Elizabeth Chadwick - The Summer Queen

‘He still fidgets though,’ Mathilde added, lightening the moment. ‘He is never still – even in church.’

Alienor laughed and agreed. ‘It is a pity he does not spin because if he was given a distaff full of wool and a spindle, he would have enough for a tunic in no time.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘But his mind is always focused. He is like the hub of a wheel with many different spokes of purpose going out, and all of them direct and clear. I believe he is capable of ruling everything that comes under his hand.’

‘You see it well,’ Mathilde said. ‘My nephew is a rarity indeed, although I admit my bias. He is the nearest I shall ever have to a son.’ She leaned across to squeeze Emma’s wrist. ‘And you are the closest I shall ever have to a daughter. It is time you went out into the world, but I shall miss you.’

The women were interrupted by the Abbess’s chamberlain, Sister Margaret, bearing a message for Alienor on a travel-stained scroll.

Alienor broke the seal and swiftly read the contents.

‘Trouble, my dear?’ Mathilde looked concerned.

‘The French have struck at Normandy,’ Alienor said, glancing up from the letter. ‘They have attacked and seized Neufmarché – Louis and Robert de Dreux and the Blois brothers. Henry could not get there in time from Barfleur.’ She bit her lip. ‘Also Eustace of Boulogne and Henry’s brother Geoffrey.’ The whole world, it seemed, was determined to quash them before they could succeed. She felt an initial jolt of fear, but her anger and contempt were stronger. ‘The rats were bound to come crawling out of the corners. It does not surprise me, so I know it will not surprise Henry.’

Mathilde looked dismayed but resolute. ‘I am sorry to hear it, but it does not surprise me either.’

Alienor rolled up the parchment. ‘I will conclude my business here and return to Poitiers to wait for Henry – as we were going to do before. This is reason to be wary, not alarmed, because our enemies are inept and Henry is not.’ Despite her bold words, she hoped her young husband had not bitten off more than he could chew.

‘They will try to bring him down because if they do not succeed now, they never will,’ Mathilde said with a partisan gleam in her eyes. ‘That brother of his is a vain, silly boy. He will not rest until Henry makes him Count of Anjou and Maine, and that will never happen, no matter how much he rebels.’ She shook her head. ‘The men of Anjou are not good at sharing. My brother Elias was always being locked up for raising rebellion because he refused to accept his lot. It is in the blood, my dear, as you will doubtless discover once you bear Henry sons.’

Alienor grimaced and Mathilde responded with a humourless smile. ‘Forewarned is forearmed. You have the strength to deal with what is given to you.’

That was hardly a comfort, Alienor thought. ‘It is too late tonight to set out for Poitiers,’ she said. ‘A few hours more will make no difference.’ At least he had not yet sailed for England, and had troops in readiness.

That night she dreamed of dark crimson roses dripping with blood and in the morning awoke to discover that her flux had begun and Henry’s seed had not taken root. She had not really expected it to for the sake of one night, but still, it heightened her anxiety. Before she took leave of Fontevraud, she prayed again in the church and knelt to Mathilde to receive her blessing. And then, with Emma at her side, she joined the rest of her entourage and rode south towards the safety of Aquitaine.

47

Poitiers, August 1152

Alienor had spent the morning occupied with the business of government. The hall and courtyard in Poitiers was in a state of constant activity with the comings and goings of messengers, petitioners, scribes and servants. She had heard from Henry in the field. He had chosen not to take on his enemies in direct combat, but had attacked them in vulnerable areas they were not expecting and with such speed that he left them baffled and reeling. She had ensured her own borders were secure because Henry’s rebellious brother Geoffrey controlled several castles too close to Poitou for comfort.

She gazed at the new silver seal sitting by her right hand. She had commissioned it immediately after her marriage and the legend round the rim declared her Alienor, Countess of Poitou, Duchess of the Normans and Countess of the Angevins. This was hers, this was her power and she was never going to give it up to usurpers. Every document that went out from her court bore that authority, and it gave her deep feelings of pride and satisfaction.

Deciding to clear her head before the dinner hour, she called for her horse to be saddled. It was a fine late summer day and her palfrey was eager to trot. Alienor gave the horse its head and as the trot became a canter and then a gallop, she relaxed into the speed, enjoying the sensation of freedom and the illusion of outrunning her cares. Some of her courtiers considered her reckless but that was not what her race against the wind was about. She well knew the difference between being reckless and taking a calculated risk.

Eventually Alienor slowed the gelding to a walk and patted his sweating neck. They had reached the lichened Roman soldier, who looked little different from that time fifteen years ago when she had ridden out with Archbishop Gofrid and he had told her she was to marry Louis of France. The wide, white stare remained the same, although perhaps his cladding of lichen had spread a little. She gave him a wry smile of acknowledgement. He would be here long after she was dust.

Looking up, she became aware of a horseman cantering towards her in a cloud of pale dust. A handful of men rode behind him, but he had outstripped them by a hundred yards. Alienor’s escort put hands to their weapons, but she gestured them to stand down. ‘It is my lord husband,’ she said. Suddenly her heart was pounding. What was his urgency? Had there been a disaster? Was he fleeing and preparing to defend Poitiers?

Henry slewed to a halt before her. His black courser was blowing hard, the linings of its nostrils as red as expensive cloth. Sweat dripped from its hide, and from Henry too. He was scarlet in the face and his eyes shone like grey crystals, fierce and bright.

‘Lady wife.’ He swept her a bow in the saddle. ‘I left you in haste, and in haste I return.’ His smile dazzled. His beard was fuller than at their marriage, and his hair needed cutting. Alienor was overjoyed to see him, and delighted too that he wore a smile, but she was still anxious.

‘I am glad to see you whole and unharmed,’ she replied, ‘and I am flattered by your haste, but where are the rest of your men?’

‘Following. I outrode them,’ he said cheerfully.

‘For any reason?’

‘Only that they were too slow and I was most eager to greet you.’ He gave her a plaintive look. ‘And now I am very thirsty and I need to wash and change and eat and drink.’

‘All at once?’ Alienor gave him a teasing look.

‘Why waste time?’ he said.

Alienor turned her palfrey and they trotted back to the city together with their entourages falling in behind. ‘I take it you do not bring bad news?’

‘Well, not for us,’ Henry said with a gleam, ‘but Louis has turned tail to Paris claiming a recurrence of his fever and the brothers of Blois have retreated with him.’ A triumphant note entered his voice. ‘I told you that speed counted for more than courage and numbers.’

As they rode, Alienor learned that Louis had tried to take Pacy, but Henry had ridden hard through the night, foundering horses but reaching strategic areas almost two days before he was expected. He had drawn them off by burning the Vexin, seizing Bonmoulins and harrying the land like a demon. ‘They could not stand my pace and fury,’ he said with a smug and savage grin. ‘They were expecting a rash boy who had overstepped his mark, but they got me instead.’