‘Yes,’ she said. ‘As I told my lady duchess, you were kind to me too.’

‘And as I told Emma, now she is in my household,’ Alienor said, ‘she may anticipate ribbons and pastries and never again have to worry about the hair-pulling and frogs.’

Henry gave her an amused look. ‘Do I consider myself warned?’

Alienor arched her brows. ‘That is for you to decide, husband.’

He started to reply, but then his gaze fixed upon a travel-worn man in early middle age who had followed an usher into the room. His fur-lined cloak was draggled with rain.

‘Who is that?’ Alienor asked.

‘My uncle Reginald, Earl of Cornwall.’ Henry’s good humour vanished and he became as alert as a terrier. ‘What is he doing here?’

Alienor had heard Henry speak with affection of his uncle, who was a mainstay of his support in England. He was bastard-born to one of old King Henry’s numerous concubines and staunch to the Empress’s cause. The weather was vile and for the Earl to have made the hazardous sea crossing meant there must be serious news.

The Earl went straight to his half-sister the Empress and knelt to her. Alienor immediately noticed the strong resemblance to each other in the sharp grey eyes and the jut of the chin.

Matilda kissed him and raised him to his feet. He turned then to greet his nephews and Alienor. She felt the rasp of his beard as he kissed her cheek in formal greeting. His touch was icy.

‘What has happened?’ Henry demanded, cutting to the meat of the matter.

Taking a cup of spiced wine from a servant, Reginald went to stand near the fire. ‘The defenders of Wallingford are desperate,’ he said. ‘If you do not come now, we shall lose our foothold in England. We have nothing left to give and if you leave it until the spring, it will be too late. Even stalwarts such as John the Marshal are finding it difficult to hold on. We are close to victory, but we stand in peril of losing all we have fought for. Stephen is isolated and vulnerable, because of the death of his wife, who was his backbone, but her death also means he has thrown himself into a final effort to bring us down. We need you. I would not have crossed the sea at this time of year unless the summons was beyond urgent. You know how much I hate water.’

Without hesitation, Henry nodded. ‘I will come,’ he said. ‘I will begin preparations immediately and sail the moment I am ready.’

Alienor felt a glimmer of pride for her young husband. He saw a difficulty and addressed it head on. She also noticed how older men deferred to him. He had their confidence and it came not just from attitude but from deed.

Colour was gradually returning to Reginald of Cornwall’s complexion and his strained expression had relaxed a little. ‘The Earl of Leicester is eager to talk with you and may be brought to either keep away from the dispute or change allegiance. The same with Arundel, but they will not make a move unless you come in person. There is much concern over the notion of accepting Stephen’s heir as the future king.’

‘No surprise there,’ Henry said, curling his lip.

‘You need to prove yourself a viable alternative once and for all,’ said his uncle. ‘This is the point at which you succeed or you fail.’

‘I have not failed yet,’ Henry replied, ‘and I do not intend to now. That is not the future I have planned for my dynasty.’

Henry stayed up late, planning with his knights and retainers. Alienor went to bed and fell into a heavy sleep, but woke up when he returned in the early hours. She immediately felt nauseous and had to rush to the latrine where she stood over the hole, heaving, retching and bringing up bile.

Clad in shirt and braies, Henry hastened over to her and held back her hair from her face. ‘What is wrong?’ he demanded. ‘Shall I fetch your women?’

‘Nothing is wrong,’ Alienor gasped when she could speak. ‘Indeed, I suspect everything is very right.’ Her stomach was still quivering, but she managed to stand up. ‘Will you bring me a cup of wine?’

He did so, pouring one for himself too by the light of the single lamp. She sipped slowly, taking her time. Henry watched her with anticipation in his eyes, waiting for her to speak, although she suspected he must know the reply.

‘It is early days yet, but I think I am with child,’ she said. ‘I have missed two fluxes and have been feeling unwell for a few days now. It would seem on the eve of your going that our prayers for an heir have been answered. I certainly hope I am not being sick for any lesser reason.’

Henry put his wine down, did the same with hers and pulled her gently into his arms. ‘That is wonderful news. Do you know when?’

‘The end of the summer or early autumn, I am not entirely sure.’

‘You have done me proud.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘And you have done well in telling me now.’

‘I would rather that than send word by letter once you were in England.’

‘It is a great gift.’ His smile lit up his face. ‘I shall have even more reason to make a success of this for my son.’

Alienor bit her lip. Not every child was a son, but every man expected of his wife the duty of bearing one.

‘Is there anything to be done to alleviate the sickness?’

‘Food,’ she said. ‘Plain food. A little dry bread and honey.’

Henry strode to the door and bellowed. A bleary squire staggered off and returned with a loaf on a platter and a crock of honey, which Henry snatched from him and brought to her. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he fed her small morsels and watched her chew and swallow. Between one mouthful and the next, Alienor went from queasy to ravenous and ended up devouring every last morsel.

‘Lie down.’ He patted the bed, a gleam of excitement in his gaze.

Alienor looked at him askance but did as he asked.

He reached up behind his neck and unclasped the chain from which hung his gold cross. Holding it between finger and thumb, he dangled it over her abdomen. ‘The cross goes up and down for a boy, and side to side for a girl,’ he said.

Alienor laughed. ‘Where did you learn such women’s lore?’

‘My mother showed me when she was having William. I was very small, but I remember her letting me do this – although she was further along than you are.’

‘Did it work?’ She looked at the chain glistening in his hand, hovering just above her womb.

‘Yes,’ he said and gave a pained smile. ‘I would have preferred both my brothers to be girls, of course, but this only predicts, it doesn’t alter the sex of the child.’

The chain slowly started to move up and down in pendulum sweeps, becoming more and more vigorous. ‘A boy,’ Henry said with laughing satisfaction. ‘A strong and healthy boy. I did not doubt it for one minute.’

Alienor raised her brows. ‘Did you not?’

He shook his head. ‘Louis did not have it in his loins to beget sons on you, but I do – a whole dynasty of them!’

‘But what if it had gone the other way?’ she asked. ‘What if it had said a girl?’

He shrugged. ‘It would only be a matter of time before we had a boy. Daughters are valuable too. Only a man insecure in himself would fret over such a thing at this stage.’ He fastened the cross around her neck. ‘Wear this and think of me,’ he said; then he lay down at her side, pulled the covers over them both and settled down to sleep, his hand over her belly in a protective, proprietorial gesture.

Alienor remained awake for a short time, stroking Henry’s arm where it lay across her womb, and thought of the family they would become. And then she reached to the cross he had placed around her neck and smiled.


49

Poitiers, August 1153

A burning August sun bleached the blue from the sky and gripped Poitiers in the fierce talons of a heatwave. High in the Maubergeonne Tower, the confinement chamber was insulated by thick stone walls. Linen curtains hung across the shutters, letting in air, but maintaining shade. A baby’s wail filled the room where moments ago there had only been Alienor’s voice, raised in a final cry of effort.

Hair drenched with sweat, chemise bunched around her hips, she raised herself on her elbows to watch the child being lifted from between her blood-dabbled thighs. The little body was streaked with blood and mucus, and the pulsating cord obstructed its genitals so Alienor could not tell the gender. And then the midwife pushed the cord to one side and beamed.

‘A son, my lady. You have a fine boy, praise God, praise God!’

The wails became lusty roars as the midwife wiped out the baby’s mouth and laid him upon Alienor’s belly. He screwed up his face and thrashed his limbs, but as he felt the warmth of Alienor’s flesh, he grew quieter. She reached down to touch and feel him. Alive, squirming, perfect.

The midwife gently lifted him off Alienor, snicked the cord with a small, sharp knife while intoning a prayer, and then removed him to a table where a bowl of scented warm water had been prepared for his first bath.

‘Do not swaddle him,’ Alienor commanded. ‘I would see him first.’

The woman gently washed the baby’s tender limbs and then returned him to his mother, wrapped in a soft towel. Alienor held him close and checked his fingers and toes, his little ears, his puckered face. His hair gleamed like new gold, so did the tips of his eyelashes. He was going to be red like his father. And between his legs, the very obvious proof of his gender. Alienor swallowed. Her throat was tight and she knew she was going to weep a flood of tears, some of joy, some of grief, but all of healing. She held the baby to her breast and kissed his face again and again. ‘He is to be named William,’ she said. ‘For the Dukes of Aquitaine and Normandy and the Conqueror King of England.’

The bells of Saint-Pierre pealed out the news that an heir to Aquitaine was born and every church in Poitiers took up the joyous clamour and from there rang the tidings to all the towns and villages beyond. Scribes frantically copied out the news and messengers galloped from the city, heading far and wide with the announcement.