Alienor and the Empress took turns at Henry’s bedside, wiping down his fevered body, changing his shirts and linens, spooning liquid into his mouth. The fever stripped the flesh from his bones and his body shook as if his pounding heart was going to break out of his body. Chaplains and priests came and went, but always stayed close to hand. Throughout Rouen prayers were said for Normandy’s desperately sick young duke. When the Empress was not at his bedside, she was kneeling before the altar at Bec, entreating God to spare her son’s life. She ruined her knees on the hard stone flags, and neither noticed nor cared.
Alienor sat beside him in vigil as the evening of the third day fell. He still lived, but it was more of a status quo than an improvement. She took his hand, tanned from the summer sun, but paler further up his wrist and covered in faint golden freckles overlaid by a shimmer of fine gilt hair. ‘How will you build your empire and leave your mark lying here like this?’ she asked him. ‘How will you see your sons grow tall and strong? How will you beget daughters if you leave now?’
She could not tell if he heard her, but his chest gave a spasmodic heave. ‘You will be an almost king,’ she said bitterly, ‘and that is worse than none at all. Even Stephen has bettered that … even Louis.’ Her voice shook. After a moment she unclasped her hand from his and went to the coffer at the foot of the bed. She unlocked it and lifted out the purple silk wrapping containing his great-great-grandfather’s sword. Carefully she unrolled the delicate cloth, took the scabbard and unsheathed the blade. The steel had a dull glitter, cold as a winter morning. She brought it to him and put it in his hand, curling his fingers around the silk binding on the hilt. ‘This is yours,’ she said. ‘Take it and use it, for if you do not, then it will rust away in the hands of others less able.’
Gripping his other hand, she pressed it to her womb where new life was growing. And then she bowed her head and prayed.
She woke several hours later with the dawn filtering through the shutters, its grey light touching the sword and lighting a steely gleam along the blade. Her mouth was parched and her eyes felt hot and gummy. Henry’s hand was cold and for one terrible moment she thought his soul had flown his body in the night. His eyes were open, staring at her.
‘An almost king,’ he croaked. ‘What kind of insult is that?’
Alienor gasped, her breath leaving her as if snatched from her chest by an unseen force. She touched his cheek and it was gently warm under her palm. ‘The worst kind,’ she said shakily once she had drawn another breath. ‘I hope I never have to apply it to you.’ She held a cup of watered wine to his lips. ‘Will you drink?’
He took a clumsy sip, spilling the liquid down his chest. She dabbed it away with a napkin. His heartbeat no longer thundered against his ribcage and his skin was cool to the touch where it was exposed to the air. She pulled up the bedclothes.
‘Christ’s bones,’ he wheezed. ‘My chest feels as if it is full of rusty nails.’
‘You terrified us,’ she said. ‘We thought you were going to die.’
‘I dreamed I was drowning, but the sea was made of fire,’ he said. ‘And I dreamed I was being ripped apart by an eagle and fed to its young, but they were my young too.’ He drank again, this time more steadily, and then he looked at the sword down by his right hand. ‘What is this doing here?’
‘I brought it to you last night to help you fight because nothing else seemed to be helping – not all the prayers and supplication and entreaty. I could see you leaving my reach and I did not want to lose you. The sword drew you back.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘You came so very close, my love. You do not know, but those who watch over you did.’
She knew the fight was not over. One moment of lucid awakening did not signal a full recovery. They would have to be very careful with him in the days to come, and she knew he would not be an easy patient.
Henry was sleeping again when the Empress arrived, but Alienor was able to report that he had eaten some sops of bread in milk and his fever had abated. The sword had been locked in its chest and the bedclothes neatly folded over Henry’s torso.
‘Thank God!’ Matilda made the sign of the Cross on her breast and eased on to a stool at the bedside. ‘I prayed all night to the Virgin that his fever would break, and she took pity and listened to a mother’s entreaties!’
Alienor bit her tongue and did not tell her about the sword.
‘How frail we are.’ The Empress used the long sleeve of her gown to wipe her eyes, and then she straightened her spine and she rallied, her expression becoming proud and autocratic. ‘I will watch over him now. You go and sleep, my daughter.’
Alienor looked at the Empress’s dark-circled eyes and pale, dry lips. ‘You have not slept either,’ she said.
‘That does not matter; I have often gone for days without sleep in my life. You are with child and you must take care for both your sakes. It is my turn now.’
While Henry recuperated, Alienor spent her time at his bedside. For one who was usually so exuberant and brimming with energy, he was content to let time and rest render their cure. She fed him meals in bed, tempting him with tasty morsels of meat on skewers, little marrow tarts and custards. She told him amusing tales and brought musicians to play for him, especially his favourite harpist. She read to him from all manner of books, both serious tomes involving the law and judiciary, and lighter tales from history and myth. Being widely read, he already knew many of them, but was content to hear them again, saying he loved the sound of her voice, and the exotic accent of Poitou in her Norman French. She played chess with him, and they tallied even scores. She told him what was happening at court and they discussed a future campaign against Toulouse, planning strategies like an extension of their games of chess.
Day by day Henry improved. His appetite returned and he took up business again, summoning his barons and knights to his chamber and dealing with them for as long as his energy lasted. There came a morning when Alienor arrived to find him absent and his attendants making up the bed and clearing the crumbs of a meal from the table by the embrasure.
‘My lord said he was going out for a ride,’ said Henry’s chamberlain, ‘and that if you asked for him, he would see you and the Empress at the dinner hour.’
She knew then that all was back to normal, and although she was relieved and delighted that Henry was back to full health, a part of her regretted the loss of the moments spent together in this chamber enjoying mutual pursuits, because once again he would be too busy throwing himself at the life he had so nearly lost to find the time for his wife.
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.