Elizabeth Chadwick - The Summer Queen

‘Bad news?’ asked his brother Robert, raising his brows and holding out his hand for the letter.

Louis drew back and, rolling it up, tucked it inside his sleeve. Everyone would know soon enough, but it was a wound he wanted to keep to himself for as long as possible. ‘I shall tell you later,’ he said. ‘It little concerns you.’

Robert gave him a look askance.

‘It is between me and God,’ Louis said, and left the room. He wished the messenger had foundered on his way to Paris and fallen into a bog so that he did not have to carry this letter, this knowledge against his breast.

Arriving at his chamber, he dismissed everyone and lay down on his bed. He was filled with grief for the son he did not have – for the son that Alienor had miscarried long ago when she was his young, fresh bride. For the fact she had borne the heir that should have been his to Henry of Anjou, while giving him only daughters. Feeling desolate, abandoned, and full of self-pity, he covered his head with a pillow and wept, wishing he had never been drawn from the cloister to become a king.

50

Angers, March 1154

‘Madam, the Duke your husband is here,’ announced Alienor’s chamberlain.

Alienor stared at him in dismay. ‘What, already?’

He looked wry. ‘Yes, madam.’

‘But he was not due until … Ah, never mind. Delay him as long as you can.’

He gave her a dubious look but bowed out.

‘Oh, that man!’ Alienor cried, torn between infuriation and joy. His heralds had arrived this morning, announcing he would be here towards nightfall, but the daylight was still strong and there were several hours until sunset. ‘I do not see him for more than a year, and then he springs himself upon me and I am not prepared.’

‘It will not take a moment to finish,’ Marchisa said, practical and optimistic as always. ‘Your lord may notice you, but he will not care if your hair is plaited in six braids or two.’

‘But I will care,’ Alienor complained, but only because she was annoyed. In truth it did not really matter. ‘Make haste then,’ she said. ‘They will not be able to hold him back for long.’

Her women coiled her hair in a gold net and tightened the laces on her tawny silk gown to emphasise her once-more trim figure. The nurse busied herself with baby William who at seven months old was a vigorous bundle, no longer bound in swaddling, but clad in an embroidered white smock. The nurse put a bonnet on his head, and Alienor told her to draw out a quiff of his hair so that the glittery red-gold colour was plain to see.

Not entirely satisfied, but knowing it would have to do, Alienor hurried to the hall and settled herself on the ducal chair on the dais with the baby in her lap. Emma and Marchisa arranged her skirts in a graceful swirl and Alienor drew a deep breath.

Moments later she heard Henry’s voice protesting that no, he did not need to change his clothes, and no, he did not want to don his coronet, take refreshment, comb his hair, or anything else anyone might concoct to delay him. He flung open the door and stalked into the room, his cloak flying like a banner and his stride hard and fast. His complexion was flushed and there was a grey glitter in his eyes that verged on anger. Then he stopped abruptly and stared at Alienor, his chest heaving.

She met his gaze with pride, revealing none of her trepidation, and then she lowered her eyes to their son, who wanted to stand up and bounce in her lap. ‘This is your papa,’ she said to the child, pitching her voice so that Henry could hear. ‘Your papa is home to see you.’ And she looked at Henry again, directly and with triumph.

Henry took a deep breath and walked forward. His gaze was no longer angry, but bright with pleasure and eager anticipation. ‘You look like a madonna,’ he said hoarsely.

Alienor gave a demure smile. ‘This is your son,’ she said. ‘William, Count of Poitiers, future Duke of Normandy and King of England.’

Henry took the infant from her arms to have a good look at him. He held him above his head and little William shouted with laughter and dribbled on his father.

‘Well, that’s a fine start; my heir spits on me.’ Henry grinned, lowering his son, transferring him to one arm and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his tunic.

‘He has your eyes and your hair,’ Alienor said. Affection and happiness bubbled up within her. Louis had never made any attempt to be playful or engage with their daughters but Henry was fearless and natural holding the child.

‘But your features,’ Henry replied. ‘What a fine little man.’

The baby squirmed in his arms and seized hold of Henry’s cloak brooch, which had caught his eye. Henry carefully prised his heir’s chubby fingers from the object and handed him to the waiting nurse.

‘Like you he is never still,’ Alienor said. ‘He makes his wishes known to everyone – and they had better obey or else.’

He raised his brows and looked amused. ‘Certainly like me then.’

Alienor rose to greet him with a formal curtsey now that he had seen his son, but he met her halfway and kissed her.

‘I missed you,’ he said.

They straightened together and he set his hand to her waist.

‘I missed you too. It has been a long time.’ She was intensely aware of his touch. ‘We have a great deal to talk about. Letters say much, but they are not flesh and blood.’

‘No, more is the pity. You wrote often that you were well, and I am glad to see it is the truth.’

Alienor thought that he was bound to be glad, for had she died in childbirth it would have left him with a claim impossible to pursue and all her vast resources would have been lost to him. Given that their son was seven months old, she suspected that he was also enquiring if she was sufficiently recovered to conceive another child. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling, ‘I am quite well.’

Formal greetings over, Alienor and Henry retired to the greater privacy of the lord’s chamber in the castle tower. Henry’s squires had put his baggage in the chamber during the greetings in the hall, and wine and food had been set out on cloth-covered trestles.

Alienor glanced at his baggage, which was only what Henry had carried on his horse. The rest would arrive later on the slower travelling carts. There were a couple of sacks and a long piece of rolled-up leather.

He saw her look. ‘I have not come home to you empty-handed,’ he said. ‘I have gifts for you fit for a queen.’

‘I should hope so after so long a parting.’ She indicated the baby now in the nurse’s arms. ‘My gift to you is a son.’

Colour came up in his face. ‘Mine to you, and to him, is a kingdom,’ he replied. ‘As I promised when we wed.’

Alienor’s breath shortened. She had received news from England but it was haphazard and patchy. ‘A kingdom?’

Henry dismissed the remaining servants with a flick of his wrist, including the nurse with little William. ‘Stephen has agreed I should inherit the crown when he dies, but I had to consent to the formality of becoming his adopted son and heir.’ He looked wry. ‘So now I have three fathers. The man who sired me, my Father in heaven, and Stephen the usurper – God help me. It was a way out of the morass. Everyone views me as the heir to the throne, but they are unwilling to fight any more to set me upon it. Stephen’s lords acknowledge my claim, but will not see me crowned while Stephen lives. My own lords will not chance a pitched battle when they know it is only a matter of time. It took many hours of negotiation, but it is done. I am Stephen’s heir, acknowledged by treaty, and all men are sworn to uphold my claim.’ He took her round the waist and pulled her close, nuzzling her throat with his beard. ‘And that means I can give my attention to our domains here, and spend time with you and our son.’ He deftly unlaced the side of her gown and slipped his hand inside to cup her breast through her chemise.