That night she dreamed of dark crimson roses dripping with blood and in the morning awoke to discover that her flux had begun and Henry’s seed had not taken root. She had not really expected it to for the sake of one night, but still, it heightened her anxiety. Before she took leave of Fontevraud, she prayed again in the church and knelt to Mathilde to receive her blessing. And then, with Emma at her side, she joined the rest of her entourage and rode south towards the safety of Aquitaine.


47

Poitiers, August 1152

Alienor had spent the morning occupied with the business of government. The hall and courtyard in Poitiers was in a state of constant activity with the comings and goings of messengers, petitioners, scribes and servants. She had heard from Henry in the field. He had chosen not to take on his enemies in direct combat, but had attacked them in vulnerable areas they were not expecting and with such speed that he left them baffled and reeling. She had ensured her own borders were secure because Henry’s rebellious brother Geoffrey controlled several castles too close to Poitou for comfort.

She gazed at the new silver seal sitting by her right hand. She had commissioned it immediately after her marriage and the legend round the rim declared her Alienor, Countess of Poitou, Duchess of the Normans and Countess of the Angevins. This was hers, this was her power and she was never going to give it up to usurpers. Every document that went out from her court bore that authority, and it gave her deep feelings of pride and satisfaction.

Deciding to clear her head before the dinner hour, she called for her horse to be saddled. It was a fine late summer day and her palfrey was eager to trot. Alienor gave the horse its head and as the trot became a canter and then a gallop, she relaxed into the speed, enjoying the sensation of freedom and the illusion of outrunning her cares. Some of her courtiers considered her reckless but that was not what her race against the wind was about. She well knew the difference between being reckless and taking a calculated risk.

Eventually Alienor slowed the gelding to a walk and patted his sweating neck. They had reached the lichened Roman soldier, who looked little different from that time fifteen years ago when she had ridden out with Archbishop Gofrid and he had told her she was to marry Louis of France. The wide, white stare remained the same, although perhaps his cladding of lichen had spread a little. She gave him a wry smile of acknowledgement. He would be here long after she was dust.

Looking up, she became aware of a horseman cantering towards her in a cloud of pale dust. A handful of men rode behind him, but he had outstripped them by a hundred yards. Alienor’s escort put hands to their weapons, but she gestured them to stand down. ‘It is my lord husband,’ she said. Suddenly her heart was pounding. What was his urgency? Had there been a disaster? Was he fleeing and preparing to defend Poitiers?

Henry slewed to a halt before her. His black courser was blowing hard, the linings of its nostrils as red as expensive cloth. Sweat dripped from its hide, and from Henry too. He was scarlet in the face and his eyes shone like grey crystals, fierce and bright.

‘Lady wife.’ He swept her a bow in the saddle. ‘I left you in haste, and in haste I return.’ His smile dazzled. His beard was fuller than at their marriage, and his hair needed cutting. Alienor was overjoyed to see him, and delighted too that he wore a smile, but she was still anxious.

‘I am glad to see you whole and unharmed,’ she replied, ‘and I am flattered by your haste, but where are the rest of your men?’

‘Following. I outrode them,’ he said cheerfully.

‘For any reason?’

‘Only that they were too slow and I was most eager to greet you.’ He gave her a plaintive look. ‘And now I am very thirsty and I need to wash and change and eat and drink.’

‘All at once?’ Alienor gave him a teasing look.

‘Why waste time?’ he said.

Alienor turned her palfrey and they trotted back to the city together with their entourages falling in behind. ‘I take it you do not bring bad news?’

‘Well, not for us,’ Henry said with a gleam, ‘but Louis has turned tail to Paris claiming a recurrence of his fever and the brothers of Blois have retreated with him.’ A triumphant note entered his voice. ‘I told you that speed counted for more than courage and numbers.’

As they rode, Alienor learned that Louis had tried to take Pacy, but Henry had ridden hard through the night, foundering horses but reaching strategic areas almost two days before he was expected. He had drawn them off by burning the Vexin, seizing Bonmoulins and harrying the land like a demon. ‘They could not stand my pace and fury,’ he said with a smug and savage grin. ‘They were expecting a rash boy who had overstepped his mark, but they got me instead.’

Alienor gave the servants orders concerning Henry’s men and had a bathtub prepared for her young husband in the private chamber at the top of the Maubergeonne Tower. An attendant placed fresh bread and chicken on a board set across the bathtub so that Henry could eat and soak at the same time.

‘What of your brother?’

‘Geoffrey?’ Henry made a face. ‘He’s always wanted what is mine and will do anything to get it, even conniving with the French. Much good it has done him, the fool. He shut his castles against me so I took them from him. He has no idea how to keep men loyal and has neither the wit nor the talent for warfare. I besieged him at Montsorreau – if you can call it a siege; he didn’t stand. He does not have a backbone either.’

‘What have you done with him?’

‘Accepted his submission for now and put my men in charge of his castles. I have sent him to my mother in Rouen. I would have kept him with me but I do not want to spoil my time here with the sight of his sulky face.’ He paused to drink some wine and bite into the bread and chicken.

‘Your aunt Mathilde said there was no love lost between you.’

‘Hah, she’s right. Geoffrey’s always been a brat and resented me.’

‘And your other brother?’

‘Will?’ Henry swallowed. ‘He’s a brat too. He was always whining and telling tales when he was a child – still has that inclination now, but he’s no threat. He will be happy to take whatever Geoffrey drops through stupidity. Like Hamelin he has his uses.’

Chewing another mouthful he began to wash. The bathwater had changed colour from clear to milky grey. The sight of his wet, dark copper hair curling on his nape against his pale skin filled her with tenderness and a spark of lust. ‘And what do your brothers think of you?’

He gave a snort of amusement. ‘Hamelin would like to see me fall from a personal point of view, but he also considers I have the most to offer him and that it’s better to be faithful and not bite the hand that feeds. He likes Geoffrey and William even less, and they have only scraps to offer. Geoffrey wants me dead and that’s the end of the matter. If I had not promised my father on my soul I would not harm him, the feeling would be mutual. William is still becoming his own man. He won’t run with Geoffrey for the same reasons as Hamelin – it’s not a safe bet, so he regards me as the devil he knows.’

She pursed her lips. ‘So brotherly love is no part of the mix?’

‘God no!’

Alienor took the dining board away and Henry stood up. Attendants sluiced him down with jugs of warm water and he stepped from the bath on to a fleece rug where attendants towelled him dry and dressed him in clean, soft garments.

‘I learned long ago’, he said, ‘that to get the best from anything you have to be entirely familiar with its workings, be it a water mill, a ship, a horse or a man.’

Alienor gave him a teasing look. ‘And what about me?’

Henry lifted one eyebrow. ‘I am going to enjoy finding out.’

Alienor dismissed the servants with a peremptory gesture and sat on the bed. ‘That will take you a lifetime. Water mills, ships, horses and men – they are simple to understand and deal with, but you will find me more of a challenge.’

‘Ah, so you think men simple to deal with?’

The atmosphere was charged with erotic tension. Alienor stroked her throat, drew her hand down over her braids, and halted at her waist, with her fingers pointing downwards. ‘Men are governed by their appetites,’ she said.

‘As are women,’ he retorted. ‘Indeed the Church teaches us that women are insatiable.’

‘The Church is governed by men, who have their own appetite for control, do you believe everything the Church tells you?’

Laughing, he joined her. ‘I am not gullible.’ He unpinned her veil and unwound her hair, running his fingers through the strands and breathing in their scent. ‘So, if I am governed by my appetites, and you are insatiable, perhaps we shall never leave this chamber.’

She laughed in return. ‘My grandfather wrote a poem about that very thing.’

‘About two women, their ginger tom cat and a travelling knight?’

‘You know it?’

‘Hah, I have heard it recited round more campfires than I can remember. One hundred and ninety-nine times over the course of eight days, was it not?’ He unfastened the brooch pinning the neck of her dress. ‘Your grandfather was prey to poetic exaggeration, I suspect. I am not about to die trying to emulate his imagination. I always say that quality is better than quantity!’

Alienor leaned over Henry. His chest was still heaving from their most recent bout of lovemaking and there was a beatific smile on his face. ‘Well, sire,’ she said, ‘it seems to me you are indeed trying to match the record in my grandfather’s poem.’

Henry chuckled. ‘No one could blame me if I did. Is there any wine? I’m parched.’