The Summer Queen

52

Rouen, October 1154

In the cold October morning, Alienor sipped the ginger tisane Marchisa had made for her while her women dressed her in warm robes. It was the first morning in several months that she had not felt sick on rising. Her belly, still flat a week since, now showed a soft curve, and her new gown of bright brown wool was gathered at the front around a red braid belt to emphasise that area.

Henry had come to bed late and risen early, his energy so abundant that it was impossible to believe six weeks ago he had almost died. Today he was setting out to deal with the matter of a rebellious vassal at Torigny, and although she would have liked to keep him by her for at least another week, she knew the limits of what was possible.

She sent Emma to fetch little William and his nurse, but the woman arrived minus her charge. ‘Madam, the Duke has taken him,’ she said. ‘He said something about the stables.’

Alienor called for her cloak and went down to the yard where she found Henry trotting his palfrey, Grisel, around the area, with William perched in front of him. The baby’s squeals of delight rang out as he grabbed for the reins and his father’s face was bright with laughter and pride. Henry was dressed to leave, his tunic topped by the padded garment usually worn under his mail, but used now as protection against the sharp wind. Little William was wrapped in his father’s cloak. Seeing Alienor, Henry reined about and trotted over to her.

‘I was giving our heir an early riding lesson,’ he said. ‘He learns fast.’

‘Of course he does,’ Alienor said. ‘He will be on a destrier by the time you return … unless of course you want to take him with you?’

‘Not until he can fasten his braies to his hose, put up a tent, and learn to be silent at the appropriate time,’ he chuckled, handing the baby down into her arms. William began yelling and strained himself towards Henry and the horse. Alienor kissed him, but swiftly bundled him over to his nurse.

Henry dismounted and took Alienor’s hands. ‘I hope to be back in Rouen before the Feast of Saint Martin,’ he said.

‘Have a care to yourself.’ She stroked the back of his hand where he had snagged himself on a thorn bush during a hunt two days ago. ‘I will hold you in my prayers.’

‘And I will keep you and our sons in mine.’ He touched her belly and then, cupping her face, kissed her. The gesture was sincere, but she could see his mind was on the open road and that he had already left her.

Alienor’s visits to the Empress at the abbey of Bec Hellouin were a thing of duty rather than a desire to spend time in the company of her mother-by-marriage, but today had been bearable thus far. Little William had recently taken his first steps and Matilda had been encouraging him in his newly acquired skill, brimming with pride as he toddled between herself and Alienor.

Alienor was taking a soothing footbath, the water imbued with herbs and scented oil. Little William wanted to splash in the water, but the Empress enticed him away with a piece of bread and honey.

Alienor put her hand to her belly. ‘The new babe keeps the same hours as his father,’ she said wryly. ‘I thought William was active, but this one is never still.’

The Empress smiled and lifted her grandson on to her knee to eat the food. ‘I wondered when you made this marriage with my son whether the advantage was worth the risk,’ she said. ‘You had a certain reputation, even if it was unwarranted gossip, and only two daughters from a marriage of fifteen years, but you have done well – thus far.’

Alienor felt a surge of irritation. The woman’s sensibilities were a strange paradox. She was thoughtful enough to offer the pleasure of a relaxing footbath, but then destroyed the gesture by her blunt and patronising attitude. ‘I wondered too whether the advantage was worth the risk,’ she replied. ‘Whether I was looking at a boy trying to fill a man’s shoes, but thankfully my doubts have been assuaged, just as yours have.’

The Empress started to look offended, but suddenly a glint of wintry humour softened her expression. ‘I think we have both come to an understanding, daughter,’ she said.

Which was not the same as liking, Alienor thought, but it would suffice.

There was a sudden commotion at the door where Emma had opened it to a panting messenger, who gasped out that he brought news of great import.

Alienor and the Empress exchanged fearful glances. The Empress gave her grandson to his nurse and Alienor hastily dried her feet and donned a pair of soft shoes. Dear God, what if Henry had been taken ill again? What if he had been injured – or worse?

The messenger, wind-blown from his journey and splattered with mud, came forward and knelt to the women. ‘Mesdames,’ he said, addressing both of them, ‘I bring news from my lord the Archbishop of Canterbury.’ He swallowed and gathered himself. ‘King Stephen died of a bloody flux at Dover four nights since …’ He held out a packet bearing the seal of Theobald of Canterbury.

The Empress grabbed it from him and broke it open. The parchment shook in her hand as she read what was written. ‘I have waited so long for this,’ she said, covering her mouth. ‘So very long. I knew the day would come, but now …’ Her chin trembled. ‘Henry was little older than my grandson when I began the fight. All these years … all these long, long years.’ Silent tears spilled down her face.

Alienor was stunned. She had expected Stephen to live for several more years yet – enough time to deal with Toulouse and raise her children in the warmth and joy of the south. Instead, she must turn and face a different prospect. She did not know the English. She did not know their ways or their tongue beyond a few words. She had thought she would come to it when she was Matilda’s age, and that by then she would be ready. She swallowed hard and set her jaw. Within her the quickening child turned and somersaulted. The messenger was still kneeling and she bade him stand. ‘Does my lord know?’ she asked. ‘Have messages gone out to him?’

‘Yes, madam, at the same time I came to you.’

‘Go and find food and refreshment. Take some rest and be ready to ride again when you are summoned.’

‘Madam.’ He bowed and left the room.

The women gazed at each other in the still moments of irrevocable change. The tears were still wet on Matilda’s face, highlighting the broken veins and ravages of advancing years. ‘I have been pushing against this for so long,’ she said. ‘It is like having your shoulder to a wheel and then suddenly the cart draws free, and you stumble into thin air.’ She went to the window, throwing the shutters wide on the grey October afternoon. ‘My son is a king,’ she said. ‘At last, he will wear the crown that was stolen when he was two years old.’

Alienor struggled to absorb the immensity of the news. Once more she would be a queen. When she married Henry they had talked of empires on their wedding night, but his coming into his birthright meant that now it was real.

Alienor accompanied the Empress to give thanks to God in the cathedral at Rouen. Gleaming on the altar was the imperial crown that Matilda had brought from Germany almost thirty years ago – a heavy object of burnished gold set with a mosaic of gemstones of differing colours and dimensions, from emeralds no bigger than a baby’s fingernail to a sapphire the size of a small clenched fist.

‘I would have worn this at my own coronation,’ Matilda said, ‘but now it belongs to my son, and to William in due course.’

Such was the aura of weight and power emanating from the crown that Alienor shivered. It would take a strong man to wear this, and a stronger woman to stand at his side.

As the women left the cathedral, the bells began to peal and were answered by all the churches across Rouen until the sky rang with joyous clamour.