Louis gave a curt nod. ‘Indeed. I am not inclined to protect him from the men, and I can no longer trust him with any kind of military responsibility. The Templars will command the vanguard for the rest of the way.’

He left the tent in a brusque flurry and Alienor released the breath she had been holding. She could not even bear the scent of him now. Overcome by nausea, she had to run to the slop bowl.

Marchisa left what she was doing and hastened to tend to her.

‘It is nothing,’ Alienor said, gesturing her away. ‘I am all right.’

‘I am here if you need me, madam,’ Marchisa said, giving her a long, thoughtful look.

The Templars led off the army later in the morning. Louis kept de Maurienne close to his side, and Alienor had Geoffrey ride as part of her escort, near enough that he was under her protection as much as he was protecting her. It was unsettling and bittersweet. Each time she breathed him in, the sensation was almost unbearable, as it was with Louis, but for the opposite reasons. She dared not touch him or favour him because people were watching closely. It all had to be worn on the inside. No one must ever know.


30

Antioch, March 1148

Alienor and Louis sailed into the port of Saint Symeon on a glittering morning in mid March. The breeze was soft, the sky clear blue and the sea rocked with a gentle swell. Alienor walked on to the harbour side, thanking God for their safe deliverance. It was impossible to believe that the voyage from the port of Antalya to Antioch, usually of three days’ duration, had taken almost three weeks, during which their vessels had been buffeted on rough seas and blown far off course. The Greek sailors had demanded an extortionate fee of four silver marks for each passenger they shipped. The alternative was a forty-day journey through rough and hostile terrain, which was what the bulk of the army had had to do despite being weakened by sickness and hunger.

Alienor had been nauseous throughout the sea journey, even during the times when the weather was calm. Marchisa had tended to her and said nothing, but her gaze was astute. Alienor knew that sooner or later she would have to confide in her. She could not keep her condition secret for much longer without help.

Antioch stood on the River Orontes, the city wall rising in massive crenellations up the sides of Mount Silipus. It was home to the Holy Saint Peter, first disciple of Jesus, and housed the church where the word ‘Christian’ had first been coined. That church still existed, built into a cavern in the mountainside, and was a place of reverence and pilgrimage. Louis was eager to worship there and tread in the footsteps of heaven’s gatekeeper.

Alienor’s own thoughts were more directed towards meeting her uncle and claiming his protection. Preparing to meet him, she dressed in a red silk dalmatic given to her by the Empress Irene. The loose-fitting gown was ornamented with precious gems, pearls and gold beads. Sapphires and rubies adorned her fingers and she covered her hair with a veil of Egyptian linen, so fine that it was like mist. Despite the rigours of the journey and her recent uncertain health, she was determined to greet her uncle with regal dignity.

She had last seen him when she was nine years old and had a vague memory of a tall young knight with deep blue eyes and hair the same dark golden hue as her own. Her stomach was queasy with anticipation and the knowledge that she was about to begin a new phase of her life, a phase that did not include Louis, although for the moment she would play her role as Queen of France.

They were greeted by a crowd of people singing hymns and scattering blossom petals before them in a pink and white cloud. Louis’s jaw tightened. ‘Let us hope that this place is not another Constantinople,’ he muttered with a curl of his lip.

‘Why should it be?’ She gave him a sharp look. ‘It is ruled by my father’s brother and his wife is your cousin.’

‘Because the ways of the East are tainted, and the fine flourishes only serve to conceal and gild their treachery,’ he said.

She stared at him. ‘You believe our own kin to be treacherous?’

‘Until I have been given good reason to think otherwise,’ he said grimly. ‘After all, I have encountered treachery and deceit close to home on more than one occasion.’

Alienor swallowed nausea. Just a little longer, she told herself, just a few days more and she would be free. ‘Antioch is not Constantinople. My uncle and his wife are of our lands even if they have made lives here, and we have come to help them – that was our original purpose.’

‘Not our only one,’ he said. ‘Our duty to God is the more important.’

Outside the palace, her uncle Raymond waited to greet them with his wife, Constance, who was kin to Louis. Many years in the Middle Eastern sun had bleached Raymond’s hair to the white-gold of ripe wheat, and his blue eyes were surrounded by deep creases from staring into harsh light. He was taller and broader than Louis, and had such a look of her father that she wanted to fling her arms around him and sob on his neck, but she restrained herself. Constance was slightly younger than Alienor, slender and dark-haired with light green eyes and fine features. She had a look of Louis around her nose and cheekbones, but there was something a little exotic about her too, as if the East had added its quality to her blood.

Their marriage had begun in scandal and subterfuge. At the age of twenty-two, Raymond had been invited to Antioch to become its ruler by marrying Alice, widow of the recently deceased Count Bohemond. But Alice was headstrong and not of the bloodline, whereas her nine-year-old daughter Constance was. Travelling in secret to avoid enemies, Raymond had arrived in Antioch, ostensibly to marry the mother, but had taken the daughter to wife instead, thereby thwarting Alice’s ambitions and setting himself up in dominance. Although under heavy threat from the Seljuks, he remained a powerful player in the game and was still only in his thirties.

‘Welcome,’ Raymond said, his voice deep and mellifluous. He spoke the French of the north as he greeted Louis with the kiss of peace and embraced him, but he did not kneel. Then he turned to Alienor and his gaze filled with warmth and compassion. ‘Niece,’ he said in the lenga romana. ‘My brother’s child.’

When he kissed her cheek, she clung to him, feeling like a shipwrecked sailor being thrown a rope by the master of a seaworthy boat. ‘You look so much like my father,’ she said, a quiver in her voice.

Raymond smiled, revealing large white teeth. ‘I hope that is a flattering comparison. We are so glad to see you and welcome your aid. I hope you will find Antioch pleasing.’

‘I feel as if I have come home,’ Alienor said, her throat tight with emotion. She turned to Raymond’s young consort, and embraced her too. A perfume of incense hung around Constance, smoky and spicy at the same time. Louis’s jaw was tight with tension, but he was not hostile, just wary.

‘The bulk of my army is taking the overland route and will be here in a little less than two weeks,’ he said. ‘We will be glad of your succour until then.’

Raymond raised his brows. ‘You are welcome to stay for as long as the campaign requires,’ he replied. ‘I had heard that your troops were on their way overland. You have found to your cost that the Greeks charge extortionately for their services.’

‘Indeed, I have found to my cost that trust and loyalty are rarer than Tyrian purple and the horn of the unicorn,’ Louis replied grimly. ‘And that everything has its price, and it is always more than it is worth.’

‘That is so,’ Raymond replied. ‘Welcome to Outremer.’

For the first time in months, Alienor was able to truly relax and feel safe. Raymond reminded her so much of her father, but a version that was larger than life and filled with vitality and exuberance. He was secure in his manhood and he occupied his space effortlessly. He casually tousled the heads of his children as he introduced them. Baldwin his heir, four years old and shining gold like his father, and two dark-haired enchanting daughters, Maria, who was two, and Philippa, a babe in arms. Alienor felt a pang as she looked at Maria and thought of her own daughter of that name. She would be running about now and learning to say ‘Mama’ to other people – to Petronella and the women of the court. It was a world away – another life, and one to which she did not intend returning. There was another child to consider also, its life a tiny flickering secret within her womb.

The palace at Antioch was not as large or as opulent as that of Constantinople, but still gracious and filled with riches beyond anything that the courts of France possessed. The floors were dressed with iridescent tiles and mosaics. Marble fountains plashed in flower-scented courtyards and the courtiers wore silk just as they did in Constantinople. Alienor and her ladies were afforded a set of chambers with cool marble floors and high latticed windows to sift the breeze. Although the outward trappings were similar to Constantinople, the ambience was very different. She could feel her power here, and it was the power of Aquitaine, not France. She had presence and influence. As Duchess of Aquitaine and the niece of the Prince of Antioch, she was treated with respect and reverence. Her ideas and her abilities were valued, and the way she chose to dress and comport herself was regarded as normal and the right thing to do. It was in such contrast to her treatment at home and on the journey that it made her throat ache.

Indeed, Antioch felt close to Aquitaine in many more ways because her uncle had imbued his palace with that land’s energy and traditions. The court’s official language was the lenga romana, and the culture and music was all of the southern lands. Alienor and Raymond had memories to exchange – he of the times before she had been born, when he had been a child growing up with her father, and she of the years after he had gone.