Elizabeth Chadwick - The Summer Queen

She made him sit on the bed and drink a cup of wine while she brought their clothes from the coffer where the servants had folded them the night before. ‘You are going to compose yourself, and get dressed,’ she said. ‘De Vermandois has gone to organise the household, and Suger has been sent for.’

He nodded, but she could tell he was not absorbing the information. She remembered feeling that initial numbness when her own father had died. Words had meant nothing. She held him against her and stroked his hair. It was like soothing Petronella, as if she was the mother and he was the child. He turned to her with a soft groan and pressed his face into her neck. She shushed him and he clung to her. But then he lifted his head and kissed her with his mouth open. She was startled but, recognising his need, returned his kiss and opened herself to him.

When it was over, he lay beside her and panted like a shipwrecked sailor washed up on the shore. She stroked his back gently between the shoulder blades and murmured hush words, feeling a little tearful herself. They had shared something momentous. She had channelled his grief and panic away through her body and brought him to calm. ‘It will be all right,’ she said.

‘I did not really know my father.’ Louis sat up and buried his head between his upraised knees. ‘He gave me to the Church when I was a child, and I was only taken out of the cloister when my brother died. He saw to my welfare and my education, but it was all at the hands of others. If I have a father, it is Abbé Suger.’

Alienor absorbed the detail with interest but no surprise. ‘I thought I knew mine well,’ she reciprocated. ‘I had been his heir since I was six years old. But when he died, I discovered I barely knew him at all …’ She fell silent before she said something she would later regret.

The sound of authoritative masculine voices rumbled in the antechamber. Suger had arrived, and she could also hear Archbishop Gofrid. She swiftly cajoled Louis into getting dressed.

‘You must show everyone you are capable of fulfilling the role of king – even while you are mourning your father,’ she said as she slipped his shoes on to his feet. ‘You are God’s chosen. Why should you fear?’

His focus returned as he stared at her, and some of the anxiety left his face. ‘Come out with me,’ he entreated her as she fastened his belt.

Alienor hastily donned her gown and bundled her hair into a gold-wire net. Her heart was pounding, but she raised her chin and, showing neither fear nor apprehension, set her hand upon his sleeve and drew him to the door. Under her palm she felt him trembling.

The antechamber was full of assembled courtiers who knelt as one in a rustle of cloth, Suger included. Looking at the serried ranks of heads, Alienor thought that they resembled cobblestones on a road awaiting the tread of their new king and queen.

8

Paris, September 1137

Adelaide of Maurienne, Dowager Queen of France, gestured brusquely with a pale, bony hand. ‘You will want to change your gown and take some refreshment after your long journey.’

Alienor curtseyed. ‘Thank you, madam.’ Her mother-in-law had spoken with emotionless practicality – the way she might address a groom about a horse that required tending after a hard ride. Adelaide’s grey eyes were cold and judgemental. Her dress was grey too, matching the fur lining of her cloak. Austere and wintry. A short while ago she had formally greeted her new daughter-in-law in the spacious great hall of the palace complex with a stilted speech of welcome and a chilly kiss on the cheek. Now they stood in the chamber that had been allotted to Alienor, high up in the Great Tower.

The room was well appointed, with handsome wall hangings, sturdy furniture and a big bed with heavy curtains smelling strongly of sheep. The shutters were closed and since there were few candles, the effect was one of encroaching deep shadow. In full daylight, though, the double arched windows would give a view over the busy River Seine, much as the Ombrière Palace at Bordeaux looked out on the Garonne.

Under Adelaide’s watchful gaze, servants brought washing water, wine and platters of bread and cheese. Alienor’s women started unpacking, shaking out gowns and chemises before draping them over clothing poles or storing them in the garderobes. Adelaide’s nostrils flared at the sight of the colourful and detailed garments emerging from the baggage chests. ‘You will find us accustomed to plainer ways here,’ she said primly. ‘We are not a frivolous people, and my son has simple tastes.’

Alienor tried to look demure, thinking that if Adelaide knew what her precious son had been doing throughout their progress of Aquitaine, she would have an apoplexy. Even for Louis, the Church was not the only influence in his life.

Petronella tossed her head. ‘I like bright colours,’ she said. ‘They remind me of home. Our papa loved them.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Alienor slipped her arm around Petronella’s waist in support. ‘We shall have to set new fashions!’ She smiled at Adelaide, who did not smile back.

Several young women in Adelaide’s retinue exchanged glances with each other, among them Louis’s sister, Constance, who was of a similar age to Alienor, and Gisela, a young royal kinswoman with dusty-blond hair and green eyes. Someone stifled a giggle and, without looking round, Adelaide made a terse gesture commanding silence. ‘I can see you have much to learn,’ she said severely.

Alienor refused to be browbeaten. She would not allow her unfamiliarity with Paris and French ways to make her feel diminished. She would be proud and stand tall because she was the equal of anyone here. ‘Indeed I do, madam,’ she replied. ‘Our father taught us the importance of education.’ Because to outwit your rivals, first you had to know their ways and how to play their games.

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Adelaide said. ‘You would do well to listen to your elders. Let us hope he taught you the importance of manners too.’

‘She doesn’t like us,’ Petronella said when Adelaide eventually left to attend to business elsewhere. ‘And I certainly don’t like her!’

‘You will be civil to her,’ Alienor warned, lowering her voice. ‘She is Louis’s mother and owed respect. There are different customs here and we must learn them.’

‘I don’t want to learn their ways.’ Petronella pursed her lips in fair imitation of Adelaide and folded her arms. ‘I don’t like it here.’

‘That’s because it is late and you are tired. Tomorrow, in daylight, when you have slept, it will be different.’

‘No it won’t,’ Petronella said, just to be awkward.

Alienor suppressed a sigh. Tonight she did not have the wherewithal to humour Petronella because her own mood was low. Adelaide plainly disapproved of them and viewed their presence as a thorn in her side. Her power at court had grown stronger as her husband’s health deteriorated, but to maintain that power, she now had to control and influence Louis. She clearly viewed Alienor as someone who would usurp her position if not put down from the outset.

Louis had been reticent about his mother but Alienor had gleaned the impression that the emotional ties between them were rigid and about dominance. There was no love, except in the way of a need for it on Louis’s behalf, and a refusal to give it on Adelaide’s. Alienor had already seen how easily Louis was manipulated by stronger personalities, and how stubborn he could be once persuaded to a certain decision. The factions at court fought over him like dogs over a fresh bone, and it was her duty to protect him and in doing so also protect herself and her sister. If Louis needed the reassurance of lit candles at night, it was because of what had been done to him by others who should have cared for him and hadn’t.