The Autumn Throne (26 page)

‘I am giving John the opportunity to prove himself worthy of government without recourse to battling with Richard or wading out of his depth in Outremer. I am sending him to Ireland where he may test his wings without doing too much damage. It is far enough removed to give him autonomy, but sufficiently close for me to keep an eye on him. I will knight him at Easter, and then he will go. I shall make sure he is accompanied by some good men and we shall see.’

Alienor was thoughtful. It seemed a good solution in many ways, and she was relieved that her sons would no longer be squabbling over Aquitaine, yet she was uneasy. ‘What does John say?’

Henry shrugged. ‘He would rather Jerusalem and he would rather Aquitaine, but I told him that with Ireland he has a chance to prove himself. It may well be the making of him, and it will keep him out of mischief. He can settle down and not be in competition with his brothers.’

‘There is that.’ Alienor sipped her wine. ‘So you will let Richard govern Aquitaine in peace, and see that he and Geoffrey are reconciled.’

‘I did not say that.’ Henry plucked at his beard. ‘Richard has overstepped all bounds. He disobeys me and constantly rebels against my will. I cannot allow it to continue so I am recalling him.’

His face had set in an expression Alienor knew well. Pugilistic, brooking no challenge.

‘And then
what? Do you truly think he will come?’

‘Oh yes.’ A tight smile pushed his cheeks upwards. ‘He will have no choice, because you are going to demand that he returns Aquitaine to you forthwith. You shall have all your rights in your duchy restored. If Richard declines, you will have no choice but to take it from him by force.’ His grey eyes were flinty. ‘If he yields, his succession to Aquitaine is immediately confirmed, and he can rest secure in the knowledge that his beloved mother has had her just rights restored. Naturally as her husband, it is my duty to administer them, and meanwhile John will be occupied in Ireland and no longer a threat.’

‘You snake!’ She wanted to gag with revulsion.

‘And you, madam, are a viper, so that makes us a match. You will cooperate. I am not removing Richard’s rule. He will still deputise in Aquitaine, but on a much tighter rein. I will have obedience from my sons and from my wife.’

‘Obedience perhaps,’ she retorted, ‘but never respect and never love. I do not say this to be perverse, even though you think it of me. You breed hate and envy in your sons. You give John Aquitaine and then take it from him. How does he truly feel about that even if he smiles and obeys you to your face? You dishonour all Richard’s striving in Aquitaine and try to hand it to your youngest son who is not yet knighted. Now though you withdraw it, the damage is done. This new ploy of yours – yes, it will bring Richard to kneel at your feet, but by force not filial devotion. And having fettered him you will threaten him with Geoffrey, thinking to keep both in hand, but they will curse you for it.’

Henry drained his wine. ‘Richard will come and he will yield his rights to you.’ He bit the words out. ‘And John shall go to Ireland. Geoffrey will devote himself to Brittany and Normandy as my governor.’

‘And as Duchess of Aquitaine am I free to come and go as I choose?’ Alienor shook her head before he could reply. ‘No. You will let me sanction a few charters, grant favours here and there, make donations to a few monasteries and convents,
but hoard the rest to yourself. Am I allowed to return to Poitiers? I think not.’

‘You know why I cannot do that – as you know everything else.’ He stood up and so did she, so that she faced him, close enough to touch. ‘You may continue to live your life within the parameters you already have. You shall have money to buy what you require for daily comfort and to do good works that befit a queen. You shall have visitors to enliven your life—’

‘Of your choosing.’

‘That goes without saying, but within my tolerance you shall have room to breathe.’

‘Henry, whatever you do, you stifle the breath in my body,’ Alienor said with weary contempt. ‘Do you have any more to say to me, or have you finished? Doubtless your latest mistress awaits. How old is she this time?’

He returned her smile and leaned over to brush her cheek with his lips. ‘Younger than you,’ he murmured, ‘and a thousand times more amenable.’

‘That is because she has everything to gain and I have nothing left to lose,’ Alienor retorted.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ He bowed to her and departed, limping on his bad leg, but his step was still forceful.

‘Mama.’

Alienor extended her hand and Richard knelt to kiss the ducal ring that had belonged to their forefathers for generations. Earlier he had surrendered both it and Aquitaine to his mother in a formal ceremony before the whole court, but now he had come to her to speak informally. They both still wore their full regalia. Richard’s tunic of green cendal sparkled with gold thread and Alienor’s damask gown caught the light each time she moved.

She stooped to give him the kiss of peace, and having twisted the ring from her finger, presented it to him. ‘All that has changed are the formalities. When you return to Poitiers, I command you to wear this as your right.’

He rose
and bowed before slipping the ring into the pouch at his belt. ‘At least my father has changed his mind about giving Aquitaine to John, but God help the brat in Ireland – or perhaps God help the Irish.’

‘Now,’ she admonished gently. ‘Whatever happens, John will learn valuable lessons.’ She rested her hand on his arm. ‘I am sorry to lose you, but you must hasten to Poitou.’

‘I intend to, Mama. Only my concern for your well-being would hold me here.’ His lips curled. ‘I do not choose to be his dog on a leash.’

‘Do not worry about me,’ she said. ‘I have weathered much worse. Since your father has restored Aquitaine to me, it is in his interests to keep me in good health and well provided for, because it is not his desire to have you Duke of Aquitaine in your own right.’

He nodded in wry acknowledgement. ‘You know that Philippe is pushing for me to marry Alais.’

‘Yes, I have heard, but it will not happen. Your father excels at procrastinating and making promises he has no intention of honouring. It does not suit his policies to have you marry Alais, no matter how much Philippe cavils. Let him bear that weight.’

Richard rubbed the back of his neck. ‘There are new rumours about my father and Alais.’ He looked away, watching Amiria and Belbel who were quietly lighting the candles and closing the shutters as the spring light faded to dusk.

‘Yes, and I do not wish to know if they are true; but their existence plays into your hands. Should it come to the point where you are forced to wed, you have a perfect reason to refuse. To use it now would be a waste. It is a last resort, but you know you have it.’

His gaze returned to her, his blue eyes guarded. ‘You are wise, Mama.’

‘The price of experience,’ she said. ‘I wish I had been wiser when I was younger.’

*  *  *

In the
morning, Richard departed for Poitiers, the ducal ring tucked under his shirt on a silk cord. He had already made his personal farewells to Alienor, and in the courtyard under the scrutiny of all, their leave-taking was formal and circumspect. The farewell between Richard and his father was cool and a matter of business with courtesy on both sides, but challenge and tension surging beneath.

Matilda and Heinrich were leaving too, and were travelling with Richard until they were beyond Alençon’s city walls. Alienor bade farewell to her daughter with tears in her eyes; she had grown accustomed to her dear company and she suspected they would not meet again. Twenty years ago she had said goodbye to a brave little girl going to her match with Heinrich of Saxony. Alienor had not thought to see her again in this lifetime and in a way that expectation had been fulfilled because the child was now a grown woman with offspring of her own, a woman who spoke German more easily than French and had her own opinions and ways. But a new knowing had grown, together with a different love, deep and appreciative.

Alienor strove to remain regal and calm despite the painful intensity of this parting but inside she was weeping. Richenza stood pale and solemn at Alienor’s side with her brother Otto while a nurse jiggled little Wilhelm in her arms. Matilda and Heinrich had decided that Richenza would remain behind with her grandmother; she was already of marriageable age and a suitable alliance would be found for her at the Angevin court. Her brother Heinri was returning with them, but Otto, Lothar and Wilhelm would remain here until the situation in Germany became better known.

‘Be good for your grandmother,’ Matilda instructed the children, and swallowed painfully. ‘Remember your manners, attend to your lessons, and write to me often.’

‘Yes, Mama, I promise,’ Richenza curtseyed, while Otto and Lothar bowed most properly.

Matilda’s chin dimpled. ‘Be brave. I trust you, and you have
my love always, remember that.’ Abruptly she turned her mount and rode towards the gate.

Alienor’s heart bled for her daughter because she knew precisely how she felt.

Heinrich smiled at the children, spoke to them swiftly in German, and gruffly clearing his throat, reined away to join Richard who was waiting for him. Heinri, buoyant with a sense of adventure, waved cheerfully over his shoulder to his siblings.

Once they were gone, Alienor retired to her chamber with the children and pursued her normal routine, as if it was just another day. The nurse dealt with Wilhelm, while Otto and Lothar went off to their lessons with some other boys, leaving Richenza and Alienor to work on an altar front they were sewing.

‘Some of these stitches are Mama’s.’ Richenza touched them with a light forefinger. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

Alienor hugged her. ‘And they will always be there as a reminder, but it is for us to finish now.’ She indicated a wall hanging covering the shutters. ‘Your mother’s stitches are in that one also, made when she was just a little girl before she left England to marry your father. I thought on them often after she went to Saxony.’ She stroked her granddaughter’s damp cheek. ‘There is much of her in you, and I know all will be well.’

She lowered her hand, picked up a needle and began to sew. After a moment, Richenza followed suit.

The December morning dawned bitterly cold, and the early sun that rose in silvery light from a bed of misty oyster-shell gradually disappeared behind a bank of thickening cloud. Snow flurried
in the wind, making Alienor glad she had decided not to go riding; however she did not feel like sitting by the fire. Cooped up within the keep at Domfront where the court was spending Christmas, she felt restless and apprehensive. The enclosing walls and long, gloomy days reminded her of her confinement at Sarum and the cold, comfortless stretches of time when she had dwelt in darkness interspersed by short grey moments of winter daylight.

Uttering a short huff of impatience, she wrapped herself in her fur-lined cloak and, after leaving the chamber, climbed the twisting stairs to the battlements.

The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe, but she inhaled strongly all the same, because it was better than the smell of smoke and sickness within. They should have returned to England for Christmas; indeed the ships had arrived to bear them across the Narrow Sea, but Henry’s old leg wound had flared up, leaving him febrile, weak and unable to travel. The ships had returned to England bearing orders and messages, and Henry was recuperating here at Domfront, planning to sail as soon as he was well. He had been so sick that for a time Alienor had wondered if he was going to survive, but he had rallied on Christmas Eve, and improved steadily since then.

Richenza arrived at her side, slightly breathless from her climb. Her dark green cloak was lined with rich auburn squirrel fur that matched the colour of her hair. Her face was rapidly losing its puppy flesh, exposing wide, high cheekbones, a delicate nose, and a determined jaw. She had grown too, and Alienor no longer had to look down to speak to her. Earlier in the summer she had experienced the first bleed of her womanhood.

‘I saw you climbing the stairs, Grandmère, and I wondered if you were all right.’

Alienor smiled. ‘Indeed, that was thoughtful of you. Perhaps you were also a little curious to wonder what an old lady was doing climbing the steps to the battlements?’

Richenza looked scandalised. ‘You are not old, Grandmère!’

Alienor laughed.
‘No, but I have still lived a long time compared with your tender years. When I was your age I was Queen of France and living in Paris. I would often climb to the top of the Grand Tower to escape from my husband and my mother-in-law.’ She gave a faraway smile. ‘Of course the view was very different – a great city, heaving with people, and the river coiling around us like a silver snake.’

‘Who were you escaping from this time?’ Richenza’s gaze was perceptive, for a girl of her years.

‘I was avoiding my thoughts,’ Alienor said. ‘I know we carry them with us always, but some things revive memories best forgotten and make them intense. I needed to breathe fresh air for a little while.’