The Summer Queen

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.’

His words could so easily have sounded like the overblown bragging of an immature boy, but they didn’t. It was a serious statement of intent and she shivered with excitement, because standing on the cathedral porch in this moment, all things seemed possible.

She beckoned and a servant stepped forward and set a hawking gauntlet on her wrist. Her chief falconer presented her with one of the snowy Talmont gyrfalcons. ‘You have your glove?’ she asked Henry.

He looked round and Hamelin handed him the one Alienor had sent with the letter of proposal. Henry drew it on and Alienor transferred the gyrfalcon carefully to his wrist.

‘This is Isabella,’ she said. ‘I gift her to you as a symbol of our marriage. Only the rulers of Aquitaine have the right to fly these birds.’

Henry stroked the gyrfalcon’s pale breast with a gentle forefinger. ‘Isabella,’ he said, and gazed at the bird with delight and desire. Those emotions were still in his eyes as he turned to Alienor.

‘The females are more powerful than the males,’ she said, not showing him how much his look moved her.

‘Is that so? It is a good thing that I have a way with such noble creatures then,’ he said with a half-smile.

She raised her brows. ‘I shall be interested to see your way.’

Henry bowed. ‘I hope not to disappoint, madam.’

She tilted her head. ‘I hope not too.’

Henry was attentive to Alienor throughout the wedding feast. Sharing his trencher with her, he displayed competent carving skills and sound table manners. He was full of smiles and amiable words for everyone, but with the controlled dignity of a magnate. He also drank in moderation and Alienor was glad. She had seen what happened to young men in their cups and did not want to deal with the consequences on her wedding night.

‘What is England like?’ she asked him. ‘I have always thought of it as a cold land steeped in fog.’

‘It can be,’ he replied. ‘When you get the sea mist they call haar rolling in, then it is like being at the end of the world, but all the moisture and rainfall makes it green and lush.’

‘And that is supposed to recommend it to me?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘It is the land of King Arthur too. There is a legend that Christ himself walked there in his young manhood. The smell of England is fresh and coastal. Its people are hardy but it is no colder than here in the winter. The English have a strong administration and judicial system and it has much wealth in wool. When my grandsire Henry was king, it was a prosperous nation. Stephen of Blois has squandered it all, but if it was husbanded properly, it could once again become a great asset.’ His expression hardened. ‘My parents strove throughout my childhood to keep alive my claim to England and Normandy. I shall not negate all their toil and I shall prevail over the usurpers.’

Alienor had not seen him so vehement before; he had guarded his emotions up to now, and this new side to him intrigued her. ‘It is a great undertaking,’ she said.

‘Indeed.’ He drew back a little, once more becoming the courtier. ‘That is why I need an exceptional wife to stand at my side and bear sons who will take the dynasty forward.’

‘I gave Louis only daughters.’

He shook his head. ‘The giving of daughters was all his. I shall give you sons, there is no question of that, and our empire shall stretch from the borders of Scotland all the way to the Pyrenees, and our influence shall be felt far beyond that, for my kin sit on many thrones, including that of Jerusalem.’

She noted his arrogance, but she believed him too, and anticipation flowed through her veins like warm wine.

The bedding ceremony was formal and dignified without boisterous jests. This was a duke and duchess being escorted to their chamber and dynastically and politically a serious matter. One or two people were rowdy with drink but were contained by the others. Pale pink rose petals strewed the bedsheets and green garlands festooned the canopy posts. Wine and light refreshments stood on a cloth-covered small table near the bedside, and the room was well lit by candles and lamps burning scented oil.

Alienor and Henry were each undressed behind screens by their attendants before being brought to each other clad in chemise and nightshirt. The Bishop bound their hands again with a stole as he had done at their marriage to symbolise their union, and blessed them, signing the Cross between their brows with holy water. The bed was liberally sprinkled with the same and Alienor and Henry placed together in the bed. Then the guests left and they were alone.

Henry faced Alienor and touched her hair. ‘It is the colour of a Roman coin,’ he said, bringing a handful to his face to breathe in the scent. ‘It smells like a flower garden strewn with spices. I have wanted to do this all day.’

Alienor leaned towards him. ‘You will not find this perfume anywhere else,’ she whispered. ‘It comes all the way from Jerusalem.’

Their lips were almost touching. His hand left her hair and lightly brushed her throat. ‘It intoxicates me,’ he said. ‘You are so beautiful.’

It was balm to her soul to hear him say that. She slowly unfastened the ties on his shirt. ‘And you are a young lion,’ she said softly.

He drew away to pull off his shirt and for the first time she saw his body. He was lithe with youth but now she realised where he got the strength to command a powerful warhorse to his will, and to hold his own with his men. He was indeed a young golden lion with broad shoulders and a toned flat belly. A light fuzz of red-gold hair formed a pectoral cross from his chest, running in a soft stripe into the rolled-over waistband of the braies he was wearing under the shirt. Suddenly Alienor’s mouth was parched while other parts of her body were soft and ready with need. It was lust, not love, and yet it was more than lust because it was sanctified by the Church and they both had a duty to see their union successfully consummated.

He took her face in his calloused palms and kissed her. His beard was soft and his lips were softer still. She returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. He reached down to the hem of her chemise and drew it over her head. Through his braies, she could feel the heat and strength of his arousal.

She made a move of her own because she had had enough of passivity with Louis and needed to exert her will as an equal. She kissed Henry’s upper chest and then lightly bit the tight stub of his nipple. Henry gasped and thrust against her. The buck of his hips was wildly erotic with only that layer of light linen fabric between skin and skin. She moved to his other nipple and then back up to his throat. He kissed her again, harder this time, more assertively. She reached to the drawstring of his braies, unfastened them and rolled them down over his hips; and then she gasped because he was magnificent, and far bolder than Louis’s half-mast efforts.

Henry gave a congested laugh. ‘I am ready and willing to do my duty if you are ready to do yours.’ He nuzzled his beard against her throat. Now it was his turn to nip and suckle and Alienor felt as if she was drowning in lust. He rolled on top of her and she took him in her hand, to feel all that wild young vigour. Henry shuddered and closed his eyes, and she looked at him, trying to judge how close he was, and if he would last. Without more ado she guided him into her body and welcomed him.

He gasped as she closed around him, and she could feel him trembling. He raised himself on his forearms for a moment, holding very still, and then he lowered his head and kissed her face, her throat, her neck. She ran her hands over his sides, feeling the curve of his ribs and the muscular arch of his buttocks.

He began to move. Alienor had expected him to be swift to the finish, but he exhibited both restraint and stamina. When he finally claimed her mouth and thrust hard and strongly, he took her over the edge and she clung to him, nails digging into his biceps, legs clasped around his as he gave her his seed.

Panting, he withdrew from her and kissed her gently. ‘I do not think we shall have any difficulties in the matter of the bedchamber,’ he said with a chuckle.

Rising on her elbow, she leaned over to kiss his shoulder. ‘No,’ she agreed. He was sensual and comfortable with his body – totally unlike Louis. Making love with Henry she had become a woman again, and she knew if she thought about it too hard, she might cry, which would not be a good thing to do in front of him. She had to be an equal partner.

Leaving the bed, Henry prowled the chamber like a dog examining new territory. His hair gleamed in the candlelight as he picked a date off a silver tray and ate it while studying a wall hanging that depicted a hawking scene.

‘This chamber belonged to my grandmother,’ she said, stretching. ‘I remember her holding court here when I was a small child.’

‘I have heard tell of her and your grandsire.’ He looked round with an amused glint in his eyes. ‘Was she really named Dangereuse?’

‘Who has not heard of them?’ Alienor shrugged. ‘Scandal followed them both as closely as their shadows. She left her husband for him, and they lived for their passion, but it was so strong it was almost a sickness.’

She slipped a blanket around her shoulders and went to pour wine into a single cup. Mention of her grandmother made her think of Petronella, who was just like Dangereuse. It wasn’t good to feel that obsessively about anything.

‘It was my grandsire’s name for her, and she always used it when I knew her, but her real name was Amaberge.’

‘Why the nickname?’

‘Because she was unpredictable and wild. She and my grandsire were passionate about each other beyond reason – truly it was a kind of madness. But as girls we loved the music and dancing in her chamber. We loved to hear her stories and to be swept along when she was in a good mood, but we were afraid of her too – of the darkness inside her.’

Henry looked thoughtful but said nothing.

‘My grandsire built this tower as a range of domestic apartments, but this room was always hers. My other grandmother retired to the abbey at Fontevraud.’

‘My aunt is abbess there,’ he said. ‘My father’s sister, Mathilde. And my sister Emma lives there in the secular house of women.’

‘Your sister?’

‘Half-sister. She and Hamelin share the same mother and my aunt has mostly had the raising of her.’

‘Is she going to take vows?’

Henry shook his head. ‘Not unless she has developed a sudden vocation. I would ask you the favour of visiting Fontevraud while I am in England.’

‘Of course.’

‘And I would also ask you to consider taking Emma into your household as one of your ladies. She is amenable and her stitchwork is superb. I think you and she will do well together.’

‘As you wish,’ Alienor said, feeling intrigued. It would be interesting to meet Henry’s aunt and half-sister, and it was one of her duties as Henry’s wife to foster ties with his kin and sponsor positions for them as appropriate.

‘I do wish, thank you.’ He drank the wine and taking another stuffed date, fed it to her. She licked his fingers with a delicate tongue to remove the stickiness. He put his hands in her hair and kissed her, and once more he was hard with arousal. Picking her up, he carried her back to bed.

The second time was slower than the first, but more intense. Henry was almost sobbing as he reached completion and Alienor gripped him for dear life, feeling as if she was being drawn through the heart of a thunderstorm. This time when their bodies parted, he pulled her close and set his arm across her and in moments was asleep.

The warmth of his body and his strong arms around her made her feel secure and protected for the first time since her girlhood. In the early days, Louis had clung to her out of his own need and with Geoffrey she had never had a chance to lie like this; but Henry was confident in his own body, they were man and wife, and she no longer had to be afraid.

Henry woke up in the early morning feeling pleased and full in the heart. The shutters were open and white southern light streamed through the window. The bed curtains were open as they had left them last night and he was lying curled up close to his bride. She was breathing quietly, her golden hair spread on the pillow. He lifted himself up to look at her. The deed was done. Aquitaine was his and so was its beautiful duchess. Their union was better than he had expected it to be. She had known how to pleasure him, and had derived great pleasure herself. Despite not being a virgin, she had still felt as tight as one. And the smoothness of her arms and those long, cool fingers … He loved the delicate pale skin of her throat; the little place just under her ear; the perfect angles of her brow and cheek and jaw. There was nothing he would change. He ran his hand lightly along her arm from shoulder to hand, admiring the pale silkiness of her skin, and remembered what his father had said about her – that he should beware of her and always make sure he had the upper hand. Well and good. He would make sure by whatever means at his disposal that he kept her full cooperation and loyalty.

Alienor sleepily opened her eyes and smiled at him. Henry withdrew, slightly uneasy to be caught looking. Even with what they had shared, they were still strangers, and she was not one of the regular women of the camp with whom he could josh and tumble in the daylight. Sitting up, he began to dress.

She watched him while gathering her hair in a golden sheaf over one shoulder. ‘There is no hurry today.’

Henry shook his head. ‘I have matters to sort out with my men and much to do. I will see you later – we will ride out together.’ He kissed her on the lips and on the cheek, and was gone.

Frowning, Alienor leaned back against the pillows. Henry was clearly not a man for leisurely bed-talk. If he was awake, he had to be in motion, and she would have to adapt herself because in this case it would certainly be easier than training him to slow down. She admired all that vigour and energy, but she did wish he had lingered a little. She had woken in the night and enjoyed the feel of him next to her. All that golden strength. She had to get to know him properly now, and he her, but acknowledged it would not happen until he had dealt with the matter of England.

Later in the day they went riding as he had said, and Henry carried his new gyrfalcon Isabella on his wrist. Alienor kept La Reina in the mews so that Henry could concentrate on the pleasure of his hawk without competition. He proved an adept handler of the bird and she flew for him in strength and beauty and fierceness. He laughed with joy as he watched her soar and dip. She caught several rock doves, and then a plump cock pheasant. Grinning broadly, Henry tucked one of the tail feathers in his cap. Watching him sent a pang through Alienor’s heart. He was so alive. A man full of himself to the point of brimming over, but in confidence, not conceit.

They stopped to picnic by a stream and Henry gave Isabella to an attendant, who fastened her to a perch.

Alienor handed her new husband a cup of wine to wash down the bread and cheese he was devouring with appetite. ‘So now that we have helped ourselves to a marriage,’ she said, ‘what are we going to do about Louis?’

He swallowed and looked at her, his grey eyes bright with question. ‘Why should we do anything?’

‘By rights as tenants-in-chief we should have asked his permission before we wed.’

He snorted. ‘That was never likely.’

‘No, but now he has the right to turn on us and bring sanctions – perhaps even military ones.’

Henry shrugged. ‘If he does, he will not catch me sleeping, because I never sleep.’

‘You cannot be in three places at once.’

‘You think not?’ He looked amused. ‘A Roman tactician Vegetius said that courage is worth more than numbers and speed is worth more than courage. My army stands at Barfleur, but I can mobilise fast if I have to, and change my direction. I have better men around me than Louis does, and I can control mine. In my camp, the rider is on the horse, not the other way around. I knew the risks,’ he said, ‘and I still took them, because the rewards far outweighed the perils.’ He gave her a look, his gaze smouldering and predatory. ‘Would you not agree, madam?’

She toasted him with her cup. ‘I am still deciding,’ she replied.

Henry set his cup down and drew her close to kiss her. ‘But you are open to persuasion?’

Alienor laughed. ‘I am always open to persuasion.’

Henry was ready to leave. In the courtyard his entourage waited for him as dawn pearled the sky. He fastened his cloak and with impatient vigour cast it back over his shoulder, a mannerism with which Alienor was already becoming familiar.

‘God speed you, my husband,’ she said. ‘I will pray for your success and your early return.’

‘I will pray for that too,’ Henry said with a grin. ‘This is like being invited to a feast where one is only allowed to snatch a taste of the first course before being dragged away.’

Alienor raised her brows. ‘It will keep your hunger sharp,’ she said.

‘There are no doubts on that score.’ He embraced her, his touch possessive now. He had gained confidence even in two days, but she enjoyed this assertion of his masculinity. It felt so good to be thought of as desirable rather than reviled as a creature of temptation.

She watched him lithely mount his horse: a fresh one from her stables. His own hard-ridden bay was resting up. This one was an iron-grey dapple with a raven mane and tail. She had provided horses for the rest of his entourage too.

Henry reined the horse about and rode over to her. ‘Until I come back to you with a crown.’ He made the horse rear and paw the air in a final salute, and then dropped him to all fours and rode out at a gallop, raising a cloud of dust.

Alienor felt a sense of emptiness when he had gone. She returned to her chamber. The maids had not yet tidied it and the bedclothes were rumpled. Henry’s pillow still bore the indentation of his head. A strand of red-gold hair sparkled there and gave her a sudden catch of breath. More evidence of his arrival in her life lingered in the sight of yesterday’s shirt and braies crumpled on the floor at the bedside. Henry was certainly not tidy and pernickety like Louis. She stooped to pick up the garments, pressing them to her nose to inhale the acrid, masculine scent.

After a moment she told herself off for behaving like a daydreaming girl and put the clothes with the other linens to be washed by the laundry maid.