Elizabeth Chadwick - The Summer Queen

Also by Elizabeth Chadwick

THE WILD HUNT

THE RUNNING VIXEN

THE LEOPARD UNLEASHED

FIRST KNIGHT

DAUGHTERS OF THE GRAIL

SHIELDS OF PRIDE

THE CONQUEST

THE CHAMPION

THE LOVE KNOT

THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER

LORDS OF THE WHITE CASTLE

THE WINTER MANTLE

THE FALCONS OF MONTABARD

SHADOWS AND STRONGHOLDS

A PLACE BEYOND COURAGE

THE GREATEST KNIGHT

THE SCARLET LION

THE TIME OF SINGING

TO DEFY A KING

LADY OF THE ENGLISH

COPYRIGHT

Published by Hachette Digital

ISBN: 9780748133833

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Elizabeth Chadwick

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Hachette Digital

Little, Brown Book Group

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London, EC4Y 0DY

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

Table of Contents

Also by Elizabeth Chadwick

Copyright

The family of Louis VII of France

Maps

The Norman and Angevin kings of England

The Counts of Poitou, dukes of Aquitaine

Note for Readers

1. Palace of Poitiers, January 1137

2. Bordeaux, February 1137

3. Castle of Béthizy, France, May 1137

4. Bordeaux, June 1137

5. Bordeaux, July 1137

6. Bordeaux, July 1137

7. Palace of Poitiers, Summer 1137

8. Paris, September 1137

9. Bourges, Christmas 1137

10. Paris, Spring 1138

11. Poitiers, Autumn 1138

12. Paris, Spring 1140

13. Paris, Spring 1141

14. Poitiers, Summer 1141

15. Talmont, Summer 1141

16. Poitiers, late Summer 1141

17. Paris, Autumn 1141

18. Champagne, Summer 1142

19. Paris, Summer 1142

20. Castle of Arras, October 1143

21. Paris, June 1144

22. Paris, Autumn 1144

23. Paris, Spring 1145

24. Paris, November 1145

25. Poitou, Autumn 1146

26. Hungary, Summer 1147

27. Bulgaria, Summer 1147

28. Constantinople, September 1147

29. Anatolia, January 1148

30. Antioch, March 1148

31. Antioch, March 1148

32. Jerusalem, September 1148

33. The Mediterranean Sea, May 1149

34. Papal Palace at Tusculum, August 1149

35. Paris, December 1150

36. Abbey Church of Saint-Denis, February 1151

37. Castle of Taillebourg, March 1151

38. Angers, August 1151

39. Paris, August 1151

40. Anjou, 4 September 1151

41. Paris, Autumn 1151

42. Beaugency, March 1152

43. Beaugency, April 1152

44. Poitiers, April 1152

45. Poitiers, May 1152

46. Paris, Summer 1152

47. Poitiers, August 1152

48. Rouen, Normandy, Christmas 1152

49. Poitiers, August 1153

50. Angers, March 1154

51. Fontevraud Abbey, May 1154

52. Rouen, October 1154

53. Barfleur, 7 December 1154

Author’s Note

Select Bibliography

Acknowledgements

Note for Readers

I have called Eleanor ‘Alienor’ in the body of the novel, rather than Eleanor, because Alienor is what she would have called herself and it is how her name appears in her charters and in the Anglo-Norman texts where she is mentioned. I felt it was fitting to give her that recognition.

1

Palace of Poitiers, January 1137

Alienor woke at dawn. The tall candle that had been left to burn all night was almost a stub, and even through the closed shutters she could hear the cockerels on roosts, walls and dung heaps, crowing the city of Poitiers awake. Mounded under the bedclothes, Petronella slumbered, dark hair spread on the pillow. Alienor crept from the bed, careful not to wake her little sister who was always grumpy when disturbed too early. Besides, Alienor wanted these moments to herself. This was no ordinary day, and once the noise and bustle began, it would not cease.

She donned the gown folded over her coffer, pushed her feet into soft kidskin shoes and unlatched a small door in the shutters to lean out and inhale the new morning. A mild, moist breeze carried up to her the familiar scents of smoke, musty stone and freshly baked bread. Braiding her hair with nimble fingers, she admired the alternating ribbons of charcoal, oyster and gold striating the eastern skyline before drawing back with a pensive sigh.

Stealthily she lifted her cloak from its peg and tiptoed from the chamber. In the adjoining room, yawning, bleary-eyed maids were stirring from sleep. Alienor slipped past them like a sleek young vixen and, on light and silent feet, wound her way down the stairs of the great Maubergeonne Tower that housed the domestic quarters of the ducal palace.

A drowsy youth was setting out baskets of bread and jugs of wine on a trestle in the great hall. Alienor purloined a small loaf, warm from the oven, and went outside. Lanterns still shone in some huts and outbuildings. She heard the clatter of pots from the kitchens and a cook berating someone for spilling the milk. Familiar sounds that said all was well with the world, even on the cusp of change.

At the stables the grooms were preparing the horses for the journey. Ginnet, her dappled palfrey, and Morello, her sister’s glossy black pony, still waited in their stalls, but the packhorses were harnessed and carts stood ready in the yard to carry the baggage the 150 miles south from Poitiers to Bordeaux where she and Petronella were to spend the spring and summer at the Ombrière Palace overlooking the River Garonne.

Alienor offered Ginnet a piece of new bread on the flat of her hand, and rubbed the mare’s warm grey neck. ‘Papa doesn’t have to go all the way to Compostela,’ she told the horse. ‘Why can’t he stay at home with us and pray? I hate it when he goes away.’

‘Alienor.’

She jumped and, hot with guilt, faced her father, seeing immediately from his expression that he had overheard her.

He was tall and long-limbed, his brown hair patched with grey at ears and temples. Deep creases fanned from his eye corners and gaunt hollows shadowed his well-defined cheekbones. ‘A pilgrimage is a serious commitment to God,’ he said gravely. ‘This is no foolish jaunt made on a whim.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ She knew the pilgrimage was important to him, indeed necessary for the good of his soul, but she still did not want him to go. He had been different of late; reserved and more obviously burdened, and she did not understand why.

He tilted her chin on his forefinger. ‘You are my heir, Alienor; you must behave as befits the daughter of the Duke of Aquitaine, not a sulky child.’

Feeling indignant, she pulled away. She was thirteen, a year past the age of consent, and considered herself grown up, even while she still craved the security of her father’s love and presence.