The Summer Queen (25 page)

‘Monks are banned from preaching outside their own monasteries,’ Louis said, but his expression had brightened.

Alienor sniffed. ‘Since when has that ever bothered Bernard of Clairvaux? He may preach humility, he may talk mightily of the sin of pride in others, but the fact is that he loves the sound of his own voice in full flow – and so do others.’

‘You should not say such things about a man so holy,’ Louis admonished.

‘He is certainly holier than thou,’ she retorted. ‘But that is not the point. When the court convenes at Vézelay at Easter, you must ensure you have the tools to stir men’s souls. I shall write to my aunt Agnes at Saintes and to the nuns of Fontevraud and ask them to sew crosses to be given out by all those taking the road to Outremer.’

‘That is a fine idea.’ Louis came over to her and placed his hands on the back of her shoulders. The gesture was almost tender.

Alienor made an effort not to draw away. If she was having fine ideas, it was because the more support she could garner for her uncle Raymond in Antioch, the better, and with Louis safely gone for at least two years, France would be hers.

Alienor watched Petronella gently bathing her infant son in a brass bowl before the hearth and tried not to feel envious. Here was her sister, excommunicated and shunned by the Church, but still able to produce a healthy male child, whereas she and Louis still only had Marie. She had got him to lie with her twice in January, but her bleed had come as usual, and after that, throughout Lent he would not share her bed because it was against Church law. He had spent much of his time either at Notre-Dame or Saint-Denis in prayer, or in organising for the Easter gathering and crown-wearing at Vézelay, to be held a fortnight from now once the court reached there from Paris.

‘I am glad you are here,’ Alienor said. ‘I missed you.’

Petronella lifted the baby out of his bath and wrapped him in a warmed towel. He fussed and protested, sucking on his little fist. Petronella kissed his brow and handed him over to the waiting wet nurse. ‘I am glad too,’ she said. ‘I don’t like Raoul being at court without me.’ Her tone was querulous. ‘There is nothing to do in confinement except wait and sew and pace the room, while he can do what he likes.’ She pouted. ‘You didn’t come this time either.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Alienor replied. ‘I had matters to attend to at court.’

‘So apparently did Raoul.’

Alienor suppressed a sigh of irritation. ‘He is a royal constable, and Louis had need of him and will continue to do so when it comes to mustering for the Holy Land, and then for governing afterwards. His life is the court. You know that.’

Petronella was not mollified. ‘Has he been faithful to me?’

‘How would I know such a thing?’ Alienor demanded, not adding that Raoul had succeeded in hiding his fornication with Petronella when they were right under her nose. ‘I do know he loves you and cares for you. When he heard the news that you had borne a son, he was the proudest man at court.’

‘But he did not come to Arras to see us,’ she said. ‘And he was not here to greet us in Paris.’

‘Because Louis needed him at Vézelay. You will see him soon.’ Alienor clung to patience. Petronella was acting as if this was a great issue, when so much more was at stake. Whether Raoul was faithful or not was a trifling matter. She had made her bed; let her lie in it. ‘He will have a full role to play when Louis is gone, and he needs to prepare for that; as his wife, you should be preparing with him.’

‘As his concubine, you mean,’ Petronella said bitterly. ‘Bernard of Clairvaux made very sure of that.’

‘I have not given up on the matter. You shall have your marriage contract, I promise.’

Petronella tightened her lips into a prim rosebud. Alienor gave up. There was no reasoning with her when one of her dark moods was upon her. Once reunited with Raoul, in Vézelay things would be different. She would shine for him, and the responsibility for handling her would be his. Yet Alienor still felt a duty of care to her sister, because she knew Petronella would never take responsibility for herself.

Louis had spent the first part of his day in prayer in the Merovingian Basilica of Notre-Dame before returning to the palace to dine in the great hall. It was still Lent and the food consisted of fish and bread, and the only seasoning was grey salt.

Alienor was in a quiet mood, as was her sister, and Louis noted it first with approval, and then with growing suspicion, wondering what they might be plotting. He knew Alienor’s way of winding people around her little finger. He had been a victim of her seduction in the past, but he was on his guard now and knew all about her glances, her smiles and little tricks. The way she moved her arm, exposing a glimpse of wrist as she adjusted her sleeve; the emphasis of the manicured fingers adorned by a single rare and beautiful ring. He saw the way she entrapped men and was disturbed and infuriated. During the time Marie was conceived, she had changed her ways and become sober and godly, but of late, she had returned to her earlier patterns of behaviour and dress. Considering that he was about to take the Cross, he found it perturbing and distasteful. What might she do during his absence?

‘I am wondering what to do about the Queen,’ he said later in his chamber to Abbé Suger and his Templar adviser Thierry de Galeran, who was dealing with fiscal matters connected with the pilgrimage.

Suger folded his hands inside his sleeves. ‘In what way do you mean?’ he asked warily.

‘While I am gone. I am wondering what provision I should make for her. I am worried she will foment discord and seek power for herself.’

Suger gave a slow nod. ‘That is a valid concern, sire.’

‘I would have appointed the Count of Nevers as your co-regent and he would have stood up to her, but he is to enter the Carthusian order and will not change his mind. That means I must give more responsibility to Raoul de Vermandois and I do not trust him to stand firm with the Queen, even if in all other ways he is fit to govern. He is too easily swayed by the scent of a woman.’

‘He is also an excommunicate,’ Thierry said darkly.

‘That is a matter for his soul, not his administrative abilities,’ Louis snapped. ‘He is too long in the tooth to go on crusade, and he needs to be gainfully occupied while I am gone.’ He gnawed his lip. ‘I have a notion to bring the Queen with me where I can keep an eye on her. She won’t be able to stir up trouble at home and she will be a figurehead for the men of Poitou and Aquitaine to follow – although naturally the command will be with me as her husband.’

Suger shook his head. ‘It is not a good idea to bring the Queen on such an undertaking,’ he said. ‘It will encourage other men to bring their wives, and perhaps even their families, and it will make the army unwieldy and slow, especially the whole train of servants and the amount of baggage required. The men will be distracted from their fight for Christ if there are women in the camp.’

‘They will cause immorality,’ Thierry agreed. ‘Women always do.’

Louis rubbed his chin. That was indeed a consideration. He was well aware that Suger did not want him to go, but his mind was set. The decisions now were those of policy: leave Alienor behind under close watch, or bring her with him where he could keep an eye on her. Perhaps the journey to Jerusalem and the pilgrimage would bring her back to God’s way again? ‘I need her with me in order to secure the full support of the Aquitaine contingent,’ he said. ‘If I do not, they will do as they please and either not come at all, or turn back midway, and who knows what havoc they will all wreak in my absence.’

Alienor was preparing for bed when Louis came to her chamber. She was so unaccustomed to his late-night visits these days that it took her a moment to gather herself and offer him a cup of wine. ‘This is an unaccustomed pleasure,’ she said, directing Gisela to pour Louis a drink.

He sat down on her bed. The curtains had been loosened from their loops and the sheets were turned down ready.

‘Are you intending to stay?’

He hesitated, and she was even more surprised when he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘for a while.’

She dismissed her ladies, and sat down beside him.

‘I want to talk to you,’ he said.

‘About what?’ She tried to sound interested rather than wary.

‘The pilgrimage to rescue Edessa,’ he said. ‘I want you to come with me.’

Alienor’s expression froze. Louis took her hand and squeezed it hard enough to cause pain. ‘The men of Aquitaine will follow with greater commitment if you are present, and I know you will welcome the opportunity to speak with your uncle Raymond since he is your father’s only living brother.’

She was aware of him watching her narrowly, calculating her response. ‘What of France and Aquitaine? One of us should remain here to oversee matters.’

‘Suger is full capable of governing. There is the Count of Nevers too, and even if he takes the cowl as he says he intends to, my lord of Vermandois is well able to deal with the secular side of matters.’

Alienor’s stomach sank. ‘What of Marie? It is not right to leave her motherless for two years.’

Louis waved his hand. ‘She has nurses and women to care for her. A small child does not notice who its mother is. By the time she is capable of reason, we will be home.’ His expression hardened. ‘You shall accompany me. If we pray at the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre, you may yet bear me a son. I want you with me.’

She wondered how far Louis had seen through her intentions and set out to thwart her plans. He plainly was not doing this out of love. If she refused, he would find ways to either keep her restricted and powerless in France, or bring her along in far closer confinement than if she agreed. He had outflanked her.

‘As you wish,’ she said, lowering her eyes. The way he was squeezing her hand was agonising, but she refused to gasp or wince. ‘I will take the Cross with you at Vézelay.’

‘Good.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her bloodless fingers before relaxing his grip. ‘We shall speak more tomorrow.’

When he had gone, Alienor got into bed, but she left the lamp burning and, rubbing her bruised hand, began to rethink her strategy.

Swords of sunlight cleft the clouds and illuminated the pilgrim church of the Madeleine crowning the hill of Vézelay. For those arriving on Easter Sunday 1146, it was as if the fingertips of God were reaching down to touch the abbey in benediction.

The town had long since burst at the seams and tents had sprung up in the surrounding fields. All of the hostels and houses were full. People slept at the roadside, their heads pillowed on their belongings. Cookstalls were doing a brisk trade. The bakers could not keep up with the demand for bread, and there was keen competition for the firewood to fuel their ovens. The thoroughfares to the abbey were choked with people, eager to be part of the Easter rites. Even with the new narthex, the abbey church could not contain the sheer numbers, and outdoor pulpits had been raised so that those outside could listen to the word of God in the same way that the crowds had first listened to Christ.

Alienor and Louis were shriven before the altar, which was surrounded by iron railings wrought from the fetters and chains of prisoners who had offered them on the occasion of being set free. Alienor prayed fervently to be rid of her own invisible fetters.

Following the service, they processed outside, the soldiers forcing a path through the pilgrims packing the nave and narthex, until they came to a pulpit standing upon open ground a little way from the church. Two thrones stood behind it adorned with silk drapes and cushions, the banners of France and Aquitaine planted either side. Louis and Alienor wore robes of plain undyed wool, although a large and elaborate gold cross set with numerous gemstones glimmered on Alienor’s breast.

Behind and around the thrones were gathered the nobility of France and Aquitaine. A cold wind ruffled the hilltop, but the sun continued to cut through the clouds and was even warm in the sheltered places.

A procession of white-clad monks approached the pulpit, led by the cadaverous Bernard of Clairvaux. His tonsure gleamed silver-grey in the light, and there was a translucent quality about him, as if he were not of this world. He fixed his burning gaze on Louis and Alienor, and then mounted the steps to the pulpit. Facing his audience of pilgrims and crusaders, he unrolled the parchment scroll in his hand and displayed the papal bull calling on all Christians to rescue the holy places of God from the infidel. His voice, despite his frail appearance, was powerful, and his emotive, moving oratory held the audience spellbound. A chill formed at the nape of Alienor’s neck and rippled down her spine. She glanced at Louis and saw tears glittering in his eyes.

Bernard struck the edge of the pulpit. ‘Let all who are prisoners this day go free! In the spirit of Saint Mary Magdalene at Vézelay, let all who wear fetters for their sins cast them off and take this cross of Christ and bear it to Jerusalem!’ Bernard spread his arms wide. ‘All shall be granted absolution. Only take up your swords for God and let your hearts be pure! Take the oath, take it now, take it for Christ who died on the Cross for your sins and rises again triumphant this very day!’

Louis prostrated himself at the foot of the pulpit, openly weeping. Bernard of Clairvaux presented him with a cross of white wool to stitch to his cloak and, lifting him to his feet, embraced him. Then Alienor knelt to receive her cross. She was trembling, a little with fear, but mostly with the emotion of the moment, which marked a new phase in her life.

Abbé Bernard presented her with the scrap of wool, ensuring that their fingers did not touch. His gaze fell on the magnificent cross on her breast and Alienor unfastened the chain and handed it to him. ‘A gift for the campaign,’ she said.

‘Thank you, my daughter,’ he replied and, as if it were burning his flesh, swiftly handed it to one of his attendants to place in an offerings chest. From inside her gown, Alienor hooked out the plain wooden cross that Bernard had given her at Saint-Denis.

People crowded forward to receive their crosses from the monks who had brought sackfuls to hand out, stitched in convents and monasteries the length and breadth of France, and for a while all was frantic activity. Louis and Alienor doled out crosses to eager, outstretched hands until there were none left. The crowd dispersed to tents and lodgings, or took the opportunity to pray in the church to seal their new vows. On her return to the guest house, Alienor saw many people sitting cross-legged on the grass, busy with needle and thread, sewing crosses on to cloaks and tunics. Someone was banging on a drum and singing a song in rousing tones.