To Be Queen Page 2

  I sat in silence, the wind and the barley brushing against my face and over my hair. I heard Madeline moan. Instead of pushing Theobold away, Madeline clutched him closer. Papa would not have this woman under his roof, in his bed, once he knew what she had done.

  Her moans reached a crescendo, as the fife and tabor do in music, and then she screamed. Theobold covered her mouth with his hand, and he groaned, shuddering over her. Then they both lay still, clutching each other and gasping.

  My heart pounded, my breath came short, and my hands shook. Nausea rose in me, for I caught the scent of something between them, a musky scent that made me gag. I raised both hands over my mouth, until I was certain I would not be sick.

  I moved slowly when the wind moved the barley, so that Madeline and her lover did not hear my passing. They thought, no doubt, that the wind simply sounded strong so close by the sea. I slipped away, bits of grass clinging to my skirt and to my hair. I kept my head below the barley, careful to stay low even when they no longer would have been able to see me.

  When I had left the fields and entered the copse of maple and birch trees by the road, I ran toward the keep, the wind from the sea at my back. My lacerated heart pounded, and I gasped for breath, but I did not slow or stop. The hunting lodge at Talmont was no great seat, but we had stone walls around it instead of wood. My family had held that keep for ten generations. I felt as if Talmont were opening its stone arms to protect me as I flew through the castle gates. My father’s men-at-arms knew me at once and let me pass.

  Once I entered the haven of Talmont’s walls, I stopped running. Alix was forever telling me that young ladies did not race the wind, nor did they pant like dogs. I tried to release my pain and anger with my outgoing breath, but I failed. My father hoped to teach me to control my emotions, both the good and the bad. I was not sure I would ever learn.

  I turned my mind from what I had seen. My veil was lost; the swatch of linen had fallen away when I had run. My fillet was still in place, a gold circlet that bore the crest of Aquitaine carved into its shining brightness. The gold caught the warmth of the sun and held it against my temples. The fillet was too large for me, and hung too low, almost reaching my eyes, but I was stubborn and wore it anyway. Once, it had been my mother’s.

  I straightened my gown, pulling away the bits of grass that clung to it. The cloth was not stained as I had feared. Gold threads shot through the green of my favorite dress, catching the light of the sun. The gold matched the bronze fastenings of the leather belt at my waist. Emerald green brought out the green in my eyes, making them shine like jewels better than any other color could.

  My breathing even, my dress smooth, I stepped into the darkness of my father’s hall. Alix had been looking for me, but she had been too frightened to tell anyone I was missing. Her pale blue eyes were filled with tears. My headstrong ways always caused her pain and I was sorry for it, but I could not help it. I was as I was born to be. I was myself.

  I went to Alix where she stood by the fire. Her thin blond hair was falling down from her linen coif. I kissed her, drawing her away from the smoking flames.

  I let her hold me as I took in the sweet smell of warm bread and honey on her skin. Though she did not bake herself, she was always in the kitchen, fetching out bread and honey for me. They were her favorite foods, and she was sure that if I would only eat enough of them, I would grow plump and content, and settle down in the women’s solar with my embroidery for the rest of my life.

  “Where were you, my lady?”

  I met Alix’s eyes, as serious as a bishop in church on Sunday. “I was at prayer.”

  I saw her disbelief, but I did not waste the time it would have taken to come up with a better lie.

  “I am going in to see Papa,” I said.

  I had run here to tell him my news, and as I reached the hall, I had seen that it was the appointed hour for our daily time together. The same time each day, my father met with me, unless he was on a hunt or riding to war.

  At the mention of Papa, Alix smiled, and the sight of her smile warmed my heart. Only she had seen the weak side of me, the girl that had wept at my mother’s and brother’s deaths. The part of me that I had buried with them beneath the stone of Talmont’s chapel floor.

  I pressed her hand, then turned to climb the wooden stairs that led to my father’s room.

  My father, Duke William X of Aquitaine, Count of Poitou, was waiting for me, a scroll of vellum in his hand. Though Papa had clerks to do his writing, he was unique among noblemen in that he could read and write in Latin, as well as in our langue d’oc. My father’s eyes were light blue, lighter than the blue of the sky on a sunny day. He was a tall man, and slender in his blue gown, which fell in soft folds past his knees, caught by a bronze-studded belt at his waist. His sandy hair fell over his forehead, but was not long enough to hide his eyes. Even at the age of thirty-two, he wore it short always, for he was often at war.

  Papa rose when I entered the room, and offered his hand. I took it, and he drew me close; it was he who kissed me.

  His clerk Baldwin had been standing with him, ready with the next scroll of vellum to be signed. Though a priest, the only kind of man that could read or write in Christendom, Baldwin served my father first, and the Church second. He had been raised in my father’s household since he was a boy.

  Baldwin bowed low in his black cassock, his blue eyes smiling. He was not yet thirty, but already his mouse brown hair had thinned, and a paunch had started above the low-slung belt of his rosary. When Baldwin saw me enter, after making the proper gestures of respect, he left us alone. He knew that there would be no more business done until my father called for him. Our time alone was sacred.

  I faced my father with no one else between us.

  “Daughter, how fare you this day?”

  “Well, Papa.”

  I kissed him, the knowledge of all I must say heavy on my heart. “Papa, I have news. News that cannot wait.”

  “Indeed?”

  He took his chair once more, and I sat beside him on a low stool brought close for the purpose. My father’s dog, Gawain, came to sit at his knee, and whined. Papa petted the great wolf hound absently. I watched the creature, wary of it, but it came no closer. It was obedient to my father, as I was, when I could bring myself to be obedient to anyone.

  I told him what I had seen in the barley field. I managed to keep my voice even; it shook only once. My father listened to my story, his face unreadable. I saw a flicker of pain behind his eyes, but that was all. His face was a study in stillness.

  “Will you put her away?” I asked him.

  His face opened a little, just enough to smile at me. “No, Alienor. I will not.”

  “But she has betrayed you,” I said.

  “Yes,” Papa answered. “Now tell me why.”

  I forced myself to put aside my anger, and to think, as he had taught me. “She has betrayed you because she has betrayed the duchy. If you were ever to marry her, and if she were to bear the musician a son, she might pass him off as the next Duke of Aquitaine.”

  Pride lit his eyes, and his smile widened.

  “Very good, daughter. You gained information and used it wisely, by bringing it to me. Let this be your first lesson today. Madeline betrayed me, but you have been my eyes and ears, and now she will never have my trust again. We will keep watch on her, and see to it that she does nothing worse to put our court in danger.”

  “But, Papa, does it not hurt you that she loves another?”

  I saw his pain then, only a flash of it, before he masked it. I wished my words unspoken.

  “Yes, daughter, it hurts me. This is the second lesson you must learn today: you must set aside personal emotion so that you can see the world as it is. Only when you see clearly will you know how to act.”

  He stood then, and crossed to the wine he kept on a sideboard. He poured himself a glass of burgundy, and watered it with his own hand. I watched, surprised, as he also poured a glass for me.<
br />
  “Do you remember the story of Charlemagne?” he asked.

  This, too, was part of my catechism. Charlemagne was my idol, but I did not understand what he had to do with the Lady Madeline and her betrayal of us.

  “Charlemagne began our line, long ago, before the Church held sway in these lands,” I said. “He united the lesser kings, and made them swear fealty to him. And when he died, he left the realm strong for his sons.”

  He smiled at me. “And his eldest son, Pepin. Do you remember him?”

  “He was a great king. He held the lesser kings to his rule, after his father was dead.”

  Papa brought our wine back to the table beside his chair. He handed a goblet to me. It was glass from Murano; it had come far by sea and land. Its value was beyond anything I had ever held. He kept these goblets in his rooms, and brought them out only for his most distinguished guests. Today, he offered one to me.

  I held the glass between my hands. Before, I had taken only white wine at table; now I sipped the deep, fragrant burgundy. The taste was harsh on my tongue, and burned my throat. I swallowed it down, and took a second sip.

  “Pepin became king before his time, through treachery,” he said.

  I almost dropped my glass. I had never heard this before.

  “This was a rumor only. Only one priest wrote it down, and he did not live long after the telling of it. But my father told me, and his father told him. Now I am telling you.”

  “Why, Papa?”

  “Because I want you to know that betrayal lies everywhere. Even among our kin. You must be careful, always.”

  “I would never betray you.”

  Tears burned my eyes and threatened to spill from the prison of my lashes. Since my mother had died, I prided myself on never weeping. As my father watched, I fought for control, and won. Papa did not praise me, but nodded once before he leaned across to his table and rang his silver bell.

  Baldwin stepped into the room from a hidden doorway, bringing yet more scrolls with him.

  “Daughter, I send out a decree to one of my vassals. Today, you will sign it with me.”

  This, then, was my reward. Never before had he offered me such an honor. I knew that this would not be the last time.

  I held out my hand to Baldwin, who handed me the scroll. I read it aloud, careful to keep my Latin perfect.

  When I was done, my father signed the vellum. “And you, daughter, sign beneath my name.”

  Baldwin stood close, holding the writing table aloft for me, his pride in me shining as a sun at midday. I wrote my name with a flourish, Alienor of Aquitaine, then met my father’s eyes.

  “Your first step into the larger world, Alienor.”

  “I will walk far, Papa, with you beside me.”

  Baldwin rolled the vellum, then melted wax on it, sealing it with my father’s ruby signet ring. The clerk left us, and Papa stretched out his arm, catching my hand in his.

  “Now, Alienor, sing for me, before I hear more of your Latin.”

  I often sang for him when we were alone. I was still too young to raise my voice in company, but Papa loved to hear the cadence of it. He slid the ruby of his signet ring onto his finger as he listened.

  I did not choose one of the lays of the court, for they all spoke of love. Instead, I sang a short song that I had written for my little sister, Petra, to cheer her when she was sick with fever. I sang of a magic mirror that showed each woman herself as she truly was. The power of a woman’s inner strength, held clear in her own mind, could conquer the world.

  When I finished, Papa did not ask for another song, but sat in silence with me, as the court went on beyond the door of his private chamber. For those stolen moments, we lingered in a world of our own, the most important thing between us my father’s hand, warm in mine.

  Chapter 2

  Hunting Lodge at Talmont

  County of Poitou

  July 1132

  I WAS ALLOWED TO EAT AT THE HIGH TABLE FOR THAT NIGHT’S feast, rather than in my rooms with Petra. Alix stood behind my chair. When no one else was looking, she leaned down and kissed me.

  The food was good and the company merry. I swung my legs beneath the table; they did not reach the ground. I watched my father where he sat with Madeline, his hand in hers.

  Madeline laughed as she leaned close to Papa. I ate a bite of venison, fighting to keep my face free of emotion. I saw the look in Alix’s eyes, and knew that I failed. I lowered my head so that no one else would see my weakness, so that I would not give my father away.

  Madeline called a greeting, and waved to me. I rose when my father bade me, and came to the center of the dais. I curtsied to her, as if it were any other day.

  “Well met, Alienor. How lovely you look tonight.”

  Her voice was honey sweet, as smooth as it ever was. I looked into her eyes and could see no sign of deceit, no sign of guile. Had I not witnessed her duplicity myself, I would never have believed it.

  I felt my father’s attention heavy on me, though he seemed to look down the table to one of his high-ranking barons.

  I gave Madeline a sweet, childish smile. Though I was ten years old, too old for such tricks, I saw from the softening of her face that she was taken in. I kissed her cheek, as if bile did not rise in my throat, as if I still loved her and always would.

  “Well met, Lady Madeline. May your meal be a pleasant one.”

  It was a dull comment, unworthy of my father’s table. But my voice was soft. I sounded trusting and hopeful to my own ears.

  My father touched my hand once, very lightly, and I knew I had done well. I curtsied to both of them as if I were a biddable, obedient girl. I sat down once more on my bench, and Alix patted my shoulder, well pleased with my sweetness and courtesy. She had drilled that courtesy into me endlessly, though often I chose to ignore it. I had deceived everyone, even her.

  I felt the gulf of my loneliness open like a chasm at my feet. I must be strong to walk the path to power, to stand as duchess after my father. I must stand in front of Petra and protect her, all the days of my life. It would take power to do those things. But this was the price: never to be known, not even by those who thought they loved me.

  I met Papa’s eyes. His gaze seemed to anchor me, and the chasm at my feet closed up. My loneliness receded.

  I was not alone. My father was with me.

  After the fruit was brought out, Papa did not wait for the songs to be sung. His chief troubadour, Theobold, the man who had cuckolded him in his own fields, rose to play. My father waved him back. As I watched, fear crossed Theobold’s face. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I held my tongue. My father noticed my self-control and winked.

  No one else saw this pass between my father and me but Theobold and the Lady Madeline. Madeline turned pale, and almost choked on the wine she drank. My father raised her up and led her onto the dance floor.

  Music swelled, and the company rose when my father did, men and women laughing, taking their places in the dance. Had it been any other night, I would have risen to dance myself, but that evening I was satisfied to eat my pears from Anjou and drink my watered wine. When Papa sat once more, the dancing went on without him. The Lady Madeline came to sit beside him.

  My father kissed her, his hand roaming over her backside. He let his hand linger, and as I watched, her fear softened to desire. Papa swatted her once, sending her back out among the dancers. Madeline went reluctantly, her eyes on his, until one of his men-at-arms caught her hand and led her out among the courtiers.

  Papa watched her go. If I had not been staring at him, I would not have seen his hand beckon me beneath the table.

  Alix steadied me as I rose from my bench. I went to my father and knelt to show my obedience. He leaned low, and whispered in my ear. His smiling look never turned from Madeline on the dance floor.

  “Go to my antechamber. Place yourself behind the arras by the hidden door.”

  A thrill of excitement ran up my spine and into my heart. My fathe
r was offering to let me spy for him, and in his own rooms. He had a network of spies that served him in the French court, among his own vassals, and in Rome, but today was the first time he had ever offered to place me among them. He would punish her in private, and I would get to watch.

  I kissed his ruby signet ring. He shot me a look for that bit of foolishness, but I could not contain my joy. I smiled back at him, and curtsied, as if he had simply sent me to bed.

  Alix trailed me as I made my way out of the great hall and up the wooden staircase to my bedroom. She followed, but had to hurry to keep up with me, for her long skirts trailed behind her, and I was quick.

  When we reached my chamber, I did not wash my face as Alix told me. “I must go to my father in his antechamber,” I said. “This is a secret. You must stand guard here, and let me go.”

  Alix had seen my father speak to me in whispers. She hated the thought of letting me go out into the world alone, but the time for her to protect and cocoon me was over. I must learn to make my way in the world of men.

  I opened the secret door hidden behind one of the tapestries in my bedroom. I stepped into that dark, narrow corridor with only the lamp in my hand to light my way. I moved down the passage quickly and silently; only my father and I knew where it led.

  I came out in his antechamber, where he and I worked on my lessons every day. My father’s manservant Matthew saw me enter, but he said nothing as I slipped behind the arras. I fastened the heavy stone door closed behind me and hid myself just as Papa and the Lady Madeline came in from the hall below.

  Matthew stood to one side of the room and waited for the duke’s instructions. His eyes did not tend toward me even for a moment, and I knew that my father had warned him of my coming. I saw that Papa trusted him more than I had known; even a man as strong as my father needed loyal servants to shore up his power.

  I loved Alix, but could not trust her to obey me blindly. I swore to myself, standing behind my father’s arras, peering out of a slit made low in the fabric of the tapestry, that someday I would find a woman to follow me, wherever I led.