Louis’s father heaved himself into an approximation of upright against the mass of pillows and bolsters supporting his distended torso. ‘We must seize the opportunity,’ he wheezed. ‘Aquitaine and Poitou will increase our lands and prestige a hundredfold. We cannot allow them to fall into the hands of others. Geoffrey of Anjou for one would gladly snatch the duchy with a marriage between his son and the eldest girl, and that must not happen.’ The effort expended on speech left him purple in the face and fighting for breath and he waved at Suger to continue.

Suger cleared his throat. ‘Your father wishes you to take an army down to Bordeaux to secure the region, and to marry the eldest girl. She is currently under guard at the Ombrière Palace and the Archbishop awaits your arrival.’

Louis reeled, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. He knew one day he would have to marry and beget heirs, but he had always viewed it as a vaguely unpleasant duty in the distant future. Now he was being told he must wed a girl he had never met who came from lands where the people were known to be pleasure-seekers, lax in their moral habits.

‘I will see to the girls’ education in our ways,’ his mother said, securing her own authority in the proceedings. ‘They have been without maternal care for many years, and they will benefit from proper guidance and instruction.’

His father’s constable, Raoul de Vermandois, stepped forward. ‘Sire, I will begin preparations to leave immediately.’ He was another close adviser, and Louis’s first cousin once removed into the bargain. A leather patch concealed the empty socket where he had lost an eye during a siege eight years ago. He was a reliable warhorse on the battlefield, and an elegant and charismatic courtier, much appreciated by the ladies. The eye patch only added to his cachet where women were concerned.

‘Make haste, Raoul,’ said the King. ‘Time is of the essence.’ He raised a warning forefinger. ‘It is to be an escort of honour and largesse; the Poitevans value such things and we must keep their goodwill at all costs. Fly banners from your spears and wear ribbons round your helms. Make sure that for now you go bearing gifts, not blades.’

‘Sire, leave it to me.’ De Vermandois bowed from the room, his magnificent cloak sweeping behind him like a sail.

Louis knelt to receive his father’s blessing again, and somehow managed to leave the fetid chamber before doubling over to be violently sick. He did not want to take a wife. He knew nothing of girls except that their soft curves, their giggles and twittery voices repulsed him. His mother was not like that; she was a rod of iron, but she had never given him love. The only affection in his world had come from God, but God now seemed to be saying he should be married. Perhaps it was a punishment for his sins that he should have to do this thing, and therefore he should accept it gladly and give praise.

As servants rushed to clear up the mess he had made, Suger emerged from the chamber and was swiftly at his side. ‘Ah, Louis, Louis.’ The Abbé put a comforting arm across the youth’s shoulders. ‘I know this is a shock, but it is God’s will and you must surrender to it. He offers you magnificent opportunities, and a girl near to your own age to be your wife and helpmate. This is truly a moment to rejoice.’

Louis composed himself under Suger’s calming influence. If this was truly the will of God, then he must submit and do his best. ‘I do not even know her name,’ he said.

‘I believe it is Alienor, sire.’

Louis silently formed the syllables on his lips. Her name was like a foreign fruit he had never tasted before. He still felt like heaving.


4

Bordeaux, June 1137

Alienor felt Ginnet pulling on the rein as she rode beside Archbishop Gofrid. Like her mare, she was eager to race the wind. It was several days since she had been out, and always under heavy guard because she was such a valuable prize. This morning the Archbishop had taken responsibility for her welfare. His knights, although vigilant, stayed slightly off the pace, so that he and Alienor had a private space in which to talk.

In the two months since her father’s death, the warm southern spring had turned to blazing summer and the cherries had ripened to glossy black on the trees in the palace garden. Her father lay severed from life in his tomb at Compostela, and she dwelt in limbo, an heiress with the power to change destinies because of who she was, yet wielding no authority of her own beyond the bower, because what influence did a girl-child of thirteen have over the men brokering her future?

They reached open ground and Alienor heeled Ginnet’s flanks, giving her free rein. Gofrid increased pace with her and dust rose like white smoke from the burn of hooves over the baked earth. She felt the warm wind in her face and inhaled the pungent scent of wild thyme as it was crushed under the mare’s speed. Harsh summer light dazzled her eyes and, for an instant, her cares dissipated in the euphoria of the race, of being alive, her blood singing in her veins. Everything within her that had felt tight and constricted opened wide and filled her with vigorous emotion as hot and strong as the sun.

At last she swirled to a halt before a weathered Roman statue standing by the wayside, and leaned over to pat Ginnet’s sweat-darkened neck. Her father had taught her about the Romans. A thousand years ago they had been conquerors and settlers in Aquitaine, speakers of the Latin tongue which scholars used now, and which she had learned together with the French spoken in Poitou and the north, so different from the lenga romana of Bordeaux.

The statue’s right arm was raised as if in oratory and his white open stare considered the horizon. Stars of golden lichen embroidered his breastplate and the fringes of his cingulum. ‘No one knows who he is,’ Gofrid said. ‘His inscription is lost. Many have left their mark on this land but in their turn have been marked. The people here do not take kindly to being harnessed and ridden.’

Alienor straightened in the saddle. The realisation that she was Duchess of Aquitaine was stirring within her, like a sleeping dragon awakening and stretching sleek, sinuous muscles. ‘I do not fear them,’ she said.

The sharp sunlight deepened the frown between the Archbishop’s eyes. ‘You should be cautious nevertheless. Better that than be taken unawares.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘Daughter, I have news for you, and I want you to listen carefully.’

Alienor was suddenly alert. She should have known there was more to this ride out than the pleasure of exercise. ‘What sort of news?’

‘Out of his love and concern for you and for his lands, your father left great plans for you in his will.’

‘What do you mean, “great plans”? Why have you not spoken of this before?’ Fear and anger began to churn inside her. ‘Why did my father not tell me?’

‘Because everything has to grow before it comes to fruition,’ Gofrid replied gravely. ‘If your father had returned from Compostela, he would have told you himself. It was unwise to mention this until everything was in place, but now is the moment.’ He leaned across his horse to put his hand over hers. ‘Your father desired a match for you that would honour you and Aquitaine and lead you to greatness. He also wished to keep you safe and your lands peaceful. Before he left, he asked the King of France to safeguard your welfare, and he arranged a match for you with his eldest son, Louis. One day you will be Queen of France and, if God is good, mother to a line of kings whose empire will stretch from Paris to the Pyrenees.’

The words fell on Alienor like a blow from a poleaxe and she could only stare at her tutor in shock.

‘This is a great opportunity,’ Gofrid said, watching her closely. ‘You will fulfil the potential your father saw in you and your reward will be a crown. An alliance between France and Aquitaine will make both countries much stronger than they are alone.’

‘My father would never have done this without telling me.’ Underneath Alienor’s numbness, a terrible sense of betrayal was blossoming.

‘He was dying, child,’ Gofrid said sadly. ‘He had to make the best provision for you he could and it had to be kept secret until the time was ripe.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I do not want to be married to a French prince. I want to marry a man of Aquitaine.’

He squeezed her hand and she felt his episcopal ring bite her flesh. ‘You must trust me and your father. We have done what is best. If you married a man of your own lands, it would lead to rivalry and a war that would tear Aquitaine apart. Louis will arrive within the next few weeks, and you will wed him in the cathedral. It will be done with every dignity and accolade, as your father wished, and your vassals will come to you and swear their allegiance. You cannot travel to Paris, because you are a great marriage prize and until you are wed men will attempt to seize you for their own ends.’

Alienor shuddered. His words were burying her in a deep dark hole. Her lips formed words of refusal even though she did not speak.

‘Daughter, did you not hear me? You will be a great queen.’

‘But no one has asked me. It has all been decided behind my back.’ Her throat tightened. ‘What if I do not choose to marry Louis of France? What if I … what if I want someone else?’

His gaze was compassionate but stern. ‘Such a thing cannot be. Put it from your mind. It is meet and fitting that a father decides with whom his daughter should match. Do you not trust his decision? Do you not trust me? This is right for you, and right for Aquitaine and Poitou. Louis is young, handsome and educated. It will be an illustrious marriage, and it is your duty.’