Gisela knelt at Alienor’s feet. ‘Thank you, madam, thank you!’

‘Oh, get up,’ Alienor snapped. ‘The women who serve me are not milksops. Make yourself useful. Our baggage is prepared, but we may have to travel light. Take the things you truly need and tie them in a bundle, and have your cloak ready. Who knows how quickly we may have to move.’

Geoffrey returned at noon with six serjeants dressed as servants, tunics covering their mail. ‘I have hired a ship from the Genoans,’ he said. ‘We should make haste. They have not tried to stop us by force, but they may change their minds. The sooner everyone is on the far bank, the better.’

‘We are ready.’ Alienor fastened her cloak and, beckoning her women, followed Geoffrey to the door.

At the foot of the stairs, one of the Emperor’s eunuchs barred their way, but Geoffrey showed him a foot of drawn sword and after a moment the man lowered his gaze and stood aside. The guards on duty at the gate were reluctant to let them pass, and pretended not to understand at first even under the threat of Geoffrey’s blade. Alienor turned to Marchisa. ‘Tell them that I am going to the new camp to talk to the King about the marriage arrangements for his kinswoman and I will make it worth their while if they let me pass.’

Marchisa spoke to the men in Greek with much supplication and elaborate hand gestures, augmented by a bribe in the form of a casket of gold rings that had originally been a gift to Alienor from the Empress Irene.

The jewellery changed ownership in a metallic flash and the guards opened a postern door to let them through. Beyond, waiting on the riverbank, two shallow fishing boats rode at their moorings, waiting to cast off.

Alienor’s heart drummed against her ribcage as Geoffrey took her hand and helped her into the first one. His firm grip steadied her, and she sent him a grateful look.

The soldiers took up the oars and rowed out from the bank to a waiting Genoese galley laden with men from the contingent of Louis’s army that had travelled via Apulia. Aboard the ship was Louis’s brother, Robert of Dreux, who had been talking with its commanders.

‘Thank God, madam,’ he said, as Alienor stepped aboard. He turned to embrace Gisela. ‘You are safe now, cousin.’

Gisela gave a small gasp and leaned into him, trembling. ‘I prayed you would not throw me to the wolves.’

‘I won’t let them have you,’ Robert growled. ‘I would rather swear fealty to a dog than Manuel Komnenos. Let my brother do as he sees fit, but they shall not have my oath, and they shall not have you.’

Alienor gave him a sharp look. ‘Louis still intends swearing fealty?’

Robert shrugged as the Genoese ship made its way down the Golden Horn. ‘He must if he wants to obtain the supplies and guides the Greeks have promised, but if it is like all their other promises, I doubt we’ll see much in exchange. I have told him I refuse to take it, and as to a marriage between Gisela and the Emperor’s nephew – let Louis agree if he wishes, but he cannot hand over what he does not possess.’

Alienor raised her brows at him. ‘You would abduct Gisela?’

Robert shrugged. ‘I would rather call it taking her under my wing.’

‘Do what you must,’ Alienor said with a brisk nod. ‘I applaud you for it, although you risk your brother’s anger.’

‘I do not fear him,’ Robert said with a steely gleam in his eyes.

Robert disembarked his charges at the French camp on the far side of the Arm and made swift preparations to ride on to the outpost scout camp at Nicomedia, two days’ journey away. ‘Madam, I am in haste, or I would offer to bring you too,’ he said as he swung into the saddle.

Alienor smiled and shook her head. ‘I can fight my own battles. Godspeed you now, and bless you too.’ She watched him clap spurs to his mount and ride out with Gisela at his side. Not for the first time she wished that the birth order between Louis and Robert had been reversed. She could have better borne her burden and perhaps even found a modicum of happiness as queen to Robert’s king.

Shortly after noon, Louis arrived at the dwelling where Alienor and her ladies were being accommodated. Exhaustion had set dark shadows under his eyes and deepened the lines between his nose and mouth. He glanced around the room at the women making up the beds and bringing water for washing. ‘Where is Gisela?’ he demanded.

‘With Robert,’ Alienor replied. ‘She has gone with him to Nicomedia. She does not wish to wed one of the Emperor’s kin and Robert has taken her part.’

‘You stood by and let him do so?’

Alienor shrugged. ‘Whatever treaty you have planned with the Emperor will not be sabotaged for the loss of an unwilling bride.’

His face darkened. ‘You have no notion how difficult it is keeping a balance between all factions. If I do not agree to the Emperor’s requests, he will cut off our supplies and leave us stranded. If I do agree to them, my own men call me a weak fool. What am I supposed to do?’

The retort on the tip of her tongue was ‘Be a man’, but she curbed herself. ‘I realise how difficult it is, but who has your best interests at heart? And who will guard your back?’

‘Precisely,’ Louis snapped. ‘Do I trust the Emperor who makes stealthy plans while facing me like a dog doing his business, or my precious brother and my wife, who do exactly the same? Which should I choose?’

‘Why don’t you ask God or your precious eunuch and see if they will give you an answer?’

He struck her across the face so hard that she staggered against the wall. ‘You are poison!’ he shouted, his face contorted with fury. ‘You are a foul viper, clad in all the sins of Eve! You sicken me!’ Turning on his heel, he slammed from the room.

Alienor put her hand up to her face. She had bitten her tongue and there was blood in her mouth. She hated him, how she hated him. Antioch could not come soon enough.

That evening she held court lavishly with musicians, entertainment, food and copious amounts of wine. It was an act of defiance both to the Greeks and to Louis, who did not put in an appearance. Alienor had not expected him to do so, and even while she felt like crying inside, she raised her head in defiance and set out to dazzle all who came within her orbit.

Geoffrey and Saldebreuil arrived from arranging matters for the march to Nicomedia and found their lady at the centre of the dance, a shield of laughter brightening her face. She wore a dress of dark green silk embroidered with stars, the long sleeves and skirt flowing around her as she swept and turned.

‘Something has upset our lady,’ Saldebreuil said wryly. ‘Best beware on the morrow.’

Geoffrey said nothing, because the sight of her had stunned the words out of him. He had always loved her, first when she was a bright, precocious child and the daughter of his seigneur, Duke William. He had been a very young man then, with a wife and a growing family, and Alienor had been a general part of that group. But then Burgondie had died bearing their fourth child and Alienor had begun to grow up and, as his grieving eased, he had started to dream of a future with her. Duke William was a widower himself and considering a new marriage in order to beget a son. Had such a thing come to pass, Geoffrey knew he would have stood a chance of wedding Alienor. Fate had decreed otherwise when William had died untimely. Geoffrey was sufficiently pragmatic to accept what had happened, but still romantic enough to remember the dream. Alienor had matured and changed, but she remained his Alienor, shining with all her different facets, and the wanting never went away.

Geoffrey followed Saldebreuil and joined a group of knights in conversation, but he was still intensely aware of Alienor. She turned this way and that and he saw the pale skin of her wrist and the gold silk of her sleeve lining, the suppleness of her body and the grace of her movements. And then he saw the bruise on her cheek and he felt sick. There was only one person who had the right to strike her, which was no right at all when he should have valued her above all things; yet he was Geoffrey’s liege lord and entitled to all that Geoffrey was not.

He turned on his heel and left the chamber. To join in the merriment and dancing was impossible. That was Alienor’s way of coping, not his. Leaning against a pillar, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, seeking calm to settle his anger, but it would not come. Had Louis been present, Geoffrey would have throttled him.

He heard Alienor’s bright laughter and her voice telling whoever was with her that she would not be long. And then her footsteps, shadow-soft; the rustle of her gown; and the subtle scent of her perfume.

‘Alienor …’ He stepped out from behind the pillar. She gave a gasp of surprise and after a hasty glance over her shoulder, hurried towards him.

‘Why did you leave?’ she demanded in a low voice. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘I left because I could not trust myself to pretend any more.’ He drew her further into the shadows where no one could see them. ‘What has he done to you?’ He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

‘It does not matter,’ she said impatiently. ‘He is furious that Robert has gone and taken Gisela. He needed a scapegoat, and as usual it was me. This will all end once we reach Antioch.’

‘So you keep saying.’ His voice was grim.

‘Because it is true.’ She stroked the side of his face, reciprocating his action. ‘Geoffrey …’

He pulled her against him. ‘It does matter.’ His face contorted. ‘You do not realise how much. I cannot bear it.’

‘But you will bear it, even as I do – because we must. There is no choice for now.’

He made a sound of despair and kissed her, his grip tightening on her waist. She put her hands in his hair and parted her lips and he came undone because the kiss was such a blend of sweetness and pain. They had been so careful for so long, keeping their distance, behaving as vassal and lady, but it was as if the underground river had risen in full spate and, bursting its banks, had overwhelmed them and swept them to a place where all that existed was this moment and themselves. He leaned against the pillar, lifted her and entered her with all his pent-up love and frustration. She wrapped her legs around him and buried her face against his throat with a sob. And in those moments they lived a lifetime, knowing it was all they might ever have of each other.


29

Anatolia, January 1148

Alienor turned over and, pulling the furs up around her ears, snuggled against Gisela for warmth.

‘Rain,’ said Marchisa who had stuck her nose outside the tent flaps to sniff the dawn air. ‘It might even turn to snow.’

Alienor groaned and burrowed further under the covers. Everyone spoke of the burning heat of Outremer, but the cold on the high ground was bone-biting.

Today they were due to make the gruelling climb and crossing of Mount Cadmos on their journey to the coast at Antalya. The notion of riding up a mountain in the face of a sleety wind made Alienor reluctant to stir. If only she could wake up at home in Poitiers or Antioch without having to travel in either direction.

Outside Alienor could hear the camp stirring to life: men hacking and coughing; snatches of conversation round the campfire; the stamp and nicker of horses as they received their rations of fodder. The ominous rasp of a sword on a whetstone.

Marchisa was building up the brazier in their tent and setting out portions of cold lamb and flat bread with which to break their fast. With great reluctance, Alienor sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She could smell smoke and grease on her hands from the previous night. The urge to observe the niceties of staying clean and fresh had dwindled to nothing when set against the need to keep dry and warm. She had not bothered to unpack her mirror for the last five nights, and the silk gowns she had worn in Constantinople had been relegated to the bottom of her baggage pack.

Alienor braced herself and left the bed. She had slept in thick socks, her chemise and a woollen gown. Now she donned a pair of soft linen braies and attached men’s leather riding hose to them. She and her women had adopted such clothing since leaving Constantinople because of its comfort and practicality in the advancing winter season and hostile terrain. A highly amused Geoffrey de Rancon had called them ‘the Amazons’ on first discovering the apparel while helping Alienor into the saddle. The nickname had quickly become common parlance among the men. Louis had not been best pleased. He said it was beneath the dignity of the Queen of France and therefore reflected poorly on himself, but since Alienor and her ladies wore perfectly respectable gowns over their hose, and since it helped them to keep up the pace, he let it pass with no more than scowls.