Read Online Captive Queen by Alison Weir - Free Book Online

have a strong man as her protector: they accepted that. They had all been told of her plans to marry Henry of Anjou, and were agreed that the young Duke of Normandy—now also Count of Anjou and Maine after his father’s death—did not pose too much of a threat to them, however formidable his reputation. He would more than likely be preoccupied with this northern kingdom of England, which looked set to be his too one day—and he was young enough to be molded to their will.
    Eleanor was surveying them all as they waited for the feasting to begin. She knew, from her father, and from bitter experience, that her vassals were all but ungovernable. Away from the courts of her chief cities of Poitiers and Bordeaux, entrenched in their remote castles and hilltop fastnesses, they could thumb their noses at ducal jurisdiction. So it was best to sweeten them now by clever diplomacy and gifts—and the Lord knew she had been generous enough with those already—to keep them friendly.
    “Sirs,” she began, her voice low and mellifluous, “I have asked you here formally to inform you of the annulment of my union with King Louis, and to approve my coming marriage. You all know that I have consented to wed the Duke of Normandy, and that I must do so without the sanction of King Louis, who is overlord of us both, for he would surely refuse it.” A mischievous smile played around her lips. The lords looked at her approvingly: they understood such underhand dealings, and their resentment of the French was such that they were more than happy to overlook this blatant breach of feudal etiquette.
    “Our wedding must be arranged without delay, or it might never take place at all,” Eleanor told them. “This marriage will seriously undermine the power of France, and if King Louis discovered my plans, even he, weakling that he is, might fight. Once Henry and I are wedded and bedded, he can do nothing about it.”
    “You must send again to the duke, madame,” her uncle, Hugh of Châtellerault, urged. “What if your messenger has been intercepted?”
    “I will dispatch envoys today,” Eleanor promised, inwardly willing Henry to come soon, and wondering why he had not responded to her first message. “And now to other business. I am resolved to cancel and annul all acts and decrees made by King Louis in Aquitaine.” The lords looked at her approvingly. So far she was doing well. “And,” she went on, “I intend to replace them by charters issued in my own name, and to renew all grants and privileges. My lieges, there is much work to be done, but before we get down to business, you are my guests, and we have much to celebrate.”
    At her signal, the servitors entered the chamber in a line, each bearing succulent-smelling dishes: mussels and eels in garlic and wine, salty mutton, fat chickens, the tasty local beans known as
mojettes
, ripe goat’s cheeses, and figs. All were offered in turn to the duchess and her lords, as the ewerers came around with tall flagons of red wine. Then a toast was drunk to the happy conclusion of the marriage negotiations and the future prosperity of Poitou. Tomorrow might bring war, but for now they would enjoy the feast!
     
     
       It was May, with the palace gardens in colorful bloom, when Henry FitzEmpress rode proudly into Poitiers to claim his bride. Word of his coming had been brought ahead to Eleanor, and she was waiting with her chief vassals to greet him in the Grande Salle of the palace, the magnificent arcaded Hall of Lost Footsteps, as it was popularly known, because the chamber was so long and the beamed roof so high that the sound of a footfall barely carried at all.
    Eleanor knew she looked her most beautiful: she had donned a vivid blue trailing
bliaut
of the finest silk tissue, patterned all over with gold fleurs-de-lis, and so cunningly cut and girdled that it revealed every seductive curve of her voluptuous figure. Over it she wore a shimmering sleeveless mantle of gold, banded with