To Be Queen (6 page)

I had heard of this man before. My father had abased himself once to him in public, out of political necessity. I was surprised to find Bernard of Clairvaux in my father's rooms, but there were times when even enemies needed to be placated.

The monk still did not speak, furious that he had been presented to me, and not me to him. I saw his throat working, as if to swallow bile.

Bernard rose from his chair as if scalded. I think he had expected some show of subservience from me. When he did not get it, he lost his temper. I wondered then why my father had ever abased himself to this man, begging for forgiveness that he did not need.

“A daughter of Eve cannot be lord in these lands. Not today, and not tomorrow. William, you are a fool. Marry at once, before it is too late.”

I raised one eyebrow, shocked that this enemy, a man who had the ear of the king, would reveal himself and his position so quickly.

We were negotiating my marriage to the king's son, the Aquitaine as my dowry. The king would never encourage my father to remarry and sire a son, for that would cost his own son the duchy. It was clear to me, and no doubt to my father as well, that in this moment Bernard spoke not for the King of France but for the Church.

I felt the creep of fear along my skin. Could the Church block my marriage to the king's son? My father worked night and day to place me on the throne of France. And though two years had passed since formal negotiations had begun, the deal was not done yet.

Bernard's blue eyes were chilling. He looked at me not as if I was a woman but as if I were a contagion, a disease he must guard against. He drew his brown robes back as if to retreat from me, so that I saw his horned toes beneath the hem, gnarled where they poked up from his sandals.

My father sat down to his breakfast once more, and I sat beside him. When Papa gestured to a third chair, Bernard stood fuming over us.

Breakfast was laid out for us as it always was, but this morning there was enough bread, fruit, and honey for three. I accepted the small gold plate my father offered. When my father ate of the soft, good bread, I dipped my own in honey and took a bite.

These common gestures angered Bernard more than anything else we might have done. He saw himself dismissed, and my father had not even opened his mouth to speak.

“No woman can hold these lands, nor any lands in Christendom. No oath of fealty to a woman can be kept. Every man who swore to follow your daughter in the house of God on Sunday is forsworn, and need not burn for it. For they cannot be held to an oath that has no power!”

Bernard of Clairvaux finished spewing this last bit of bile, and drew himself up taller still, as if he was certain we would collapse before him and his holy fire.

As I ate my pear, my hand shook once. I was fortunate that the old man did not see it. My father reached for me, as if to offer fresh linen, but his eyes met mine and I saw his strength.

The monk's argument against me would appeal to many. The Church preached that women were weak vessels fit only to birth the next generation of men. From the point of view of the pope, the monk's position held validity.

The remnants of the old Roman, secular tradition had begun to fall to the Church's laws in the last generation. Always before, the law had come from the king, and from his vassals. Now the Church sought to make all laws come from the pope in Rome, and his minions among us. My father and I stood against this encroachment from the Vatican, but not all our barons did.

Bernard's voice softened for a moment, as if he was certain that, upon reflection, my father would agree with him, and cast me aside. “William, you must marry and sire a son. Only a son can hold these lands for you.”

“Brother Bernard, please, sit and eat with us. I hear your words, and I consider them. I have considered them all my life.”

The monk sat with us finally but did not touch the plate my father offered him. I finished my bread, and ate the last of my pear. I did not look at Bernard directly, but caught a glimpse of him through my lashes. This demure show did not fool him; clearly stories of my true self had preceded me. Or perhaps he simply knew me at once as an implacable enemy, just as I knew him.

“William, you will marry before the summer is out. You must listen to me, and to my lord the king. The duchy of Aquitaine is too valuable a property to leave undefended by your death.”

I froze where I sat, a piece of fruit poised at my lips. I heard the threat, thinly veiled. My father heard it, too.

Papa's voice was soft. “The king is my lord, and I owe him my allegiance. Even now, he works with me to secure my daughter's marriage to his son.”

The monk's threat still lingered in my ears like poison. “As to my death, the king and I have looked to that as well. I have made my daughter a ward of the crown. The king has taken my family as his own. You would do well to heed it.” The honeyed tones were gone. His speech was like an unsheathed blade. Only now did he draw his malice out, and show it to our enemy.

Bernard's face darkened as if a summer storm had risen in him, blotting out the sun. He had no words to spit at us, no weapons from his keepers in Rome to cast back at us. He had known nothing of my father's dealings with the king; that much was plain from the look on his face. Though the king kept this monk close, there were things he did not tell him. The fact that I had been made the king's ward was clearly one of them. The shock of this news was Bernard of Clairvaux's undoing.

“The Church will see to it that you are brought to heel,” Bernard said.

My father only smiled. “And no doubt the king will do the same with you. Best you look to him, Bernard. As Christ teaches us, you cannot serve two masters.”

I thought the monk would run from the room, but a tall man can move quickly without running. This one did, as if the devil were at his heels.

We sat in silence, my father and I, the remains of our breakfast forgotten. I heard my father's words again; the king had taken me as his ward. The marriage was a fait accompli. I had only to wait a few months more, or perhaps a year, just long enough for the marriage contract to be drawn up and signed.

Joy rose in me, and with it relief that we had vanquished our enemy, that our years of hard work had not been undone. I laughed my deep, throaty laugh. My mirth filled my father's antechamber, and reverberated off the stone walls. Even the tapestries could not muffle the sound.

Papa drew me close, covering my mouth with his hand. “The walls have ears, daughter, even in our keep.”

I needed to be reassured, though my heart told me we had won. “Is it true, Papa, or were you merely stalling?”

My father smiled. In this moment, even he could not maintain his iron control. We had triumphed over two enemies, the Church and Bernard of Clairvaux, and this victory was sweet.

“It will be true. The papers making you the king's ward in the event of my death have not been signed yet, but they will be. I expect them any day.”

“But you made him think that it was an accomplished fact.”

“Of course. Always lie to your enemies.”

My laughter filled my throat again, and spilled from my lips. I could not catch it, or hold it back. My admiration for my father rose in me as my fear had done, but stronger. If I lived to be a hundred, I would never know another man like him.

“I love you, Papa.”

“And I love you, Alienor.”

The next day my father and I rode out on our hunt. After another evening of eating, music, and dancing in our hall, most of our barons had gone. Bernard of Clairvaux left the keep after his interview with my father. The taste of that victory was still on my tongue. I knew my father savored it, too.

I rode a war stallion, a destrier far too large for me. Papa had finally given me permission to train on a man's mount. My Merlin was too broad and strong for any lady, but that was why I loved him.

My horse was as black as a moonless night, with a patch of white on his forelock and on his chest. This patch of white was like a knight's shield. Merlin loved it when I stroked him there, raising his head so that I would have clear access after I fed him his apple and cheese.

A groom rode beside me, bearing my falcon on his arm. I wanted to hunt with a hawk, but Papa said such birds were far too big for me. I told him that Merlin was too big for me as well, but that all men must bend to my will, even hawks, even stallions. Papa laughed and kissed me, but did not change his mind.

So I rode out at my father's side with the little brown falcon he had given me years before, on a stallion more beautiful than any but his own. That day we rode for hours, and my bird brought down five doves. Our kill would be dressed when we returned, to be eaten at the feast.

As we turned toward home, my father drew his mount close to mine. I kept a firm rein on Merlin, but he knew Excalibur, my father's horse, and did not shy from him. The two great beasts stood close, more like mules than stallions, breathing into each other's faces.

Papa pulled a small gold bell from his saddlebag. It jingled merrily, with a clear, clean sound that only the highest-quality gold can make. I took the bell in my hand and rang it once, listening to its music. Papa drew it from my hand, and tied it to my falcon's jesses.

“So this is a gift, Papa? Thank you. It is beautiful.”

“Do not thank me, Alienor.” My father leaned close, so that no one else would hear him. “Thank the King of France.”

I touched the golden bell where it hung from my bird's leg. My falcon shifted on my gloved arm, and a sweet, high note rang out.

The answer to our years of negotiation dangled from my falcon's jesses. The papers making me a ward of the king in the event of my father's death must have arrived with this gift. The documents betrothing me to the heir of France would soon follow.

My father's smile lit his face. My groom came to take my falcon from me, her new bell ringing. Papa leaned across his pommel and kissed me.

Our barons would not be pleased with a French overlord. While the marriage contract was concluded, we would have a year or more to make them used to the idea. I would tame them to my hand, as my falcon and my stallion had been.

 

 

ALMOST A YEAR LATER, I STOOD WITH MY FATHER ON THE ramparts of our white palace at Ombrière, looking down at the river below. We had come to Bordeaux for Easter, but he would not be staying to celebrate with me.

Papa would leave on the morrow for a pilgrimage to Compostela, in Spain. He had rolled the dice, played for political power in Rome, backing a pope who had proved too weak to hold the Holy See. Our candidate for the papacy had lost. Now my father must abase himself before our enemies in the Church, and ride to Compostela on the pilgrim road, and be absolved of his political missteps at the shrine to Santiago.

I was troubled to see him go, for my betrothal to the son of the King of France had still not been signed. It took years to negotiate such marriage contracts, and this one would have to be as airtight as a cask of wine, strong enough to hold long past my father's death.

The marriage had been delayed, for there was a clause in the contract that the king did not like, a position from which my father was immovable: the lands of the Aquitaine and Poitou would not pass directly to my husband at our marriage, but to our son once he was of age. The king would gain the wealth of the Aquitaine. He would be able to draw on our gold, and call upon my vassals in time of war. But the Aquitaine and Poitou would become the property of the throne of France only after my son was crowned.

The King of France bided his time, saying that his heir was still too young to marry, all the while hoping to frighten us into making his son the sole ruler of Aquitaine. My father would not agree to this; only I or my son would rule these lands after him. Though in the end we were sure to win, as the Aquitaine was a prize too sweet to be let go of, the king was slow to admit defeat. I was only fifteen; I had time to wait. But my father would leave for Spain to face his enemies with my marriage contract still unsigned.

The whole situation rankled, filling my throat with bile. I swallowed, the sour taste lingering on the back of my tongue. If it was this bitter for me, how much worse must this defeat be for him? I knew how much it pained him to leave me and my sister undefended, while he went to make amends with the Church. But as always, my father hid his pain behind a mask of stone.

“I must go alone, and you must stay here,” Papa said.

He did not speak just of his travels to Compostela. He feared a different journey, that death would meet him there, in the form of poison, or an assassin's knife. Our enemies in the Church had taken one slight too many from his hands, and we knew they might now work to be rid of him completely.