than spiritual response. I clawed my fingers into the linen. I’d wager Dangerosa and my grandfather did not begin their reprehensible relationship on their knees before a crucifix.

‘Hail Mary.’

‘Louis!’ I said, cautiously. Should I disturb him in his prayers?

‘Blessed art thou among women …’

‘Louis!’ I raised my voice to an unmaidenly pitch.

Unhurriedly, Louis completed the Ave, rose, genuflected, and returned to the bed, where he once more removed his robe and slid between the sheets, but bringing with him my little Book of Hours that he proceeded to open, turning the pages slowly from one illuminated text to the next.

‘This is a very beautiful book,’ he observed.

I was tempted to snatch it from him and hurl it across the room.

Instead, I said, ‘Louis—did you not wish to marry me?’

‘Of course. My father wished it. It is an important marriage to make our alliance between France and Aquitaine. The Scriptures say it is better for a man to marry than to burn.’

I did not think, on evidence, that Louis burned.

‘But do you not want me?’

‘You are beautiful.’

So was my Book of Hours! ‘Then tell me, Louis.’ Perhaps he was simply shy. Was that it? A boy brought up by monks might be reserved and indecisive in the company of a woman who was naked and expecting some degree of intimacy. I would encourage him. ‘Tell me why you think I am beautiful. A woman always likes to know.’

‘If you wish.’ He did not close the book, keeping one finger in the page, but now he looked at me. ‘Your hair is … the russet of a dog fox. Look how it curls around my fingers.’ He touched my hair. ‘And your eyes …’ he peered into them ‘ … green.’ Lord, Louis was no poet. My troubadours would mock his lack of skill. ‘Your skin … pale and smooth. Your hands so elegant and soft but so capable—you controlled your horse as well as any man. Your shoulders …’ His fingers skimmed them thoughtfully, until he snatched them away as if they were scorched.

‘Look,’ he said suddenly, urgently. ‘Here.’ He lifted the Book of Hours so that I might see and thumbed through the pages until he came to the illustration he sought, the coloured inks vibrant. ‘Here’s an angel with your exact colouring. Is that not beautiful?’

‘Well, yes …’ It was beautiful, but unreal, with its painted features and heavy with gold leaf. Did he see me as a gilded icon? I was a woman of flesh and blood.

‘What about my lips?’ I asked. Daring, certainly forward, but why not? Once my troubadour Bernart had compared them to an opening rose, pink and perfectly petalled.

‘Sweet …’

I despaired. ‘You could kiss them.’

‘I would like to.’ Louis leaned forward and placed his lips softly on mine. Fleetingly.

‘Did you like that?’ I asked as he drew away.

His smile was totally disarming. ‘Yes.’

I placed my hand on his chest—his heart beat slow and steady—and leaned to kiss him of my own volition. Louis allowed it but did not respond. He was still smiling at the end. As a child might smile when given a piece of sugared marchpane.

‘I enjoyed it too,’ I said, desperation keen. Did he not know what to do? Surely someone would have seen to his education. He might not have been raised to know the coarse jokes and explicit reminiscences that to my experience men indulged in but surely …

‘I think we shall be happy together,’ he murmured.

‘Would you like to hold me in your arms?’

‘Very much. Shall we sleep now? It’s late and you must be weary.’

‘I thought that …’ What to say? Louis’s eyes were wide and charmingly friendly. ‘Will the Abbot not wish for proof of our union—the sheets …?’ I wouldn’t mince words. ‘The linen should be stained to prove my virginity and your ability to claim it.’

And saw the return of the initial stubbornness as his brows flattened into a line. His reply had a gentle dignity. A complete assurance. ‘The Abbot will get his proof. When I wish it.’

‘But, Louis … My women—they will mock.’

‘I care not. Neither should you. It is not their concern.’

‘They will say you have found me wanting. Or—’ even worse ‘—that I was no virgin.’

‘Then they will be wrong. I have never met a woman who has touched my heart as you have. And I know you are innocent. There now, don’t be upset. Come here …’

Abandoning the book, Louis folded me into his arms—as if he were a brother comforting a distressed sister. His manhood did not stir against my thigh despite his appreciation of me. Should I touch him? I may not have had the practice but I knew the method.

But I couldn’t do it. I dared not touch him so intimately. In the presence of God and the Book of Hours and Louis’s strange sanctity, I just could not do it.

When Louis released me to blow out the candle and we lay side by side like carved effigies on a tomb, I was mortified. My marriage was no marriage at all. I knew that Louis slept, as calmly composed as that same effigy, his hands folded on his breast as if still summoning God to take note of his prayers. When I turned my head to look at him, his face was serene and completely unaware of the disillusion that I suffered.

Eventually I slept. When I awoke with daylight, he was gone, the Book of Hours carefully positioned on the empty pillow at my side, the page open to the gilded angel. The linen of my bed was entirely unmarked. There were no bloody sheets to testify to my husband’s duty towards me or even his desire.

Well, I could have faked it, couldn’t I? A quick stab to my finger with my embroidery needle—but I did not. It had not been my choice and Louis must answer for his own lack. Faced with the Abbot’s gentle enquiry the following morning, I was haughty. I was defiant but icily controlled.

‘If you wish to know what passed between us in the privacy of our bed, you must ask the Prince,’ I informed him.

I silenced my women with a blank stare and a demand that I would break my fast as soon as they could arrange it. Perhaps now rather than in their own good time. I would not show my humiliation but coated it in a hard shell, as my cook in Bordeaux might enclose the softness of an almond in sugar. As for Aelith’s obvious concern, I shut her out. I could not speak of what had not occurred, even to her. If I had, I think I might have wept.

What passed between the Abbot and the Prince I had no idea.

In a bid to impress my subjects, Abbot Suger himself, in the glory of the great cathedral, placed the golden coronets to proclaim us Count and Countess of Poitiers. Louis accepted his new dignity with an unfortunate show of shy diffidence, whereas I spent the ceremony taking note of those who bent the knee and bared their necks in subservience, and making an even more careful accounting of those who did not.

Such as William de Lezay, my own castellan of Talmot, my hunting lodge. So personal a servant to me, he should have been first in line. He was not. Always an audacious knight with an eye to his own promotion, he sent me an insolently verbal message by one of his knights, who trembled as he repeated it. He had a right to tremble. I considered consigning him to a dungeon for a week for his weasel words—except that the sin was not his. One does not punish the messenger, my father had taught me. It only increases the trouble tenfold.

De Lezay was unable to attend my coronation: there were too many demands on his time. He informed me that such a ceremony was not to his taste, to acknowledge a Frank as his overlord. Such dislike of all things Frankish even overrode his sincere allegiance to me, with my pure and undisputed Aquitaine blood. I almost spat my disgust at the sly insincerity. With careful questioning, I discovered that the man had recently increased the number of troops at Talmont and was preparing for siege conditions.

So he had taken my castle for himself, had he?

He would hold it in the face of my objection, would he?

My temper began to simmer. That he should dare to inform me so blatantly of his defection. But that was not the worst of it. De Lezay’s messenger, remarkably straight-faced, handed over a small flat leather packet. And within it as I tore it open? A handful of white wing feathers, beautifully barred and speckled with grey and black, fluttered to the floor.

By God! I knew the original owners of those magnificent feathers. The simmer of temper bubbled and overflowed. The sheer insolence of the gesture! The birds were mine! My rare white gerfalcons, a gift from my father, kept and bred for my own use. Not fit for the wrist of a commoner such as William de Lezay.

‘God rot his soul in hell!’

The messenger trembled.

‘May he burn in everlasting fires!’ My voice was close to shrill.

‘What is that?’ Louis enquired mildly, entering the antechamber as my rage reached its zenith. He gestured to the knight to rise to his feet. ‘What has this man said to disturb you?’

‘News of de Lezay.’ I could barely force the words out. ‘My own castellan at Talmont. He has stolen my birds. And my hunting lodge. And—before God!—has the audacity to inform me of it.’ I still did not know what hurt most, the lodge or the gerfalcons. ‘My castellan! My father’s chosen man!’

Louis’s features relaxed. ‘Is that all? Most have taken the oath. He’s the only one to refuse.’

All? Is that how he saw it? My temper did not abate. ‘One is one too many! And he thinks he can get away with it because I am a woman.’ I rounded on Louis. I stared at him.

Louis Capet, Prince of France. Looking capable and surprisingly efficient in wool and leather hunting clothes, a knife in his belt. I tilted my chin to appraise him. His hair gleamed beneath his felt cap. Today he looked like a knight capable of holding his own. And there it was. I might not lead a punitive force against my errant castellan, but. Of course! Louis would uphold my rights for me, because they were now his rights too.

Ah … but would he? I was not certain of Louis’s mettle. When Louis had suspected Angoulême of setting an ambush, he had been quick to hitch his tunic and flee. What price de Lezay keeping his low-born fingers latched onto my property? But I strode to Louis’s side and took his arm, tightening my fingers into the fine cloth. I was determined. Louis must not be allowed to run from this. He must be a warrior lord, not a fool to be ridiculed and despised.

‘What will you do about it?’ I demanded. ‘De Lezay defies you as much as he defies me. He usurps my power and yours. Let him get away with this and we’ll have an avalanche of insurrection on our hands. I can just imagine him with one of my—of our—priceless white raptors on his fist, laughing at us from the battlements of Talmont.’

Louis studied the floor at his feet. Then stared thoughtfully at the messenger for a moment, to the man’s discomfort. Finally he looked at me. ‘What would you have me do, Eleanor?’

‘Punish him for his temerity. Take back my property.’

‘You wish me to launch an attack against him.’

‘Yes.’

Louis blinked as if struck by this novel idea. ‘Then if it will please you, I will,’ he replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. ‘I would not have you distressed in any way.’ Astonished pleasure lit his face. ‘I will restore your birds to you. And your castle.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ I made my smile gracious to hide the flood of satisfaction, and reached up to kiss his cheek. I was not powerless in this marriage after all.

‘It will be my wedding gift to you—the restoration of your property …’

‘Ah, Louis. I knew you wouldn’t fail me.’

Before the end of the day Louis and a band of well-armed Frankish knights set out for Talmont to teach de Lezay a much-needed lesson. I watched them go, wishing that I had been born a man and so could ride out to protect my own, but accepting that I must be content with my triumph so far. Ready enough to respond to my promptings, perhaps I could yet magic a dominant, forceful man out of the sweet, shy trappings that made up this Prince of the Franks. A warrior out of a bookish man of thoughts and dreams rather than deeds. Perhaps I could, if I could get him into my bed to do more than praise my hair. The sight of him, face stern and beautiful, clad in chain mail with his royal tabard and glossy stallion, fired my hope.

‘Have you led an expedition before?’ I stood at his side as he prepared to mount.

‘No. It wasn’t considered a necessary part of my education at Saint-Denis. But I must start somewhere.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I dislike the idea of shedding blood.’ He squinted at the stallion tossing its head in impatience.

‘Even if it’s warranted?’ I gripped his hand to steady his nerve. ‘I know you’ll do the right thing. God go with you. I’ll pray for your safe return.’

‘I too have prayed,’ he replied solemnly.

A little tremor of worry unsettled me, but I thought there was no need. Louis was well enough armed and escorted. I could see nothing but victory for him. Surely they could put de Lezay in his place without bloodshed. As I stepped back from the melee of departing horsemen, I saw Abbot Suger watching us. He approached, bowed, but his eyes were on the departing figure of his Prince.

‘I hope the outcome will be as you wish, lady.’

‘Do you not approve, my lord?’

‘I do. It’s vital to the peace of the realm to put down any breath of treason at this early stage of your union. But the Prince is not always wise in his choices.’

‘He needs guidance,’ I replied coldly.

The cool eyes now turned on me. ‘As long as it’s wise and measured guidance. I advise you to have a care, lady.’

I bridled. ‘Is that a warning, my lord?’ My suspicion grew that the royal counsellor condescended to my intellect, believing me incapable of understanding the nuances of government. ‘As my husband’s wife, I will stand at his side. You must accept that. He is no longer the child under your jurisdiction at Saint-Denis.’

‘As long as you accept that I might not always allow you free rein, lady. On this occasion it is to our advantage, but it may be that in future …’

It was a challenge, issued and accepted on both sides. I learned in that one short exchange that Abbot Suger would stand against me, keep me from influencing Louis if he considered it best for the future of France. Was he my enemy? No, nothing so extreme. But a clever, astute man, with government at his fingertips, in his blood, the Abbot was not a man to underestimate.

Barely had the sky paled into dawn than I heard the noise and commotion of Louis’s return in the courtyard below the window of my chamber. Before I could do more than leap from my bed, pull on a chamber robe and lean to look down, Louis was bounding up the stairs, flinging back the door. Flushed with excitement, the energy still lay hot on him, whilst on his gauntleted fist sat a white gerfalcon, hooded but in a serious state of ruffled disturbance. The bells on its jesses rang as it lifted its wings and flapped wildly, uttering harsh cries.

‘I did it!’ Louis announced in the doorway.

‘Perhaps you should place the bird on the bed pole. For all our safety.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ He strode across the room to transfer the magnificent bird to the carved pole where it sat in a sullen hunch and rustle of feathers. Clad in leather jerkin and chausses, all heavily stained with sweat, Louis was jubilant, hair wild, eyes blazing. Stripping off his gauntlets, he swooped on me, gripping me by the shoulders. And then he transferred his hands to cup my cheeks, hold me still, and he kissed me full on my startled mouth. A hot, demanding, intemperate kiss that broke my lips against my teeth. He lifted his head.

‘Eleanor!’

And kissed me again.

‘I’ve brought your gerfalcons here for you. All of them.’

I felt an urge to laugh at the foolish extravagance of the gesture, but I could not spoil Louis’s pleasure. Neither did I have the breath to reply at length. The passion in him astonished me.

‘That’s wonderful,’ I managed.

I don’t think he heard me. His fingers dug into my flesh, hard enough to bruise. ‘I led the expedition. It was a glorious success. You’ll need a new castellan, Eleanor.’

‘What?’

‘A new castellan.’

H swung away to pace the room as if he could not contain the energy that victory had brought, brushing at the bed hangings with one hand, stroking the other down the feathers of the now quiescent hawk.

‘Is de Lezay dead, then?’

‘Yes. By God, he is. And deserved it. I’ve no regrets.’ The words spewed out, heated, excited. Uncontrolled. ‘It was so hot. And we were not careful. We took off our chain mail and sent it on ahead with our weapons on the baggage carts …’

Stupid! Louis must have read it in my astonished stare for he came to a stand in front of me again and tempered his voice.

‘It was very quiet—no danger, our scouts reported—but when we followed our baggage into Talmont, the first knights were taken prisoner. So we had to fight it out with the rebels.’ Suddenly the exhilaration snapped into furious temper. ‘No one will dare to stand against me in future. We killed them all. Including de Lezay.’

As quickly as it had appeared, his anger faded. The satisfaction drained from his face, leaving it set in strained lines as his thoughts turned inward.

‘Did you fight well, my lord?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I did.’ Eyes flashing back to mine, surprise gave him a tremulous smile. ‘It was so simple. A sword was thrust in my hand and I fought.’

‘And de Lezay?’

Louis blinked at me. ‘He was guilty. I chopped off his hands. The punishment for theft, you see.’ He looked down at his own, turning them over, as if he would see blood on them. I tried not to shudder at the thought of those palms so recently framing my face. ‘I ordered my men to hold him—arms outstretched. I lifted my sword and I struck …’ Louis looked as shocked as I. ‘I’ve never spilt blood before.’ He swallowed heavily. ‘But I did what was expected of me—I punished a disobedient vassal. The rest will toe the line now. My father will be proud of me.’ Again he searched my face as if the answer there was all-important. ‘Are you proud of me, Eleanor? Do you approve? I reclaimed your castle. Your falcons …’

I saw my chance since my praise mattered so much to him.

‘More proud than you could ever imagine,’ I soothed. ‘How could a wife not be proud of the husband who won back her lands and her possessions? And her pride. You’ll make a magnificent king, Louis—when the time comes, of course.’

‘I shall!’

He was flushed, his eyes bright. Raising a hand, I touched his cheek with my fingertips. Followed by my lips. His skin was hot, the scent pungent of man and horse and outdoor living. A heady mixture. Even the pallor of religious life had been overlaid by the effects of the sun. I transferred my lips to his mouth in experimentation, a soft, virginal kiss.

With a grunt of pleasure, Louis banded his arms around me, pulling me hard against him, without thought for the sweat and dust and the effect of their proximity to my silks. His blood ran as hot as his skin—I could all but feel it as he trembled against me. His kisses rained down on my face—lips, cheeks, temple—undoubtedly extravagant but disappointingly without finesse.

‘I want you, Eleanor,’ he croaked. ‘I love you.’

And he was pushing me back onto my bed, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, fumbling with the lacings of his chausses as he climbed beside me.

‘Wait, Louis …’ I tried.

But already he was dragging aside my robe and shift, parting my thighs with his knee, spreading himself over me with clumsy haste. At least he was erect, I observed as if I were not truly involved in this event, but aware of the hardness of him against my belly. Hopefully this time it would happen … A heave, a thrust, and he was inside me. I caught my breath at the dry pain that seemed to tear apart my body but Louis, his face buried between the pillows and my neck, oblivious to my own responses or lack of them, continued to thrust in increasing urgency to end in a final, tense, shudder and groan.

And that was it. All over before I had concentrated my mind to it, Louis spread-eagled still, heavy on my body, gasping for breath like a floundering plaice cast up on the fish dock at Bordeaux—an unfortunate thought in the circumstances—the heat of him all but suffocating me. Crushed and uncomfortable, I wriggled beneath him.

‘Forgive me …’ Immediately Louis propped himself on his elbows and looked down at me, eyes feverish, a little diffident as the extreme energy drained from his face to leave it lax, as if his features were blurred. ‘Dear, beautiful Eleanor. Now you are my wife.’ His mouth on mine was dry-lipped and tender. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No,’ I lied.

‘I’ll never hurt you, Eleanor.’ He searched my face. ‘Are you sure? You’re very quiet.’

I was very sore. I could not lie again but, moved by a surprising rush of tenderness, I pushed my fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. It seemed to reassure him.

‘You fired my blood. I pray God will forgive me if I took you too forcefully. I must go and order a Mass—for my safe return and the health of my lovely wife. I’ll pray for an heir.’ His face broke into a radiant smile. ‘Do you think you have conceived?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘My father will be doubly proud if you already carry my child when we return to Paris. Will you kneel beside me and pray for a son of our begetting?’

‘Yes. I’ll pray with you.’

‘God’s wounds! I feel like shouting our good fortune from the roof of the palace.’

‘I hope you won’t,’ I replied dryly. Everyone would wonder why it had taken us so long to get to this point. But Louis was no longer there to listen. With a bound he was gone from the bed, straightening his clothing, making for the door.

Leaving me to lie on the disordered linens, and consider—was this what all the fuss was about? I could not believe it. A discomfort, a sharp pain—nothing to write eloquent verse about. I had felt no pleasure in the deed. All rather messy and undignified, I decided, conscious of the slick stickiness between my thighs. Your innards will become as liquid. Your belly as the sweetest honey, your skin as hot silk. My nurse had had a way with words but not, it seemed, with truth. My muscles had tightened, clenched, against what had seemed a hostile invasion rather than a longed-for consummation. Giving pleasure to a man was one thing, but should I not receive pleasure too? Was the fault mine or that of Louis? He seemed pleased enough. It had all been rather—brief! And I thought his desire for an heir took precedence over his enjoyment with me, despite his sensitivity in asking if I had survived the experience.

Did I think I had fallen for a child? I buried my face in the pillow. Was he so untutored to think I would know so soon? The door opened and I rolled onto my back. Since it was Aelith who approached the bed with a smug smile, I pushed myself up, pulling down my shift and clasping my knees as I met her avid expression.

‘Well! The blood-letting aroused him, I see. Was he a good lover?’

‘Too quick to tell,’ I admitted ungraciously.

‘Was it as magnificent as the troubadours say? I’d arrange another expedition if I were you.’

‘Perhaps.’ I forced a smile. I’d not tell her of all my misgivings. I was not sure of them myself. Louis had been so thoughtful, and yet. ‘At least I am now his wife in the eyes of God and man.’

‘And in need of a bath!’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Horse and sweat!’ She laughed. ‘So he was successful.’

‘Yes. Order some hot water for me—and then I must pray with Louis for an heir. Do you know … he thanked me as if I had bestowed a miracle on him.’

‘And so you had. Not everyone beds a princess of Aquitaine! Did you enjoy it?’ she asked.

‘Not greatly.’ I saw her disappointment as I began to loosen my hair from its night braid and was sorry for my brusqueness. ‘It’s early days, Aeli. We need to grow to know each other, I expect.’

It was true, after all. We had made a start. I could teach him more of the intimate pleasures of the bed, to his and my benefit. Once we had settled into our accommodation in Paris, life would become simpler. Louis would not feel so pressured by constraints of time and those around him. I would live with him, replacing Suger’s voice with mine. I would teach him what he needed to know about me and the vast lands he had taken on.

‘Do you know what he did?’ I found myself asking her. It had preyed on my mind through all that had followed Louis’s blurted confession. ‘He chopped off de Lezay’s hands.’

Aelith’s lips made a soundless ‘Oh’.

‘Louis said it was a just punishment for a thief.’

‘Our father spilt enough blood in his time,’ Aelith said consideringly.

‘I did not think our father was so.so vindictive.’

‘It’s nothing out of the way, as I see it,’ Aelith concluded, as if it did not merit further discussion. ‘De Lezay was an arrogant fool.’ She carried my ruined shift to cast it on the bed. ‘I see we have the proof at last. And not before time.’ She had lifted the bed linens, stained with Louis’s sweat and semen and my blood. ‘What shall I do with them?’

I pushed aside the persistent scrape of concern that Louis could be unpredictable in his response to threats or danger, and smiled with not a little malice.

‘Send them to Abbot Suger, of course. I trust he’ll be satisfied. You can tell the Abbot to parcel up the sheets and send them to Fat Louis. His prayers have been answered.’

Fat Louis was never to receive the happy news of his son’s consummation of our marriage. Next morning when we were on our way to Paris before the sun had risen, when we had travelled no longer than one hour, a hard-riding messenger, his fleurs de lys all but obliterated by dust, intercepted us. He flung himself at Louis’s feet.

‘Your Majesty!’

Which was enough to tell us all the news. The courier gasped it out. Louis the Sixth, Fat Louis, was dead.

Louis wept into his hands. And when he finally raised his head and turned his face towards Paris, his blue eyes held the panicked fear of an animal caught in a snare. It was in my heart to feel pity for him, but not much. Why would he not want to be King of France? There had been no close affection between father and son as far as I could tell.

I did not weep for a man I did not know. Instead I appraised my new horizons.

I was Queen of France.