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Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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the hooves of their horses and sumpters.
A young nobleman on a muscular grey palfrey rode to the front and glared at Alienor’s troop. His gaze then lit on her and, with an irritated shrug of his body, he commanded his men to draw aside. ‘Madam my sister,’ he acknowledged curtly.
Alienor eyed her brother-in-law with distaste. Geoffrey was the main reason Henry was still here in Anjou when he could have been back in England long since; indeed could have been with her when their son took ill. If Geoffrey was free and on his way though, it meant that he and Henry had come to terms.
‘Brother.’ She managed to be civil. ‘I thank you for yielding the road.’
‘What else am I to do but honour the privilege owed to my brother’s wife?’ His voice was edged with disdain.
Alienor raised one eyebrow. ‘I take it you and my husband have mended your differences?’
Geoffrey brushed at a speck on his cloak. ‘Rather say that for now we have interests in common. The people of Nantes have asked me to be their count. I am to rule Brittany with Henry’s blessing – and that is something I never thought to have.’ His tone intimated cynicism rather than gratitude.
‘That is excellent news,’ Alienor said and meant it. She even smiled. Such an undertaking would keep Geoffrey occupied, prevent him from making trouble in Anjou, and meant that she would not have to be in proximity to him except on rare occasions.
‘It remains to be seen, but for now I agree.’ He gathered the reins as his restive palfrey sidled. ‘I was sorry to learn of my nephew’s death.’ The remark was perfunctory and insincere.
‘I am sure you were,’ Alienor replied stonily. ‘I wish you a safe journey, my lord.’
And never to see you again.
‘And I wish you the best of fortune with my brother.’ He gave her a sour smile. ‘You could have been wed to me if you had taken a different road.’
‘Indeed,’ she said smoothly. ‘I thank God for guiding my path that day.’
Geoffrey gave her an ironic salute. ‘Are you sure it was God? It is claimed that line of Anjou is descended from the Devil.’ He reined over to join his men at the side of the road and let her ride on to Saumur.
Despite the heat of the day warming the castle walls, Alienor felt shivery – as if she had a fever. She walked back and forth across the chamber to which Henry’s steward had shown her. Henry himself was absent, hunting, even though he knew she was expected. She felt too sick with apprehension to be angry; indeed, she almost welcomed the delay.
She had changed her dusty travelling gown for a court robe of gold silk embellished with pearls, the lacing pulled tight to emphasise that once more she had a waistline between the curves of breast and hip. Her women had dabbed her wrists and throat with precious scented oil and dressed her hair with a jewelled net, but not all the gems and perfume in the world could make this moment any better or easier.
Isabel, who was attending her, turned from the window where she had been watching the courtyard. ‘Madam, the King is here.’ She too was strung with tension because her own husband was among the entourage.
Alienor joined her in the embrasure and looked out on a courtyard filling up with hard-ridden horses, panting dogs and ebullient men, all jostling and milling. Thomas Becket and Henry were laughing together, arms clasped across their horses in camaraderie. Henry was sweating almost as much as his horse.
Isabel made a soft sound of concern as she located her husband amid the throng. ‘He looks thinner,’ she said, ‘and he’s limping.’
‘I shall not need you when I speak to the King.’ Alienor touched her arm. ‘Go down to him, you have my leave.’
Cheeks flushed, Isabel curtseyed, rose and hurried out on light, swift feet. Alienor turned to her other women. ‘Find things to do elsewhere,’ she commanded. ‘I will summon you if needed.’
The women left and Alienor returned to the
A young nobleman on a muscular grey palfrey rode to the front and glared at Alienor’s troop. His gaze then lit on her and, with an irritated shrug of his body, he commanded his men to draw aside. ‘Madam my sister,’ he acknowledged curtly.
Alienor eyed her brother-in-law with distaste. Geoffrey was the main reason Henry was still here in Anjou when he could have been back in England long since; indeed could have been with her when their son took ill. If Geoffrey was free and on his way though, it meant that he and Henry had come to terms.
‘Brother.’ She managed to be civil. ‘I thank you for yielding the road.’
‘What else am I to do but honour the privilege owed to my brother’s wife?’ His voice was edged with disdain.
Alienor raised one eyebrow. ‘I take it you and my husband have mended your differences?’
Geoffrey brushed at a speck on his cloak. ‘Rather say that for now we have interests in common. The people of Nantes have asked me to be their count. I am to rule Brittany with Henry’s blessing – and that is something I never thought to have.’ His tone intimated cynicism rather than gratitude.
‘That is excellent news,’ Alienor said and meant it. She even smiled. Such an undertaking would keep Geoffrey occupied, prevent him from making trouble in Anjou, and meant that she would not have to be in proximity to him except on rare occasions.
‘It remains to be seen, but for now I agree.’ He gathered the reins as his restive palfrey sidled. ‘I was sorry to learn of my nephew’s death.’ The remark was perfunctory and insincere.
‘I am sure you were,’ Alienor replied stonily. ‘I wish you a safe journey, my lord.’
And never to see you again.
‘And I wish you the best of fortune with my brother.’ He gave her a sour smile. ‘You could have been wed to me if you had taken a different road.’
‘Indeed,’ she said smoothly. ‘I thank God for guiding my path that day.’
Geoffrey gave her an ironic salute. ‘Are you sure it was God? It is claimed that line of Anjou is descended from the Devil.’ He reined over to join his men at the side of the road and let her ride on to Saumur.
Despite the heat of the day warming the castle walls, Alienor felt shivery – as if she had a fever. She walked back and forth across the chamber to which Henry’s steward had shown her. Henry himself was absent, hunting, even though he knew she was expected. She felt too sick with apprehension to be angry; indeed, she almost welcomed the delay.
She had changed her dusty travelling gown for a court robe of gold silk embellished with pearls, the lacing pulled tight to emphasise that once more she had a waistline between the curves of breast and hip. Her women had dabbed her wrists and throat with precious scented oil and dressed her hair with a jewelled net, but not all the gems and perfume in the world could make this moment any better or easier.
Isabel, who was attending her, turned from the window where she had been watching the courtyard. ‘Madam, the King is here.’ She too was strung with tension because her own husband was among the entourage.
Alienor joined her in the embrasure and looked out on a courtyard filling up with hard-ridden horses, panting dogs and ebullient men, all jostling and milling. Thomas Becket and Henry were laughing together, arms clasped across their horses in camaraderie. Henry was sweating almost as much as his horse.
Isabel made a soft sound of concern as she located her husband amid the throng. ‘He looks thinner,’ she said, ‘and he’s limping.’
‘I shall not need you when I speak to the King.’ Alienor touched her arm. ‘Go down to him, you have my leave.’
Cheeks flushed, Isabel curtseyed, rose and hurried out on light, swift feet. Alienor turned to her other women. ‘Find things to do elsewhere,’ she commanded. ‘I will summon you if needed.’
The women left and Alienor returned to the
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