‘Nothing is ever good enough for my mother.’ His eyes were dark with pain. He fixed her with a hard stare. ‘Is she right, Alienor? Do you play me for a fool?’
‘You know I do not.’
‘I don’t know anything any more.’ Seizing her round the waist, he pulled her into his embrace and began kissing her with clumsy desperation. Alienor gasped at the roughness of his assault, but he paid no heed and, pulling her to the bed, took her, both of them fully clothed and in open daylight, with him bucking and sobbing as he worked in and out of her body. It was as if he was using her to expunge all his frustration in a frantic splurge of lust – casting off all his bad feelings by releasing them inside her and setting the world to rights once more.
When it was over, he left her lying on the bed and went away by himself to pray. Alienor rolled on to her side; she wrapped her arms around herself for comfort and stared at the wall, feeling sore and used.
Louis looked round the chamber that had belonged to his mother. She had been gone from court for almost two months. Alienor had had the walls replastered and painted with a frieze of delicate scrollwork in red and green, and had hung colourful embroideries around the walls. They were rich and detailed without being heavy. The window seats sported cushions with white backgrounds embroidered in gold, and there were vases of flowers on coffers and tables. The perfume of roses and lilies was heady and sensual.
‘You have been busy,’ Louis said.
‘Do you like it?’
He gave a cautious nod. ‘It is very different. It is no longer my mother’s room.’
‘Indeed not. It needed light and air.’
Louis wandered to the embrasure and looked out at the clear blue sky.
Alienor eyed him. Adelaide and Matthew de Montmorency had announced their intention to marry. It had come as no surprise to anyone at court, but Louis was still trying to assimilate the fact that his mother had chosen to take for her second husband a man of no significant rank. It was as if all that had mattered before had suddenly become unimportant – or perhaps the emphasis had been put on other things.
‘I am going to make Montmorency a constable of France,’ said Louis, picking up a cushion and gazing at the embroidery. ‘I think it is for the best.’
Alienor nodded agreement. That would satisfy honour and ensure Adelaide was not disparaged in the eyes of her family. ‘She must have great affection for him,’ she said.
Louis grunted. ‘He will do her bidding, that is why. She would never choose the cloister for herself, and Montmorency will keep her occupied.’
Alienor thought it all to the good. While Adelaide was busy with her new husband, she wouldn’t be poking her nose into the business of the court. Let them stay away as long as they chose.
She joined him at the window. ‘Have you thought any more about the situation at Bourges?’
‘What situation?’
Alienor mustered her patience. ‘About Archbishop Alberic. He is increasingly frail, and if he dies a new archbishop will have to be elected.’
Louis gave an impatient shrug. ‘They will elect whomever I choose. It is my prerogative.’
‘Even so, would it not be prudent to introduce them to your candidate while Alberic still lives? I know you have your eye on Cadurc in your chancellery.’
His nostrils flared. ‘I will see to it all in good time. I told you, they will elect whomever I put forward.’
She noticed the mulish set to his jaw and mentally sighed. For a man who lived by rigid rules and structures, Louis had a propensity for making the simplest things awkward beyond belief. If she pressed him, he would only become more stubborn and querulous. The right of a king was absolute, and that was that.
13
Paris, Spring 1141
‘Toulouse,’ Alienor said to Louis. ‘My paternal grandmother Philippa was heiress to Toulouse, but was usurped by those with less claim and greater strength. Had my father been alive, he would have fought to restore it to our family.’
It was late at night and she and Louis were sitting in bed drinking wine and talking by the light of a scented oil lamp. The signs were auspicious for making a child. It wasn’t a holy day, or a proscribed day; Alienor did not have her flux. Everyone was anxious for news of success but she knew that such expectation built fear of failure within Louis. He said that fornication was a sin, and that either he or Alienor must be doing something against God’s wishes that was preventing them from being successful in conceiving. She could sense his tension now.
‘My father was born in Toulouse,’ she said. ‘But I have never seen it.’
‘Why speak of this now?’
She set her wine to one side and leaned over him. ‘Because it is business that has already waited too long. I must visit Aquitaine also – that too has been neglected.’
‘Are you not content in Paris?’
Alienor did not give him the reply that came first to mind: that Paris was a cold exile from the warm southern lands of her childhood. Since Adelaide had left, she had been able to extend her chambers, refurbishing to her own taste as she went, and she liked them well enough. Paris with its crowded streets and vibrant intellectual life was always stimulating; but it was not home and did not belong to her. ‘France is the land of my marriage,’ she replied gracefully. ‘Aquitaine is that of my birth and entitlement and it is my duty to show myself in person.’ She painted the tip of her braid back and forth over his lips. ‘Think of riding out at the head of an army to conquer Toulouse. Think of the prestige such an undertaking would confer on you. You would be exerting your authority and righting a wrong.’
Louis felt a frisson of desire as he envisaged leading his troops: the jingle of harness; the smooth motion of a powerful horse under him. He imagined Alienor beside him with La Reina perched on her wrist. He thought of camping out under the stars with meadow scents blowing on the summer wind. He imagined adding Toulouse to his conquests and proving to everyone, not least his wife, what a great king and warrior he was.
She adorned his collar bone and throat with small nipping kisses and followed with the tip of her tongue. ‘Say yes, Louis,’ she whispered, her breath in his ear. ‘Say yes. For me. Do it for me … do it for France.’
He closed his eyes and savoured the erotic charge of her words and the butterfly touch of her mouth. He was achingly hard. With a groan, he rolled her over, pushed apart her legs and thrust forward. ‘Very well,’ he gasped. ‘I will do it. I will show you what France can do!’ He surged strongly within her, fired up by the notion of performing great and virile deeds at the behest of his wife even while he conquered her beneath him.
With the warm southern sun on her face, Alienor felt as if she had returned from exile. Apart from her brief visit to Le Puy, she had not seen Aquitaine in four years, and it was like standing in sweet rain after a long drought. Everything that had been wound up tight inside began unfurling and she felt replenished. She found her laugh again, and her bloom.
In Poitiers, she danced through the chambers of the palace, the skirts of her gown flying out in a circle. ‘Home!’ She grabbed Petronella and hugged her. ‘We’re home!’ And knew if she could have her way in all things, she would live here forever and only visit Paris out of duty.
Her vassals gathered to join Louis for the campaign against Toulouse, among them Geoffrey de Rancon, who brought the men of Taillebourg, Vivant and Gençay to the muster. Alienor’s heart quickened as he knelt before her and Louis. She still experienced that jolt in his presence; time and distance had altered nothing.