The Summer Queen

26

Hungary, Summer 1147

It began raining again as the cart in front of Alienor shuddered to a halt, its wheels bogged down in the soupy mud churned up by the passage of the endless train of French soldiers and pilgrims. German crusaders had preceded them like a swarm of locusts, stripping the ready supplies, alienating the native populations, and turning the roads into pig wallows.

Soldiers and pilgrims hastened to lend their shoulders to the back of the cart while others threw down logs and hurdles into the mire to add purchase. As they heaved and pushed, one man fell; when he staggered to his feet again he was dripping like a primordial demon. Another lost his shoe in the slurry and had to grope with his hands like a beggar hunting through a bowl of pottage for meat.

Geoffrey de Rancon handed Alienor a mantle of robust waxed leather and a cowled hood of the same. ‘Good Christ, madam,’ he muttered, ‘we’ll not reach the border before sunset at this rate.’

Grimacing, Alienor struggled into the garment. It had not properly dried out from the last occasion she had used it, and the smell of beeswax and leather was permeated by that of damp and smoke. By the time they made camp tonight, she would stink like a charcoal burner, but it was preferable to being soaked to the skin and covered in glutinous mud like most of these poor wretches.

After much heaving, cursing and struggling, the cart eventually sucked out of the ooze and rolled on its tortuous way, but more carts were following, and the same fate awaited them. Alienor had no idea where Louis was, save somewhere ahead, and in truth she did not care, as long as he was out of her sight.

They had been on the road for six weeks, having set off from Saint-Denis at the end of May. On a burning hot day, in the presence of Pope Eugenius, Louis had received the oriflamme banner from the hands of Abbé Suger as part of an elaborate ceremony to bid Godspeed and success to the French army as it embarked on the long march to Jerusalem via the bone-bleached battlefields of Edessa, Antioch and Tripoli. Alienor had sweltered in the many layers of her formal attire. Adelaide too, and for a moment the women had been in accord as they stood side by side, struggling to cope with the heat.

Louis had retired to dine in the cool of the abbey with His Holiness and various clerics. Everyone else had to wait outside, and Alienor added inconsideration and disparagement to her grievances.

At least she did not have to travel with Louis. The army was divided into sections and she rode either with the non-combatants and the baggage in the centre, or else with the men of Aquitaine under the leadership of Geoffrey de Rancon. The latter suited her very well indeed, for among her own she was respected.

Alienor tried not to dwell on the farewells she had made on the steps of Saint-Denis, but still the visions came. The hard hug from Petronella and the tears welling in her sister’s eyes had reminded Alienor of their father leaving for Compostela.

‘What will I do without you?’ Petronella had sobbed.

‘Survive,’ Alienor had replied, her throat swollen with emotion and her eyes full of tears. ‘Survive, my sister, and care for Marie until I return.’

‘As if she were my own daughter,’ Petronella wept.

The children had not been present among the gathering at Saint-Denis. Alienor had kissed Marie farewell earlier in the guest house. She had told her daughter she would bring her jewels from Constantinople, silks and frankincense from far lands and a candle from the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem to light her way on God’s path. And then she had gone from the room, closed the door on her child and buried her emotions deep.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Alienor shuddered. Ten days ago on the road from Passau to Klosterneuburg a cart had been struck by lightning and the driver and horses killed instantly.

‘Let us hope the worst holds off until we have crossed the Drava,’ muttered her constable, Saldebreuil de Sanzay, glancing at the sky from under the rim of his helm. ‘The last thing we need is a flood.’

Alienor agreed with him and sent up a silent prayer. Of late she had developed an active interest in the weather. When it rained, roads swiftly turned into quagmires and traversing rivers became a matter of life and death. Crossing the Rhine and the Danube had been moderately simple due to decent barges on the one and a fine bridge on the other. Alienor thought they should have taken the sea route via Sicily, but Louis had refused because of the enmity between Roger of Sicily and Konrad, Emperor of Germany. Louis had not wanted to risk upsetting the Germans so instead they were following the land route to Constantinople. Thus far they had travelled through Metz, Worms, Wurzburg, Ratisbon, Passau and Klosterneuburg heading for the crossing of a tributary of the Danube lying across their path into Bulgaria.

Shortly after noon, they arrived at the site where the Germans had camped a week previously as they prepared to cross the Drava. The ground was muddy and waterlogged. The surrounding area had been stripped of resources; the horses had eaten all the immediately available grass and Louis’s army had to make do with what they had brought with them. Since half of that was in bogged-down carts stretching back down the road, neither man nor beast was going to eat or be comfortable for some time.

The few ships, barges and rafts at the bank were insufficient to carry the horses. Two rafts proved large enough to take a couple of carts at each crossing and twenty people, but the going was painfully slow. The horses had to be swum across, and although entering the river the bank was shallow, the opposite side was steeper and the state of the bank worsened as each animal churned up the mud when lunging to gain solid ground.

Alienor watched with trepidation as her groom took her dappled gelding. The current was not particularly swift, but the river was muddy and turbid and her mind filled with images of an aquatic monster dragging horse and rider under. She had read stories in bestiaries about such creatures. Crocodiles for certain. Were there crocodiles in Hungary?

The river’s milky-brown surface dimpled with raindrops as Alienor accepted Geoffrey de Rancon’s hand and boarded the barge to cross to the far bank. Her groom, wearing only shirt and braies, waded into the river with the cob, grasping its mane at the withers, speaking constantly to the horse in reassurance as they went out of their depth and began to swim, the man being towed along by the animal’s strength. The grey was placid and strong and they reached the far bank without difficulty, but others were taken by the current and ended up far downstream. Some animals were skittish, refusing the water. One horse panicked in the shallows and kicked the side of the barge. Gisela screamed and Alienor gripped Geoffrey’s sleeve to steady herself. Cursing, the horse’s rider whipped his mount back to the boggy river’s edge before reining around and spurring back into the water in a surge of muddy spray. Geoffrey swiftly turned his back to the deluge, pulling Alienor into his body so that his heavy woollen cloak took the brunt of the drenching.

‘Thank you,’ Alienor said with a swift glance at him.

He briefly tightened his grip before he stepped back and bowed. ‘I but fulfilled my duty to protect my liege lady.’

‘Then I am glad you were swift to do so.’ Her heart was uplifted and warmed as she turned to her women. ‘Come,’ she encouraged, ‘let us pray and sing. All will be well. God will look after us.’

‘Then why is He making it rain?’ Gisela sniffled. Her fine blond hair showed beneath the end of her wimple in draggled rats’ tails.

‘That is not for us to question,’ Alienor replied sharply. ‘We cannot know His plan.’ Her only hope was that God’s mysterious ways would bring her safely to Antioch and the haven of her uncle Raymond’s court.

The army continued its muddy crossing of the Drava. Once disembarked, Alienor made a point of thanking her groom and checking on the grey.

‘He’s a good horse, madam. No more than one pace in him, but he’s game. We both are.’

‘I know that.’ She smiled and gave him a coin, which he tucked into the waistband roll of his sodden braies.

The German army had stripped the grazing on this side of the river too, and the only available supplies were for sale at exorbitant prices from the few locals who dared to enter the camp with their wares.

Alienor’s servants found a place to pitch her tent on a shelf of ground slightly higher than the river. It was hardly salubrious but at least it afforded shelter. Many of the poorer pilgrims had nothing but a single waxed linen sheet held up with sticks to protect them from the elements. Alienor’s tent canvas stank of mustiness, smoke and mould. The servants covered the floor with a thick layer of straw. That too was damp, but better than standing in mud. Alienor grimaced. This was no way to live – little better than a pigsty. Sleeping under the stars on a balmy summer’s evening in your own territory was one thing, but doing so night after night in the pouring rain far from home with scant supplies was a very different prospect.

Supper was stale bread and ammoniac goat’s cheese washed down with sour wine on the verge of being vinegar. As dusk fell, Geoffrey de Rancon returned from overseeing the crossing. It was still raining and the heavy edges of his cloak dripped water on to the straw. ‘Just a few stragglers left,’ he said. ‘We lost another cart and will have to redistribute the load. We can use the horses as pack beasts.’

‘As you see fit,’ she said.

‘Supplies are low, but providing we husband them, we should have enough to reach the border.’ His gaze was troubled. ‘I had to hang two men for thieving from the rations cart and selling on the goods. It’s constant; they are like rats in a granary.’

Alienor said with contempt, ‘When the sainted Abbot of Clairvaux released all prisoners who vowed to expiate their sins on crusade, did he truly believe they would reform?’

Geoffrey looked wry. ‘I think he lived in that hope.’

‘And left us to deal with the consequences of his idealism. Talking of resources, we must ensure what we have gathered from the wealth of Aquitaine goes to supply the men of Aquitaine.’

Geoffrey’s hazel eyes were shrewd with understanding. ‘Madam, it is already being done and shall continue.’

‘Good. I want the soldiers beholden to me to be in their best condition when we reach Antioch.’ She gestured to Gisela. ‘A towel for the sire de Rancon.’

Geoffrey took the proffered cloth and rubbed his dripping hair. ‘I heard a rumour that the King was short of funds.’

Alienor widened her eyes in sarcasm. ‘Surely not with the wise and judicious Thierry de Galeran in control of his money chest? How can that have happened?’

‘I am sure de Galeran will have a plausible explanation,’ Geoffrey said neutrally. ‘He always does.’ As he returned the towel to Gisela they again exchanged glances of perfect understanding. Thierry de Galeran was a Templar knight and effectively Louis’s chancellor on the journey because he was in charge of the money chests in Louis’s entourage. Alienor disliked him intensely for the influence he had over Louis and the way he treated her as if she were a serpent in female clothing.

‘Well then, Louis must apply to Suger for more funds in his next message home. Let me know how much silver our own contingent has and how many horses, sacks of grain and the like. You don’t have to count every one, a good estimate will suffice.’

‘Madam, I will go and set it in motion now.’ He bowed and left the tent.

The rain ceased and a three-quarter moon shone between tatters of cloud. Soldiers clustered round the fires they had built out of whatever firewood they had come across along the way. The wood was damp and belched smoke, but eventually caught. Resin hissed and knots in the branches spat out showers of sparks. Alienor wrapped herself in a dry cloak and, sending for her musicians, left her tent to join her household knights at their fire.

The damp had played havoc with the stringed instruments, but the pipes and whistles were still in good tune and the tabors beat out the rhythm as the singing began. ‘High are the mountains and the valleys deep in shadow, and the waters swift …’

Alienor folded her cloak around her and leaned towards the flames. Joining her, Geoffrey pressed a cup of wine into her hand.

‘It’s decent,’ he said. ‘I bought it from one of the merchants hanging around the outskirts of the camp.’

She smiled at him. ‘That must have cost you dear.’

‘Anything for my queen,’ he said with a toast of his cup.

She took a cautious sip and discovered he was right. It was indeed drinkable … and if she drank enough it might make this journey bearable for another day, and it would be one day closer to Antioch.

Geoffrey studied the sky. ‘Let’s hope it stays clear now,’ he said. ‘We need the drier ground.’

Alienor nodded and continued to savour the wine. ‘I wonder what an astrologer would say if he read the sky now. What would he see for all of us? Are our fates truly dictated by the position of the stars at our birth?’

‘Did your father never have your horoscope cast?’ Geoffrey asked curiously.

‘He did.’ She grimaced. ‘The portents said I would make a magnificent marriage, bear many sons and live to a ripe old age. The astrologer also cast a glittering future for my brother, but it’s one he never lived to see.’

‘But you have made a magnificent marriage and may yet bear sons.’

The glance she sent him was sceptical. Sometimes things written in the stars did not happen, or happened differently to expectation. She had envisaged a great marriage for herself, but it had not been to Louis of France. ‘What does it matter?’ she said. ‘This is but a little life and we will be back with God before we know it.’ She gave him her cup to refill and their fingers briefly touched.

The music hesitated, then caught again and continued. Alienor looked up, and in the firelight saw the Templar knight Thierry de Galeran watching them. She was immediately on edge. During their journey, de Galeran had constantly tried to ingratiate himself with her, but she knew it was about poking his nose into her business rather than having a better working relationship. He was always striving to find out her plans and discover what resources she had. She would not have him meddling in her affairs and pretending friendship.

He bowed to her, his gesture supple and easy, reminding her of the sinuous winding of a snake. Like a snake, too, his eyes were unblinking.

‘What brings you to my fire, Messire de Galeran?’ she asked.

‘Madam, the King has asked me to check around the camp on his behalf and see that all is well. I have also brought some news from him.’

For ‘news’ she knew he meant ‘instructions’. ‘Does the King send his underlings to me to conduct his business? Does he not check the camp for himself?’ She eyed him coldly, knowing full well he would return to Louis with the tale that he had found the Queen sitting casually round the campfire sharing songs and wine with her knights.

‘Madam, he has retired to his prayers, and delegated both matters to me, which I am pleased to do. I have a soldier’s eye and the business is fiscal.’

Alienor sent a quick glance to Geoffrey. It was exactly as she had thought. ‘Then the sooner you tell me what it is, the sooner it is dealt with.’ She sent a servant to fetch de Galeran a cup of wine from the sour barrel, but the Templar declined with a raised hand.

‘Thank you, madam, but I need none now. What I do not drink is conserved for another time.’ He adjusted his cloak, sweeping it back to reveal the hilt of his sword. ‘Supplies are running low. The King decrees that we must conserve what we have. He is sending to Paris for more silver and bids you command the same of the lords of Aquitaine. He also desires you to send him any spare horses you have in your contingent.’

Alienor swallowed her immediate response that she would give him nothing. ‘I do not see why he needs all these things when we have been travelling the same road. Does he think I have no need of them? Perhaps he should look after his horses and husband his own supplies with more care and then he would not have to come seeking mine.’

She could not tell if the barb hit home because Thierry de Galeran never allowed emotion to show on his face. Whatever was cast at him either bounced off or was absorbed without reaction. ‘What reply shall I take back to him, madam?’

‘Tell him to do me the courtesy of asking me personally instead of sending me his eunuch,’ she said. ‘In the meantime I shall make an inventory and tell him what I can spare.’

‘Madam.’ De Galeran swept her another supple bow and departed the camp. Alienor glanced at Geoffrey, whose own expression was also blank.

‘What?’ she snapped, and felt more than just the warmth from the fire heat her face.

‘Madam, it is not my place to say, but perhaps you should be more circumspect with de Galeran. He is a Templar and a bad enemy to make.’

‘No,’ she said with hauteur, ‘it is not your place to say. He tries to infiltrate my camp. He is always talking to the knights – jesting with them on the road, worming answers out of them and then reporting back to the King. I will not stand for it. Let him stay away from me if he does not wish to be insulted, and let the King do me the courtesy of speaking to me personally if he desires these things.’ She gave him a hard look. ‘You had best be swift about that inventory.’

De Rancon’s eyes were darkly reproachful in the firelight. ‘You will have it by dawn prayers, madam,’ he said.

‘Good.’ She turned back to the music and held out her cup for him to refill, which he did with the polished ease of a courtier. Alienor sighed. ‘Ah, you are right,’ she said softly, ‘but you know my thoughts on de Galeran. Louis should not have sent him, but what else did I expect?’

He acknowledged her reply with a wry gesture. ‘I should go and begin counting,’ he said, rising.

She caught his wrist. ‘I know I said swiftly, but please, at least finish your wine at the fire.’

Geoffrey hesitated and then sat down. The musicians struck up a new tune, delicate and achingly plangent. He and Alienor listened in silence, and when the last note had faded into the sky, Geoffrey stood up, bowed, and took his leave. Alienor left the fire and retired to bed, aching as if the notes had been plucked on her bare heartstrings.

Morning dawned with misty sunshine, although the terrain was still waterlogged and everything damp and mud-caked. Breaking her fast on hard bread smeared with honey, Alienor knew she would remember the cloying, earthy smell for the rest of her days. Geoffrey, all practical business this morning, brought her tallies of what they had and what they would need in order to reach Belgrade. ‘That is assuming that no more horses die and that our remaining carts hold up for the journey,’ he said grimly.

‘So if this is the minimum, should we keep a surplus?’

‘We have to balance keeping a surplus against the cost of supplying and moving that surplus, but I would say yes.’

She thanked him and placed the tallies in the small coffer where she kept her ready coins. ‘Then we shall do so. I trust your judgement.’

He gave her a troubled half-smile. ‘That is a lot to live up to.’

‘Indeed, because I give it to the rare few.’

He stared at her and swallowed. ‘I am made of very coarse stuff compared to the lady of my heart.’

‘I do not believe she would think so,’ Alienor said softly.

Outside the tent they heard a flurry of hoofbeats and a cry saluting the King’s arrival. Alienor drew back and Geoffrey bowed to her and left to attend to his duties.

Through the open tent flaps, Alienor watched Louis dismount from his palfrey with vigorous ill temper. The frown lines between his brows had become habitual since Vitry and just now they were deep grooves.

‘Madam, I received your message last night,’ he said without preamble as he pushed his way into her tent. ‘You will not speak to Thierry de Galeran in such a way again. It is unworthy of a queen.’

‘It would please me greatly not to speak to Thierry de Galeran ever again,’ she retorted. ‘I will not have your spies in my household. If you desire things from me, at least have the courtesy to come and ask me yourself.’

His lips thinned. ‘It was a routine matter. I am told you were drinking round the campfire with the soldiers. That is unseemly behaviour for the Queen of France.’

‘I was speaking with my commanders. There was nothing unseemly about it at all. You sent de Galeran with a message that you wanted to take my horses and my supplies. When we set out, you accused me of being extravagant; you said I had brought too much of everything, but now you are the one without coin or supplies, so what does that say about our respective wisdom in this matter?’

Louis glowered. ‘Have a care, madam. You are my wife and under my discipline. Unless you want to be confined under house arrest, you will be reasonable.’

Loathing him, Alienor wondered how she could ever have found him attractive or even likeable. What she saw now was a querulous man, old before his time, full of righteous anger, his guilt and self-loathing twisting within him, so that all the ills in the world became the sins of the nearest scapegoat. The sympathy she had felt for him had been used up. She had once thought to draw him out of the morass and change him, but he was too deeply embedded, and all he had done was pull her down. ‘Reasonable,’ she said. ‘Oh indeed, sire, you lead by example. You will be pleased to know my lord de Rancon is assembling the horses and supplies you have requested, and I have also authorised more resources from Poitou and Aquitaine.’ She presented him with a sealed parchment.

Louis took it from her by his fingertips and without a word strode from her tent. She knew he would be unhappy with what she had given him, but hoped she had judged it well enough that it would not be worth his while making trouble. For now she had no choice but to endure, but the closer she came to Antioch, the stronger she felt.