Beloved Enemy (35 page)

“Matters progress well, don’t you think?” she asked the chaplain.

“Exceeding well—thus far,” he said.

As the weeks passed with still no word from Henry, Eleanor discovered that her memories of the young duke were growing dim. Her domains were not being threatened; she was managing the duchy’s affairs with ease and skill. If the nuptial ceremony was delayed she would not be brokenhearted. Surviving on her own was far more pleasurable and rewarding than Eleanor had imagined; she was so busy that even her restless body had not troubled her. In truth, for the first time she felt released from the fetters of gender, and was amazed to realize that she was in no haste to remarry at all.

One morning in mid-May Eleanor was holding court in the great hall, listening to a series of complaints from the citizens of Poitiers. At a table close by, on a wide piece of parchment almost three feet long, a clerk recorded all decisions made.

A wealthy widow was complaining that her neighbor’s pigs had broken into her garden and rooted up all her beans and cabbages.

“That is a falsehood,” cried the neighbor lady. “My pigs never left my land.”

“Do you have witnesses or any other proof of this offense?” Eleanor asked.

The widow sullenly shook her head.

“Unless you have witnesses there is no evidence that your neighbor’s pigs broke into your garden. If you can bring at least one or two witnesses, I will hear your grievance at the next court, otherwise I must fine you for a false complaint.”

Unable to stifle a sigh of weariness—the hall was very hot and she had been judging cases since Terce—Eleanor was about to ask for the next complaint when the steward, who stood at her side, bent his head.

“There is no need for you to continue here, Lady. After all, these are but trifling cases, and I or the local bailiff can easily deal with them.”

“Thank you, but these are my people. After fifteen years of King Louis, they must get to know and trust me all over again. What better way than for me to dispense justice? Now who is next?”

The steward nodded then called the wives of the blacksmith and the miller, who had had a violent quarrel at the baker’s oven over two missing loaves of bread. They had shouted and slapped one another, then tore at each other’s hair. Their husbands had joined the fray and the local bailiff had been called in to restore order.

Repressing a laugh, Eleanor assumed what she hoped was a judicial expression.

“We cannot have such a public disturbance. It sets a bad example. The miller and the smith are fined five sous each.” She glanced at the wives. “You are hereby warned that if another incident of this kind occurs the penalty will be more severe. The oven is for everyone’s use and we must be charitable toward one another. Two missing loaves do not equal two stolen loaves.”

As Eleanor called for the next case, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves thundering into the courtyard. Moments later a groom rushed into the hall and breathlessly announced the arrival of the duke of Normandy and three companions.

She rose quickly to her feet. “That will be all for today.”

Leaving the steward to dismiss the people and collect the fines, Eleanor entered the courtyard. Henry had not yet dismounted. A hooded falcon sat on one gauntleted wrist; a sprig of golden
planta genista
bobbed in his blue cap. One look at his broad shoulders, his muscular body vibrant with energy, a single hot glance from his smoky eyes, and Eleanor’s heart turned over in her breast.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to his horse and stretched out a trembling hand. Henry tore off a gauntlet with his teeth and seized her fingers, almost crushing them in the force of his grip. When Eleanor felt a hot flow pass from his palm into hers, she could not remember why she had wanted for even a single moment to put off the wedding.

“A
UNT AGNES SAYS THAT
I remind her of a bitch in heat,” Eleanor said to Henry the day after he arrived.

They were walking in a cool section of the courtyard where the linden trees were in bud. Eleanor carried her favorite white gyrfalcon on her wrist. The bird wore a black hood decorated with seed pearls; leather jesses trailed from her feet, and silver bells tinkled around her legs.

“And is that the case?” Henry stooped to stroke several of Eleanor’s greyhounds who had attached themselves to him and now followed him everywhere.

Simply dressed, his black tunic covered by a thigh-length scarlet mantle embroidered with the gold lions of Anjou, Henry looked much more presentable than he had in Paris.

After the initial excitement of seeing each other, Eleanor was aware an awkwardness had developed between them. It was hard to imagine any situation daunting enough to cast a dent in the armor of his Norman confidence, but Henry appeared ill at ease. Intimidated perhaps by being in Poitou where she reigned supreme? Eleanor had repeated her aunt’s remark in an effort to break through the barrier.

Now she was pleased to see a broad grin soften his lips. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” she said with a teasing smile. “In truth, after an absence of seven months I feel I must get to know you all over again.”

Henry took her hand and swung it briefly before letting it go. “I think we know each other rather better than most people in our position. Usually it is a case of Anjou-Normandy marrying Aquitaine. The people involved are rarely consulted and often have never even met, like my mother and father.”

“Also Louis and myself.”

“But you and I had a choice. No one arranged or forced our union.” He grinned. “So if matters go awry we will have no one to blame but ourselves.”

“Quite true,” Eleanor said. She had never looked at the marriage in quite that light. The feeling of being in control was very reassuring.

“There is one time-honored way of getting to know each other better,” Henry continued, “should you wish to make certain that all is to your liking. For myself I would like to see if Aunt Agnes is correct.” He paused to raise his brows. “Though that is the last thing I would expect an abbess to say.”

Eleanor laughed. “In Aquitaine even the abbesses are a different breed. As far as getting to know one another better, the castle is packed with people like herrings in a barrel. Alas, we must wait. Not too long, fortunately.”

He took her hand again and brought it to his lips, letting his mouth linger on the soft palm. “No, thank God, otherwise I should never live up to your expectations.”

Extraordinary. She had not expected Henry to be so discerning. She grew warm as the pressure of his lips blazed a fiery path from her palm up her wrist, arm, and shoulder to spread throughout her whole body. Uncanny that he was so sensitive to her, a quality totally at variance with his overwhelming virility, and the sense that he was poised on the string of a taut bow, an arrow ready to fly straight toward its goal.

For Eleanor the next week passed in a fever of impatience. She longed to be part of Henry’s driving energy and could hardly wait for that moment.

Fortunately there was an enormous amount of detail to attend to that kept her constantly occupied, otherwise she didn’t know how she could have borne the delay. Of necessity—not wanting to alert Louis to their plans—it was to be a small, unpretentious wedding. Eleanor invited only a select number of guests to the castle: the most important barons, influential clergymen, a few relatives, and several high-bred ladies who would become her attendants.

At the last moment, the archbishop of Bordeaux arrived with several canons in tow to issue the proper dispensations and ensure the validity of the marriage contract. Eleanor’s astonished vassals, who had had no inkling of the wedding plans before arriving in Poitiers, were introduced to their new duke at a prenuptial feast in the great hall of the Maubergeonne Tower.

Trying to conceal her anxiety, Eleanor called for silence, and in what she hoped was a magisterial voice, addressed the guests:

“My lords of Poitou and Aquitaine. As you know, my marriage to King Louis of France has recently been dissolved. As you also may have heard, on my way home from France I was twice subjected to the threat of ambush and only just escaped an enforced captivity. These misadventures made me realize that to keep Aquitaine’s sovereignty and possessions intact it is needful that I have a duke to rule with me. But one of
my
choosing.” She took a deep breath; her eyes swept the assembled throng. “Here is Henry, duke of Normandy and count of Anjou, whom I have chosen as consort. A knight of high birth and great strength, whose lands border our own; a man who will help protect us from any and all dangers. Fellow Aquitainians, as you love and honor me, your duchess, please welcome him in good faith as your new duke.”

Henry immediately rose to his feet. “I hope you will accept me,” he said with a disarming smile. “I promise to uphold your rights even as your duchess does now. I pledge to protect the honor of Aquitaine even as I do Normandy and Anjou.”

“That is more than Louis of France ever promised—or did,” Eleanor said loudly, casting a worried eye over the group.

She had been prepared for an initially unfavorable reaction and was not disappointed. Expressions of shock and resentment were to be read on virtually every face. Eleanor could almost hear their unvoiced reproach: We have just thrown off the chains of one tyrant and now you wish to yoke us to another? After a few moments of hostile silence there was a sullen acknowledgment. At least there was no overt demonstration of antagonism. She prayed that her vassals’ harsh reaction would soften before Henry’s youthful vitality and high spirits.

“Here is no sour zealot helplessly dependent on disapproving clerics,” she told Ralph de Faye, her mother’s youngest brother and newly appointed seneschal, who sat next to her at the high table. “But a man of action who has already gained a reputation for himself as a shrewd and just leader.”

“Hmm. All that may be true, Niece, but we are a people who hate any authority except our own, and we can barely tolerate that—as your forebears knew only too well.”

“But this is a trait any Norman will understand. They are the same.”

Her uncle raised incredulous brows. “Are you so blind that you cannot see we are as different from the Normans as the moon is different from the sun? If your people did not love you, they would never accept Duke Henry.” He sighed and shrugged. “Well, we must hope for the best. At least you are pleased for a change.”

“Oh, Uncle, you cannot know how pleased. My stormy subjects will come round in time, I doubt not.”

She did not add that it was all but impossible to resist Henry’s engaging charm for long.

Eight weeks after the annulment of her first marriage, Eleanor was wed to Henry Plantagenet on the eighteenth day of May in the Chapel of Notre Dame right after morning mass. Vows were joyfully exchanged; the kiss of peace given. How different was this marriage from the one fifteen years earlier! Then, dependent and innocent, she had been forced to bow to necessity and might. Now, despite the very real political advantages, she was also following her own inclinations. It was indeed a miracle.

“Well, Madam,” said the archbishop of Bordeaux after the ceremony. “Thus far God has smiled on this marriage. Louis’s army has not come charging over your borders but there are sure to be consequences to so illustrious an alliance. The merging of Aquitaine, Anjou, and Normandy under a single rule reduces France to one third its former size, more than sufficient to cause Louis not only alarm, but the most bitter humiliation.”

She felt sorry for Louis, of course she did, but deep in her heart Eleanor could not deny a certain twinge of satisfaction when she recalled all the years of misery she had suffered at his hands.

A small feast had been prepared, and Eleanor’s favorite troubadour, Bernart of Ventadour, entertained the wedding guests until well into the afternoon. The atmosphere was subdued, with nothing of the humor and ribaldry of her first wedding. But Eleanor, who had eyes only for Henry, was not concerned. Her subjects would come round. Give them time.

Finally Henry turned to her. “Have we not had sufficient songs and poetry? I think now we may leave the guests and please ourselves.”

To her surprise Eleanor felt herself blushing like a convent maid as she experienced a quiver of anticipation. “Don’t you like our music, my lord?”

He shrugged. “Well enough. But in truth, jongleurs, troubadours, games of chivalry, and the like are not to my taste. There is too much to be accomplished for me to waste my time on nonessentials.”

Before Eleanor could take in the implications of the remark, Henry added, “Let us hope my appreciation of other pursuits will more than make up for this lack.”

She promptly forgot his first remark.

A few hours later Eleanor and Henry were finally alone in the turret chamber of the Maubergeonne Tower. Here they had been put to bed by Eleanor’s attendants and blessed by the archbishop of Bordeaux. The long-awaited moment was finally at hand and she had expected to feel rapturous, but from the moment the chamber door closed, Eleanor’s sense of anticipation had abruptly vanished. Lying naked in the great bed, the chamber softly lit by tall white tapers, she felt enfolded in a web of anxiety.

For the first time Henry would see her unclothed, and for the first time she wondered how his eighteen-year-old eyes would view her twenty-nine-year-old body. Eleanor had always taken her beauty and desirability for granted, much as she took her position of royalty for granted. In her own eyes her body, lithe and firmly slender, had changed but little over the years despite the birth of two children. But Henry’s youth suddenly made her uncertain. Suppose he did not find her fair? Suppose she did not please him? Suppose—

“God’s eyes, what are you thinking about?”

“Blow out the candles.”

“Blow out—why?”

“Please. Just blow them out.” Eleanor turned her head away.

“Not unless I’m told why.” Henry reached over, grasped her firmly by the chin, and turned her head back toward him. “Tell me.”

“You’ll think I’m too old.”

“Too old? For what?”