Alienor kicked Thierry in the shins and ran from him, but the doors were shut and she was cornered. Even so she turned to fight, grabbing a poker from beside the brazier and jabbing it at Thierry. He laughed, feinted and seized her wrist, twisting it until she was forced to let go. She tried to drag his knife out of his belt, but he spun her round and bundled her in the cloak with aid from his henchmen, parcelling her up and tying ropes around her until she was immobilised. Still she tried to fight. Her mind filled with visions of being thrown into the Orontes to drown, or being taken from here, stabbed and left for the wolves and wild dogs to devour.

Thierry stood back panting, blood running down his face where the comb tines had raked him. ‘Hellcat.’ He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Bitch.’ He gave her a nudge with his foot.

She glared venom. ‘I will have vengeance for this. I call upon my father’s soul to witness what you do now and curse you forever! Let me go!’ She struggled against her bonds.

‘It is for the King to say what happens to you. I leave it to him to deal with the traitors and whores in his own household.’ Stooping, he tightened the binding again until Alienor struggled to breathe.

‘There is only one whore in this room,’ she panted. ‘And he is standing before me.’

De Galeran kicked her in the region of her belly. ‘The truth of that will out soon enough,’ he snarled.

She couldn’t scream; she didn’t have the breath. Her vision darkened and blurred, but she was dimly aware of the men seizing Mamile and Marchisa at sword point. De Galeran and another knight picked her up and carried her sideways as if she were a rolled-up carpet in a souk, and bore her into the main room. Gisela stood ready, a cloak around her shoulders and a tied bundle of belongings in her hand. Her eyes were wide with fear, but there was a defensive jut to her chin, and Alienor knew that here was the traitor to match the whore.

After a brief, jolting journey and a clink of a money pouch, Alienor was dumped with unceremonious force on to stony ground. The heavy cloak cushioned some of her fall, but not the entirety. If before it had been an effort to breathe, now it was a supreme struggle. She was going to die, she was certain of it now, and the child with her. She was suffocating inside the cloak. There was liquid in her throat and she was gagging.

Thierry stooped and cut the bindings. Alienor sucked in lungfuls of air, gasping and retching. ‘You will die for this!’ she choked.

‘I doubt it,’ Thierry said. ‘But you might.’ He seized her and with the help of another knight, brought her over to a stamping, unsettled horse. One of the soldiers was already mounted and she was bundled up in front of him. When she began to scream, he clapped a hard, calloused hand across her mouth and under her nose, almost cutting off her breath.

‘Any more, and it will be death for you.’

She tried to bite him and he swore.

‘Gag her,’ Thierry said, and handed up a strip of bandage, which the soldier wadded and stuffed in Alienor’s mouth. ‘Blindfold her too. The fewer senses the bitch has, the better.’

She struggled and fought, but the men were stronger and in a vicious mood. ‘Hah!’ said the soldier and dug in his heels, and the horse sprang forward. She was astride the saddle and there was a terrible feeling in her stomach, as if her muscles were being stretched until they tore. She was jolted and bumped. The wind stung her eyes. She was helpless and terrified, certain they were taking her somewhere isolated in order to kill her and dispose of her body.

It seemed to her that they rode for several hours. The horse’s rapid jog trot slowed to a walk, then a plod. Eventually, she smelled smoke and heard the sound of voices and her captor drew rein. She felt him dismount, and then he pulled her down off the horse and threw her to the ground. Alienor could not prevent the whimper that rose from her throat. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said. She sensed him walking away from her and she heard him greeting the men at the fire, followed by the slosh of liquid into a cup.

‘Perhaps it would be better if she did not live,’ she heard someone say. ‘Better dead than the scandal this will bring on us all.’

‘It is the King’s decision,’ another voice said sharply. ‘We should wait until he arrives.’

‘I do not see why. We can say it was an accident. He is better rid of her, and Christ alone knows what she was plotting with that uncle of hers – if plotting was all she was doing.’

Alienor’s teeth would have chattered with terror if she had been able to close her mouth around the gag. Would they dare murder her here and now without giving her the grace of confession and shriving? She forced herself to lie quiescent while she strained her ears. She would play dead, and if given the slightest opportunity, she would escape.

Eventually the discussion between the men ended as the decision was taken to leave her fate in the hands of the King. She felt footsteps approaching and her nostrils drew in the scent of some kind of hot stew with onions and garlic.

‘Here,’ said a gruff voice. ‘If I untie you, do you want something to eat?’

Alienor heaved up and lunged towards him and heard him curse as the hot stew splattered over his hands. He swore at her, and she heard the laughter of the other men from around their fire.

‘Leave her!’ one of them shouted. ‘What do you expect if you try kindness on a she-devil?’

Alienor slumped, tears wetting the blindfold.

Moments later she heard more hoofbeats and the sound of troops dismounting. Then Louis’s voice demanding to know what was happening.

‘The Queen is here, sire,’ Thierry said. ‘We had to bind her because she refused to come of her own accord. We also thought it best to disguise and conceal her.’

‘Let me see her,’ Louis demanded.

Aware of an approaching footfall, Alienor writhed and thrashed.

‘We would have fed her, sire, but she spilled the food all over Simon when he offered it to her.’

Alienor felt fingers on her face and struggled frantically.

‘See,’ said Thierry. ‘She is possessed, sire.’

‘Be silent,’ Louis snarled. ‘Did I order you to do this? I think not.’

The fingers worked at the knot on the blindfold and pulled it away. The gag came out next and Alienor coughed and drew in enormous breaths of unrestricted air.

‘Dear God,’ said Louis. ‘Dear God!’ He turned to Thierry. ‘I did not order this. Give me your knife.’

Stony-faced, Thierry drew his long dagger from its sheath and handed it to Louis.

With jerky movements, Louis cut the bindings around the cloak and set Alienor free. She fell forward into his arms and immediately recoiled.

‘I never meant them to do this to you.’ Louis’s expression filled with shock. ‘I wanted you to come with me, and we had to leave by stealth at night. I would never condone this – never!’ He looked over his shoulder at the now tense and worried knights who had kidnapped her. ‘You have overstepped your bounds.’ He glared at Thierry. ‘Is there no maid to assist the Queen? Where are her women?’

Thierry made a terse gesture and Gisela was brought forward from the other side of the campfire. Tears streaked the young woman’s face and she hung back. ‘I am so sorry!’ she sobbed.

‘Attend your mistress,’ Louis said.

Alienor raised her head. ‘I want Marchisa,’ she said with a last vestige of strength. ‘I will not have this one attend me ever again!’

Louis flicked his fingers and Gisela was led away, weeping bitterly. Marchisa stepped forward, her own face bruised, one eye swelling shut.

‘You beat her maids too?’ Louis was shocked.

Thierry touched the comb rakes on his cheek. ‘That one is as wild as her mistress,’ he said.

Marchisa shot him a glare. ‘I would have cut out your black heart if I could,’ she spat, and knelt over Alienor. ‘Madam, it is all right, I am here now. I am here.’

Alienor clung to Marchisa. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she was numb. Marchisa propped her against a pile of saddle blankets and clothing packs and brought her a cup of wine.

Alienor bowed her head. ‘He will pay for this, I swear,’ she said. ‘I shall still have my annulment.’ She closed her eyes. She was too tired and damaged to think. To feel only filled her with bleak despair. But come the morning she would set about planning her return to Antioch.

She was shaken out of the blackness of deep sleep to a sky that had the milky appearance of pre-dawn but was still scattered with stars. The men were mounting their horses. Her bruises had stiffened and the pain made her gasp as she tried to move. ‘I cannot ride,’ she whispered as the previous day’s horse was brought to her. ‘It is impossible.’

Louis came over to her and studied her with hard eyes. ‘You should not have resisted Thierry when he came to fetch you,’ he said. ‘It is your own fault that this has happened. Some might say you deserve it; nevertheless, I have chastised him for his conduct.’

‘I will not speak with you.’ She turned her head away. ‘It was my right to remain in Antioch.’

A look of revulsion crossed Louis’s face. ‘Antioch is a den of iniquity. Do you know what people are saying about you? Do you know how much you have sullied your name – and mine into the bargain? Do you care that you have made France a laughing stock?’

She closed her eyes, refusing to engage. It was all as nothing.

Louis exhaled hard. ‘I need us united. How can I lead an army if you are in Antioch encouraging rebellion against me and fomenting discord? You shall come to the Holy Sepulchre and you shall be washed clean. Make no mistake, you will never return to Antioch. Do you hear me? Never!’