Marchisa curtseyed. ‘You may no longer be a queen, but you look every inch of one – not of France, but of Aquitaine.’

Alienor’s smile was brittle. ‘And perhaps of England one day. Let us go and see what this prospective husband of mine has to say for himself.’

Alienor’s vassals and servants knelt as she made her entrance. Raoul de Faye and Hugh de Châtellerault escorted her to her chair on the high dais where she was joined by Gilbert, the elderly Bishop of Poitiers, and Archbishop Gofrid of Bordeaux. The scene set, she commanded Henry and his entourage to be brought into the great hall and announced.

Henry’s complexion was ruddy from recent scrubbing. He had washed his hair and its wet colour was almost as dark as cinnamon. He wore a tunic of dark blue wool with scarlet edging dotted with gems. Standing at his side, she recognised Hamelin FitzCount, today clad in the garb of a courtier.

Henry stepped forward and, kneeling to her, bowed his head. ‘Madam,’ he said. ‘I came as swiftly as I could.’

‘For which I thank you,’ she answered formally. ‘Welcome to Poitiers, sire.’

He sent her an upward glance and for the first time she met his gaze in full daylight. His eyes were crystal-grey with a flash of green in the depths and filled with piercing intelligence. His lashes looked as if they had been swept with gold dust. He had smooth, fair skin, a square jaw and a young, soft beard of warm red gold. He possessed the handsomeness of youth and, although not a boy, he was still only a very young man and that gave her a tug of fear. ‘I hope to make you not only Duchess of Normandy and Countess of Anjou, but Queen of England in due course,’ he said with bold assertion.

Alienor raised her eyebrows. ‘I do more than hope in my intention to make you my consort duke of Aquitaine.’

They appraised each other keenly. Still kneeling, Henry took her hand and pressed it to his lips and, while he held her captive, placed on her wrists the gem-studded cuff clasps he had brought with him. ‘This is the first of many gifts I shall bring to you. Not just of jewels and gold, but of empire and prestige.’ He raised his voice as he spoke so that it carried around the hall. Alienor listened to the rumbles of approbation from her vassals. This was what they desired to hear. She was pleased, but wary too. She did not want a husband taking over her domain, yet she needed a man who would be strong and keep his word by practical deed. She also did not want a boastful boy who promised all and delivered nothing. But Henry’s eyes were not those of a boastful boy. They were knowing and steely far beyond his physical years.

She eyed the clasps. Jewels to adorn a queen, or a new set of fetters? Leaning over, she gave him the kiss of peace. ‘I hold you to your word,’ she said and, as she raised him to his feet, the hall erupted with cheers of acclaim.

The rest of the day was taken up in formal feasting. Alienor noticed how much Henry fidgeted, as if his body was unable to contain his bursting energy, but he managed to be charming and urbane too. He found the right words to say to each person while absorbing everything about them. He was like a spinster with a basket full of raw fleece, drawing out and twisting threads of policy from the basic material. How could he be only nineteen? She looked at his hands as he broke bread. The left one was enhanced by a magnificent sapphire ring. His right bore a long scratch across the back, and a black mark on a fingernail where he had suffered some sort of blow. These were the hands of someone accustomed to grabbing the reins and forcing his horse in any direction he chose.

‘You were a great deal more circumspect when you were in Paris with your father,’ she said.

Henry reached for his cup. ‘I had good reason to be. I did not want to arouse suspicion because we were there to negotiate a truce, and that was difficult enough without Louis getting the scent of anything else.’

‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing then?’

‘Rather call it a lion being a lamb.’

The remark made Alienor laugh. He might be young, but he had an instinct for the right word in the right place, a skill Louis had never possessed.

He leaned back in his chair, the cup resting on his gold belt buckle. ‘My only regret is that I cannot stay in Poitiers and be a proper bridegroom. I still have urgent business in Normandy and a throne to acquire in England.’

‘That is indeed a pity,’ Alienor said, but she was thinking she could rule her own domain and be safe because she would be a married woman. She would indeed have her freedom.

‘I shall return when I have done what I must and we can become better acquainted.’ He smiled at her. ‘I wasn’t going to give this up for a more convenient moment.’

‘If you had not come, there would not have been a more convenient moment,’ she replied with asperity.

‘I realise that.’ He sent her a bright glance. ‘But I did answer your summons and I do recognise the importance of this union – for both of us.’

Later there was dancing and as Alienor clasped hands with Henry, a spark jolted through her and was reciprocated. He was a good dancer, energetic and lithe at the same time. He was taller than her but only by a little, and they moved in harmony, but the looks they sent each other were like sparks, adding frissons of desire and challenge.

Alienor’s vassals, well oiled with wine by now, demonstrated some of the more robust masculine dances of the region. Henry mastered the different steps with nimble dexterity. Alienor observed the pleasure he took in the movements and how unselfconscious he was. He could laugh at himself when he tangled a move, and take sweeping bows at the applause when he succeeded. Louis would not even have attempted to join in such sport. Henry’s enjoyment was infectious and at one point she laughed so much she had to hold her sides. It had been so long since she had felt such emotion that it almost frightened her. It was difficult to stop and she could feel the edge of tears. As the dance finished, she took the decision to retire.

Henry bowed. ‘Until the morning, madam.’ A gleam lit in his eye. ‘And tomorrow, we shall not have to bid each other goodnight at all.’

Alienor’s face grew warm. ‘No,’ she said, and departed with her women, feeling flustered. His touch tonight had roused her more than she had expected, but then she had been sleeping alone for a long, long time, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her beyond just the need for an alliance. Unless he was a complete boor in the bedchamber, it would not be difficult to make a pleasure of their wedding night.

While her women turned down the covers and freed the bed curtains from their hooks, she knelt at her little devotional altar and prayed that she had done the right thing to please God and the best for Aquitaine. She wanted to settle into a partnership of equals where she and Henry could blend their skills. She wanted unity in her household and support. She wanted children: sons and daughters who would eventually inherit her role.

Before she rose from her knees, she vowed to make this marriage as good as it could be. This time she would succeed.

Henry, who needed little sleep, did not retire until much later. He continued to socialise with the Poitevan barons, finding common ground and deciding whom he could trust and whom to watch, deliberately impressing his personality on them and issuing a warning that he was not to be trifled with despite his youth.

When Henry eventually retired, his own prayers were swiftly said, but heartfelt nevertheless. He thanked God for His goodness in dropping this plum into his lap. Alienor was attractive, even if she was nine years older than him, and she intrigued him. She was very different to Aelburgh, but then one was a mistress and one a wife and their relationships with him were on a different scale.

Thinking back to his initial reluctance to the match, he smiled ruefully. Being married to Alienor, being Duke of Aquitaine, might just turn out to be very rewarding indeed – in every way.


45

Poitiers, May 1152

Alienor and Henry solemnised their marriage in the cathedral of Saint-Pierre in Poitiers. The pillars of the nave were twined with all the flowers of a full southern spring. Lilies, roses and honeysuckle added their scent to the perfume of incense, rising in veils of smoke to heaven. Once more Alienor received a wedding ring on her heart finger; once more she took the vows. For better or for worse …

Outside the cathedral, Henry faced her and brought her hands to his lips. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Now we have an empire to rule and a dynasty to raise.’

His words could so easily have sounded like the overblown bragging of an immature boy, but they didn’t. It was a serious statement of intent and she shivered with excitement, because standing on the cathedral porch in this moment, all things seemed possible.

She beckoned and a servant stepped forward and set a hawking gauntlet on her wrist. Her chief falconer presented her with one of the snowy Talmont gyrfalcons. ‘You have your glove?’ she asked Henry.

He looked round and Hamelin handed him the one Alienor had sent with the letter of proposal. Henry drew it on and Alienor transferred the gyrfalcon carefully to his wrist.

‘This is Isabella,’ she said. ‘I gift her to you as a symbol of our marriage. Only the rulers of Aquitaine have the right to fly these birds.’

Henry stroked the gyrfalcon’s pale breast with a gentle forefinger. ‘Isabella,’ he said, and gazed at the bird with delight and desire. Those emotions were still in his eyes as he turned to Alienor.

‘The females are more powerful than the males,’ she said, not showing him how much his look moved her.

‘Is that so? It is a good thing that I have a way with such noble creatures then,’ he said with a half-smile.

She raised her brows. ‘I shall be interested to see your way.’

Henry bowed. ‘I hope not to disappoint, madam.’

She tilted her head. ‘I hope not too.’

Henry was attentive to Alienor throughout the wedding feast. Sharing his trencher with her, he displayed competent carving skills and sound table manners. He was full of smiles and amiable words for everyone, but with the controlled dignity of a magnate. He also drank in moderation and Alienor was glad. She had seen what happened to young men in their cups and did not want to deal with the consequences on her wedding night.

‘What is England like?’ she asked him. ‘I have always thought of it as a cold land steeped in fog.’

‘It can be,’ he replied. ‘When you get the sea mist they call haar rolling in, then it is like being at the end of the world, but all the moisture and rainfall makes it green and lush.’

‘And that is supposed to recommend it to me?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘It is the land of King Arthur too. There is a legend that Christ himself walked there in his young manhood. The smell of England is fresh and coastal. Its people are hardy but it is no colder than here in the winter. The English have a strong administration and judicial system and it has much wealth in wool. When my grandsire Henry was king, it was a prosperous nation. Stephen of Blois has squandered it all, but if it was husbanded properly, it could once again become a great asset.’ His expression hardened. ‘My parents strove throughout my childhood to keep alive my claim to England and Normandy. I shall not negate all their toil and I shall prevail over the usurpers.’

Alienor had not seen him so vehement before; he had guarded his emotions up to now, and this new side to him intrigued her. ‘It is a great undertaking,’ she said.

‘Indeed.’ He drew back a little, once more becoming the courtier. ‘That is why I need an exceptional wife to stand at my side and bear sons who will take the dynasty forward.’

‘I gave Louis only daughters.’

He shook his head. ‘The giving of daughters was all his. I shall give you sons, there is no question of that, and our empire shall stretch from the borders of Scotland all the way to the Pyrenees, and our influence shall be felt far beyond that, for my kin sit on many thrones, including that of Jerusalem.’

She noted his arrogance, but she believed him too, and anticipation flowed through her veins like warm wine.

The bedding ceremony was formal and dignified without boisterous jests. This was a duke and duchess being escorted to their chamber and dynastically and politically a serious matter. One or two people were rowdy with drink but were contained by the others. Pale pink rose petals strewed the bedsheets and green garlands festooned the canopy posts. Wine and light refreshments stood on a cloth-covered small table near the bedside, and the room was well lit by candles and lamps burning scented oil.