The Summer Queen

3

Castle of Béthizy, France, May 1137

Fetched from his prayers, Louis entered his father’s sickroom in the top chamber of the castle. The wide-open shutters admitted a light breeze and revealed twin arches of blue spring sky. Bowls of incense burned on various tables around the room, but did little to dissipate the stench from his father’s decaying, swollen body. Louis swallowed a retch as he knelt at the bedside and made his obeisance. He almost shuddered as his father’s hand touched the top of his head in benediction.

‘Stand up.’ Louis senior’s voice was gravelly with secretions. ‘Let me look at you.’

Louis strove to control his anxiety. His father’s body might be a bloated ruin, but the ice-blue eyes still showed the mind and will of the keen hunter, soldier and king trapped within the dying flesh. Louis always felt defensive in his father’s presence. He was the second son, intended for a career in the Church, but when his older brother had died in a riding accident, Louis had been brought from his studies at Saint-Denis and made heir to the kingdom. It was God’s decision and Louis knew he must serve in whatever way God wanted, but it had not been his choice – and certainly not his parents’.

His mother stood by the curtains at the right of the bedside, her hands clasped in front of her and her lips pursed in the habitual expression that said she knew best and he knew nothing. To her left stood several of his father’s closest advisers, including his mother’s brothers William and Amadée. Also Theobald, Count of Blois. Louis’s apprehension increased.

His father made a sound down his nose, like a horse-trader not entirely satisfied with the beast on offer but knowing it would have to do. ‘I have a task that will make a man of you,’ he said.

‘Sire?’ Louis’s throat was tight, and his voice emerged on a rising note that betrayed his tension.

‘A matter of marriage vows. Suger will tell you; he has the breath in his lungs to do so, and he is fond of the sound of his own voice.’ His father beckoned, and the small, squirrel-eyed Abbot of Saint-Denis stepped forward from among the group, a scroll held in his thin fingers, and a reproachful look on his face for the King’s jibe.

Louis blinked. Marriage vows?

‘Sire, we have great and important news for you.’ Suger’s voice was mellifluous and his expression was open and candid. As well as being one of his father’s closest confidants, Suger was Louis’s tutor and mentor. Louis loved him as he did not love his father because Suger helped him to make sense of the world and understood his needs. ‘William of Aquitaine has died during a pilgrimage to Compostela, may God assoil him.’ Suger signed his breast. ‘Before he left, he sent his will to France, asking your father to care for his daughters in the event of his death. The eldest is thirteen and of marriageable age, and the younger one eleven.’

Louis’s father heaved himself into an approximation of upright against the mass of pillows and bolsters supporting his distended torso. ‘We must seize the opportunity,’ he wheezed. ‘Aquitaine and Poitou will increase our lands and prestige a hundredfold. We cannot allow them to fall into the hands of others. Geoffrey of Anjou for one would gladly snatch the duchy with a marriage between his son and the eldest girl, and that must not happen.’ The effort expended on speech left him purple in the face and fighting for breath and he waved at Suger to continue.

Suger cleared his throat. ‘Your father wishes you to take an army down to Bordeaux to secure the region, and to marry the eldest girl. She is currently under guard at the Ombrière Palace and the Archbishop awaits your arrival.’

Louis reeled, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. He knew one day he would have to marry and beget heirs, but he had always viewed it as a vaguely unpleasant duty in the distant future. Now he was being told he must wed a girl he had never met who came from lands where the people were known to be pleasure-seekers, lax in their moral habits.

‘I will see to the girls’ education in our ways,’ his mother said, securing her own authority in the proceedings. ‘They have been without maternal care for many years, and they will benefit from proper guidance and instruction.’

His father’s constable, Raoul de Vermandois, stepped forward. ‘Sire, I will begin preparations to leave immediately.’ He was another close adviser, and Louis’s first cousin once removed into the bargain. A leather patch concealed the empty socket where he had lost an eye during a siege eight years ago. He was a reliable warhorse on the battlefield, and an elegant and charismatic courtier, much appreciated by the ladies. The eye patch only added to his cachet where women were concerned.

‘Make haste, Raoul,’ said the King. ‘Time is of the essence.’ He raised a warning forefinger. ‘It is to be an escort of honour and largesse; the Poitevans value such things and we must keep their goodwill at all costs. Fly banners from your spears and wear ribbons round your helms. Make sure that for now you go bearing gifts, not blades.’

‘Sire, leave it to me.’ De Vermandois bowed from the room, his magnificent cloak sweeping behind him like a sail.

Louis knelt to receive his father’s blessing again, and somehow managed to leave the fetid chamber before doubling over to be violently sick. He did not want to take a wife. He knew nothing of girls except that their soft curves, their giggles and twittery voices repulsed him. His mother was not like that; she was a rod of iron, but she had never given him love. The only affection in his world had come from God, but God now seemed to be saying he should be married. Perhaps it was a punishment for his sins that he should have to do this thing, and therefore he should accept it gladly and give praise.

As servants rushed to clear up the mess he had made, Suger emerged from the chamber and was swiftly at his side. ‘Ah, Louis, Louis.’ The Abbé put a comforting arm across the youth’s shoulders. ‘I know this is a shock, but it is God’s will and you must surrender to it. He offers you magnificent opportunities, and a girl near to your own age to be your wife and helpmate. This is truly a moment to rejoice.’

Louis composed himself under Suger’s calming influence. If this was truly the will of God, then he must submit and do his best. ‘I do not even know her name,’ he said.

‘I believe it is Alienor, sire.’

Louis silently formed the syllables on his lips. Her name was like a foreign fruit he had never tasted before. He still felt like heaving.