Aelburgh bit her lip and looked away. ‘Is she beautiful?’

He gave a small shrug. ‘Her looks matter little. It is what she is and the lands she has that make her needful to me. I chose you for yourself.’ In its own way, Henry’s gallant remark was true, but he used it in a calculating way to placate her. Now that his sexual appetite had been sated, his mind was already on the journey to Poitiers. He was fond of Aelburgh, and loved the child, but they were peripheral when set against the drive of his ambition. ‘Sleep now,’ he said, setting his hand to her waist. ‘I may be taking a wife, but you should not confuse business with pleasure.’

‘And I am the mother of your firstborn son,’ she said with defensive pride.

‘Yes, you are.’ He stroked her hair, but his mind was on the future and all the golden possibilities that the Duchess of Aquitaine’s letter had opened up.

‘Well?’ Alienor turned to Marchisa, spreading her arms to show off the magnificent red damask gown woven with an eagle pattern in thread of gold. She had just received news that Henry had arrived with a small, fast-travelling entourage and he had been shown to the chamber prepared for him.

Marchisa curtseyed. ‘You may no longer be a queen, but you look every inch of one – not of France, but of Aquitaine.’

Alienor’s smile was brittle. ‘And perhaps of England one day. Let us go and see what this prospective husband of mine has to say for himself.’

Alienor’s vassals and servants knelt as she made her entrance. Raoul de Faye and Hugh de Châtellerault escorted her to her chair on the high dais where she was joined by Gilbert, the elderly Bishop of Poitiers, and Archbishop Gofrid of Bordeaux. The scene set, she commanded Henry and his entourage to be brought into the great hall and announced.

Henry’s complexion was ruddy from recent scrubbing. He had washed his hair and its wet colour was almost as dark as cinnamon. He wore a tunic of dark blue wool with scarlet edging dotted with gems. Standing at his side, she recognised Hamelin FitzCount, today clad in the garb of a courtier.

Henry stepped forward and, kneeling to her, bowed his head. ‘Madam,’ he said. ‘I came as swiftly as I could.’

‘For which I thank you,’ she answered formally. ‘Welcome to Poitiers, sire.’

He sent her an upward glance and for the first time she met his gaze in full daylight. His eyes were crystal-grey with a flash of green in the depths and filled with piercing intelligence. His lashes looked as if they had been swept with gold dust. He had smooth, fair skin, a square jaw and a young, soft beard of warm red gold. He possessed the handsomeness of youth and, although not a boy, he was still only a very young man and that gave her a tug of fear. ‘I hope to make you not only Duchess of Normandy and Countess of Anjou, but Queen of England in due course,’ he said with bold assertion.

Alienor raised her eyebrows. ‘I do more than hope in my intention to make you my consort duke of Aquitaine.’

They appraised each other keenly. Still kneeling, Henry took her hand and pressed it to his lips and, while he held her captive, placed on her wrists the gem-studded cuff clasps he had brought with him. ‘This is the first of many gifts I shall bring to you. Not just of jewels and gold, but of empire and prestige.’ He raised his voice as he spoke so that it carried around the hall. Alienor listened to the rumbles of approbation from her vassals. This was what they desired to hear. She was pleased, but wary too. She did not want a husband taking over her domain, yet she needed a man who would be strong and keep his word by practical deed. She also did not want a boastful boy who promised all and delivered nothing. But Henry’s eyes were not those of a boastful boy. They were knowing and steely far beyond his physical years.

She eyed the clasps. Jewels to adorn a queen, or a new set of fetters? Leaning over, she gave him the kiss of peace. ‘I hold you to your word,’ she said and, as she raised him to his feet, the hall erupted with cheers of acclaim.

The rest of the day was taken up in formal feasting. Alienor noticed how much Henry fidgeted, as if his body was unable to contain his bursting energy, but he managed to be charming and urbane too. He found the right words to say to each person while absorbing everything about them. He was like a spinster with a basket full of raw fleece, drawing out and twisting threads of policy from the basic material. How could he be only nineteen? She looked at his hands as he broke bread. The left one was enhanced by a magnificent sapphire ring. His right bore a long scratch across the back, and a black mark on a fingernail where he had suffered some sort of blow. These were the hands of someone accustomed to grabbing the reins and forcing his horse in any direction he chose.

‘You were a great deal more circumspect when you were in Paris with your father,’ she said.

Henry reached for his cup. ‘I had good reason to be. I did not want to arouse suspicion because we were there to negotiate a truce, and that was difficult enough without Louis getting the scent of anything else.’

‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing then?’

‘Rather call it a lion being a lamb.’

The remark made Alienor laugh. He might be young, but he had an instinct for the right word in the right place, a skill Louis had never possessed.

He leaned back in his chair, the cup resting on his gold belt buckle. ‘My only regret is that I cannot stay in Poitiers and be a proper bridegroom. I still have urgent business in Normandy and a throne to acquire in England.’

‘That is indeed a pity,’ Alienor said, but she was thinking she could rule her own domain and be safe because she would be a married woman. She would indeed have her freedom.

‘I shall return when I have done what I must and we can become better acquainted.’ He smiled at her. ‘I wasn’t going to give this up for a more convenient moment.’

‘If you had not come, there would not have been a more convenient moment,’ she replied with asperity.

‘I realise that.’ He sent her a bright glance. ‘But I did answer your summons and I do recognise the importance of this union – for both of us.’

Later there was dancing and as Alienor clasped hands with Henry, a spark jolted through her and was reciprocated. He was a good dancer, energetic and lithe at the same time. He was taller than her but only by a little, and they moved in harmony, but the looks they sent each other were like sparks, adding frissons of desire and challenge.

Alienor’s vassals, well oiled with wine by now, demonstrated some of the more robust masculine dances of the region. Henry mastered the different steps with nimble dexterity. Alienor observed the pleasure he took in the movements and how unselfconscious he was. He could laugh at himself when he tangled a move, and take sweeping bows at the applause when he succeeded. Louis would not even have attempted to join in such sport. Henry’s enjoyment was infectious and at one point she laughed so much she had to hold her sides. It had been so long since she had felt such emotion that it almost frightened her. It was difficult to stop and she could feel the edge of tears. As the dance finished, she took the decision to retire.

Henry bowed. ‘Until the morning, madam.’ A gleam lit in his eye. ‘And tomorrow, we shall not have to bid each other goodnight at all.’

Alienor’s face grew warm. ‘No,’ she said, and departed with her women, feeling flustered. His touch tonight had roused her more than she had expected, but then she had been sleeping alone for a long, long time, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her beyond just the need for an alliance. Unless he was a complete boor in the bedchamber, it would not be difficult to make a pleasure of their wedding night.

While her women turned down the covers and freed the bed curtains from their hooks, she knelt at her little devotional altar and prayed that she had done the right thing to please God and the best for Aquitaine. She wanted to settle into a partnership of equals where she and Henry could blend their skills. She wanted unity in her household and support. She wanted children: sons and daughters who would eventually inherit her role.

Before she rose from her knees, she vowed to make this marriage as good as it could be. This time she would succeed.

Henry, who needed little sleep, did not retire until much later. He continued to socialise with the Poitevan barons, finding common ground and deciding whom he could trust and whom to watch, deliberately impressing his personality on them and issuing a warning that he was not to be trifled with despite his youth.

When Henry eventually retired, his own prayers were swiftly said, but heartfelt nevertheless. He thanked God for His goodness in dropping this plum into his lap. Alienor was attractive, even if she was nine years older than him, and she intrigued him. She was very different to Aelburgh, but then one was a mistress and one a wife and their relationships with him were on a different scale.

Thinking back to his initial reluctance to the match, he smiled ruefully. Being married to Alienor, being Duke of Aquitaine, might just turn out to be very rewarding indeed – in every way.


45

Poitiers, May 1152

Alienor and Henry solemnised their marriage in the cathedral of Saint-Pierre in Poitiers. The pillars of the nave were twined with all the flowers of a full southern spring. Lilies, roses and honeysuckle added their scent to the perfume of incense, rising in veils of smoke to heaven. Once more Alienor received a wedding ring on her heart finger; once more she took the vows. For better or for worse …

Outside the cathedral, Henry faced her and brought her hands to his lips. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Now we have an empire to rule and a dynasty to raise.’