The Summer Queen

34

Papal Palace at Tusculum, August 1149

Pope Eugenius leaned forward on his chair, pale hands tightly clasped, and peered intently at Alienor. He was a small man, made smaller by his posture, and resembled a shrew clad in magnificent episcopal robes.

‘Your Eminence, I am ready to hear your judgement,’ Alienor said. This was it, the fulfilment of the journey. Louis had agreed to the annulment and had spoken to the Pope earlier that morning. She had not seen him since, but he had resolved to go forward with the matter. All that stood between her and the dissolution of her impossible marriage were a few words from this elderly little man and the necessary documentation.

Eugenius rubbed the shining sapphire in his pontifical ring with the pad of his thumb. ‘As I told your husband earlier, this is a matter for God, not for man, and God forbids the separation of those he has joined together, except in very serious and complex situations, neither of which pertain in your case.’

He had a habit of slurring his words at the end of sentences so that it was difficult for Alienor to tell what he was saying, but she understood enough to know he was not taking the tack she wanted.

‘But our bloodlines say our marriage is consanguineous in the third degree. Louis and I share the same ancestors.’

‘By all means laws should be kept, but sometimes they are used as conveniences without due sincerity.’ His voice was an old man’s, thin and gravelly, but nevertheless imbued with power, not least because he was passionate and sincere about what he was saying. ‘I trust you will put your faith in God. You do not wish to raise His anger. Be meek and bend your will to His. That is what I told your husband.’ He raised a warning forefinger. ‘I was much disturbed when I heard that he too desired an annulment. It is not the behaviour I would expect from a true son of the Church. Too many people sue for annulment when they should be doing their best to cherish their marriages. I told him he must reconsider, and he agreed to do so.’

Alienor gazed at him in growing, sick dismay.

Eugenius now pointed his forefinger at her. ‘It is not your place to deny God’s purpose. I do not sit in judgement beyond that which God allows me. I urge you with all my heart to come together with your husband as you were once before and go on your way united. From your union you shall bear an heir for France.’ His brow furrowed in bafflement. ‘You are a young woman still and have no need of resorting to such stratagems in this matter. You must beg God’s mercy for the waywardness of your thoughts.’ A sad but almost kindly smile curved his lips. ‘You have come to the proper place to make it right. All it needs is the determination and everything can be made whole again.’

Alienor was in shock and turmoil, but she set her face and held onto her dignity. Eugenius’s gaze was filled with compassion and concern and also a little troubled censure, as if he were rebuking an erring child. It was plain that the pontiff was not going to agree to annul the marriage and that his mind was set on a very different path.

‘Daughter, you should go to confession and pray upon what I have said, even as I have entreated your husband to do. Let today be a renewal of your marriage vows with your husband, not an ending.’ He held out his hand for her to kiss his ring. ‘I shall hear no more on this foolish matter of annulment. Go and prepare yourself to be your husband’s bride and you will be vouchsafed a son.’

There was nothing Alienor could do but make her obeisance and leave. She was numb, unable to believe the meeting with Eugenius had ended like this. There was no room to appeal his decision. She and Louis were more irrevocably bound than ever.

That night Alienor walked barefoot in her shift and cloak through the corridors of the papal palace at Tusculum, her right hand set lightly on Louis’s left wrist. He too was barefoot and similarly clad. They both wore the gold crowns that had travelled in their baggage from the outset of the crusade. Alienor’s hair fell in burnished ripples to her hips. The scent of roses and incense wafted from her garments and her body as she walked. Louis too was bathed and groomed. Before and behind them a choir of secular canons sang God’s praises, and attendants strewed rose petals from the palace gardens across the floor tiles.

Eventually they came to a polished oak door decorated with wrought-iron curves and scrollwork. With great ceremony an usher knocked upon it with his ebony staff and, at a command from within, turned the latch and admitted them to a bedchamber ablaze with light and colour. It reminded Alienor a little of the stained-glass glory of Saint-Denis because here too the effect was of walking into a reliquary. It felt sacred, and she was filled with trepidation and uncertainty.

Pope Eugenius was waiting for them, standing before the bed as if officiating at an altar. His small, ferrety frame was drowned in a white cope gleaming with embroidery of silver and gold. In his right hand he bore a staff on which was set a reliquary cross, the gold almost obliterated by gemstones. A bishop stood at his side, holding a silver pot containing holy water, and another stood ready with a vial of oil. The scent of incense permeated everything, but especially the bed, which was a confection of white and gold matching the papal robes. Candles and lamps blazed in every niche and crevice, giving off the sweet aromas of beeswax and perfumed oil, filling the room with heat. Eugenius’s lined forehead glistened with drops of sweat like beads of rock crystal.

‘My children,’ he said, opening his hands in welcome. His eyes were as bright as berries and filled with benevolence. ‘This is a moment of renewal; of hope and fruitfulness, endorsed by God. I have sanctified the bed in which you shall lie tonight as husband and wife, and now I shall sanctify you that you shall be blessed with a male heir for France.’

He bade them kneel and Alienor felt his trembling thumb anointing a cross on her brow with holy oil as he spoke words of blessing and sanction. ‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, let it be done,’ he said.

The gathered clergy left the chamber in an orderly procession, singing as they went, swinging censers, leaving behind drifts of the heavenly scent of frankincense resin.

Alienor and Louis faced each other, two strangers as they had been on their first wedding night, and yet with all the knowledge of years between them like a poisoned chalice containing a brew of hurt, betrayal, treachery and abuse. Eugenius wanted them to start again, but Alienor knew it was a vain hope. All of this was taking her further on to the wrong path. Her first wedding night had led her into a marriage that had soon turned sour. How was this going to be any better? Knowing what to expect only made it worse.

Louis put his arms around her and, drawing her against him, kissed the cross of oil on her forehead. ‘If it is the will of God, then it is our duty to follow what must be done,’ he said sombrely. ‘The Pope is right. We should put our personal desires aside and be a king and queen.’

As Alienor lay back on the great, blessed bed with its priceless hangings and perfumed sheets still damp with sprinkles of holy water, she felt as if not just her heart but her whole body was breaking. How could this be happening when this morning she had expected to be in receipt of an annulment? She barely responded to Louis, but that only served to arouse him, because a passive wife was an obedient wife, and as far as he was concerned, she was obeying the advice the Pope had given to them, and submitting to God’s will.

In the end, Alienor found the physical act itself not too unpleasant. Louis was thoroughly immersed in his role and since there could be no greater sanction to the marriage bed than having it personally overseen by the Pope, he had no difficulty in performing his duty in a way that honoured their surroundings and the sacrament of the moment. Afterwards, he lay back, his hands pillowed behind his head, and gazed up at the bed hangings with a slight smile on his lips. ‘We shall yet have our heir,’ he said, ‘and then everything will be different, you will see.’

She doubted that. Even if she bore a son from this mating, the same courtiers would cause the same problems and marginalise her power. She could not see Louis returning to her bed on a regular basis. It might happen for a short while with the Pope’s exhortations fresh in his mind, but she knew him well. As soon as the glamour began to fade, he would return to his other proclivities.

She needed freedom above all else, but she had just been burdened with yet more chains.