The Summer Queen

50

Angers, March 1154

‘Madam, the Duke your husband is here,’ announced Alienor’s chamberlain.

Alienor stared at him in dismay. ‘What, already?’

He looked wry. ‘Yes, madam.’

‘But he was not due until … Ah, never mind. Delay him as long as you can.’

He gave her a dubious look but bowed out.

‘Oh, that man!’ Alienor cried, torn between infuriation and joy. His heralds had arrived this morning, announcing he would be here towards nightfall, but the daylight was still strong and there were several hours until sunset. ‘I do not see him for more than a year, and then he springs himself upon me and I am not prepared.’

‘It will not take a moment to finish,’ Marchisa said, practical and optimistic as always. ‘Your lord may notice you, but he will not care if your hair is plaited in six braids or two.’

‘But I will care,’ Alienor complained, but only because she was annoyed. In truth it did not really matter. ‘Make haste then,’ she said. ‘They will not be able to hold him back for long.’

Her women coiled her hair in a gold net and tightened the laces on her tawny silk gown to emphasise her once-more trim figure. The nurse busied herself with baby William who at seven months old was a vigorous bundle, no longer bound in swaddling, but clad in an embroidered white smock. The nurse put a bonnet on his head, and Alienor told her to draw out a quiff of his hair so that the glittery red-gold colour was plain to see.

Not entirely satisfied, but knowing it would have to do, Alienor hurried to the hall and settled herself on the ducal chair on the dais with the baby in her lap. Emma and Marchisa arranged her skirts in a graceful swirl and Alienor drew a deep breath.

Moments later she heard Henry’s voice protesting that no, he did not need to change his clothes, and no, he did not want to don his coronet, take refreshment, comb his hair, or anything else anyone might concoct to delay him. He flung open the door and stalked into the room, his cloak flying like a banner and his stride hard and fast. His complexion was flushed and there was a grey glitter in his eyes that verged on anger. Then he stopped abruptly and stared at Alienor, his chest heaving.

She met his gaze with pride, revealing none of her trepidation, and then she lowered her eyes to their son, who wanted to stand up and bounce in her lap. ‘This is your papa,’ she said to the child, pitching her voice so that Henry could hear. ‘Your papa is home to see you.’ And she looked at Henry again, directly and with triumph.

Henry took a deep breath and walked forward. His gaze was no longer angry, but bright with pleasure and eager anticipation. ‘You look like a madonna,’ he said hoarsely.

Alienor gave a demure smile. ‘This is your son,’ she said. ‘William, Count of Poitiers, future Duke of Normandy and King of England.’

Henry took the infant from her arms to have a good look at him. He held him above his head and little William shouted with laughter and dribbled on his father.

‘Well, that’s a fine start; my heir spits on me.’ Henry grinned, lowering his son, transferring him to one arm and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his tunic.

‘He has your eyes and your hair,’ Alienor said. Affection and happiness bubbled up within her. Louis had never made any attempt to be playful or engage with their daughters but Henry was fearless and natural holding the child.

‘But your features,’ Henry replied. ‘What a fine little man.’

The baby squirmed in his arms and seized hold of Henry’s cloak brooch, which had caught his eye. Henry carefully prised his heir’s chubby fingers from the object and handed him to the waiting nurse.

‘Like you he is never still,’ Alienor said. ‘He makes his wishes known to everyone – and they had better obey or else.’

He raised his brows and looked amused. ‘Certainly like me then.’

Alienor rose to greet him with a formal curtsey now that he had seen his son, but he met her halfway and kissed her.

‘I missed you,’ he said.

They straightened together and he set his hand to her waist.

‘I missed you too. It has been a long time.’ She was intensely aware of his touch. ‘We have a great deal to talk about. Letters say much, but they are not flesh and blood.’

‘No, more is the pity. You wrote often that you were well, and I am glad to see it is the truth.’

Alienor thought that he was bound to be glad, for had she died in childbirth it would have left him with a claim impossible to pursue and all her vast resources would have been lost to him. Given that their son was seven months old, she suspected that he was also enquiring if she was sufficiently recovered to conceive another child. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling, ‘I am quite well.’

Formal greetings over, Alienor and Henry retired to the greater privacy of the lord’s chamber in the castle tower. Henry’s squires had put his baggage in the chamber during the greetings in the hall, and wine and food had been set out on cloth-covered trestles.

Alienor glanced at his baggage, which was only what Henry had carried on his horse. The rest would arrive later on the slower travelling carts. There were a couple of sacks and a long piece of rolled-up leather.

He saw her look. ‘I have not come home to you empty-handed,’ he said. ‘I have gifts for you fit for a queen.’

‘I should hope so after so long a parting.’ She indicated the baby now in the nurse’s arms. ‘My gift to you is a son.’

Colour came up in his face. ‘Mine to you, and to him, is a kingdom,’ he replied. ‘As I promised when we wed.’

Alienor’s breath shortened. She had received news from England but it was haphazard and patchy. ‘A kingdom?’

Henry dismissed the remaining servants with a flick of his wrist, including the nurse with little William. ‘Stephen has agreed I should inherit the crown when he dies, but I had to consent to the formality of becoming his adopted son and heir.’ He looked wry. ‘So now I have three fathers. The man who sired me, my Father in heaven, and Stephen the usurper – God help me. It was a way out of the morass. Everyone views me as the heir to the throne, but they are unwilling to fight any more to set me upon it. Stephen’s lords acknowledge my claim, but will not see me crowned while Stephen lives. My own lords will not chance a pitched battle when they know it is only a matter of time. It took many hours of negotiation, but it is done. I am Stephen’s heir, acknowledged by treaty, and all men are sworn to uphold my claim.’ He took her round the waist and pulled her close, nuzzling her throat with his beard. ‘And that means I can give my attention to our domains here, and spend time with you and our son.’ He deftly unlaced the side of her gown and slipped his hand inside to cup her breast through her chemise.

Alienor shivered with lust. It had been so long. There was so much she wanted to ask him, but it could wait. She would not receive an answer from him if she asked now. The suggestive surge and retreat of his hips against hers, the feel of his hands on her body, the smell and touch of him was creating an overriding need. Her own hands became very busy and Henry muttered an expletive. With his braies around his knees, he heaved her on to the bed.

‘Now,’ he gasped as he knelt over her, poised. ‘Speak now if you are not ready to conceive another child because I am ripe to bursting!’

Alienor laughed breathlessly. ‘Is this one of your fitting gifts?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said, his jaw tense and his stomach sucked in. ‘What could be more fitting than this?’

He thrust into her full measure and she clasped herself around him, glorying in his vigour and energy, his frank sexual need and pleasure, so different from Louis. Delighting too that he welcomed her responses and did not expect her to be passive in the exchange. He was a young golden lion and she was his mate and his match.

Henry lightly stroked Alienor’s belly in the aftermath of their mating. ‘I would fill you again and again for the pleasure of the begetting,’ he said. ‘We shall make a fine dynasty of sons and daughters between us.’

Alienor turned in his arms to face him. ‘Your part is simple,’ she said. ‘You would find the constant bearing harder toil.’

‘I concede that I would, but each to our duty and our role.’

Alienor arched her brows. ‘Indeed, but being the bearer of my heirs and yours does not mean I cease to be a duchess. I am more than just a brood mare, I warn you.’

He looked a trifle taken aback. ‘Of course you are more; that is taken for granted.’

‘As long as you do not take me for granted,’ she said, determined to push her point home. ‘I may carry and bear the children, but I will receive my due in every part.’

He kissed her again. ‘You will be honoured as is your right, I promise.’

Alienor returned the kiss, but felt a slight misgiving at the tone of his voice. She was swiftly learning that her young husband was a force of nature carrying all before him. People had to bend to his needs; he did not bow to theirs. He would only keep his word if it suited him to do so. She had to make herself matter to him in every way, not just as the key that opened the door to Aquitaine and the provider of heirs. ‘Do not give your promise lightly,’ she said to him, ‘because I will hold you to it down all the days of our marriage.’

‘Then hold me to it; I shall not prove wanting.’ He continued to nuzzle and kiss her. He had been going to tell her about Aelburgh and little Geoffrey, but since they were far away in England, he decided for the moment she need not know.

As their lovemaking progressed, Alienor straddled him, taking control of the moment.

‘Then let us seal your promise,’ she said, moving upon him lightly, the tips of her hair trailing over his chest and belly. ‘I am your wife, your lover, the mother of your children.’ She tossed her head and rose and fell, and saw his fists clench on the sheets. ‘I am a duchess with lands and vassals; I am of ancient lineage. I have been a queen; I shall be so again; and I will have all that is my due.’

Henry swallowed and gritted his teeth. ‘Christ, woman …’

‘Swear it.’ She rose and settled.

‘You already have my promise,’ he gasped, ‘but I do so swear again.’

‘And you must swear again,’ she said, ‘because three times is binding.’ She leaned over and bit him lightly on each nipple, enough to cause a sharp sensation verging on pain, but exquisite.

His face contorted. ‘I swear it!’ He seized her hips to hold her still and arrowed into her, climaxing harder than he had ever done in his life, and she took her pleasure from seeing his and knowing in that moment the power was all hers.

‘What will your mother say about Stephen adopting you?’ she asked when they had both recovered and were refreshing themselves with wine and curd tarts from the platters on the trestle.

Henry gave a grunt of amusement. ‘She will be incensed, I have no doubt. It was bad enough that Geoffrey of Anjou was my sire, and to have me adopted by the man who stole her crown will disgust her.’ He shrugged and took a bite from the tart Alienor was feeding him. ‘She will accept it, though; she is pragmatic and she has no choice. I just won’t refer to Stephen as my “stepfather” in her company.’

‘What of Stephen’s other son? What does he think of his father making you the heir and cutting him from the inheritance?’

‘He was not best pleased at first, but not prepared to take it further. No one would support him, including his own father. We had a long discussion before the tomb of my grandsire at Reading and William agreed to step down. Those who began the fight are growing old and do not want to see their own sons caught up in the conflict when there’s a sensible solution under their noses.’

Henry went to pick up the long leather roll from his baggage. ‘We must arrange a ceremony to display this before everyone.’ Within the roll, wrapped in a purple silk cloth, was a scabbard of embossed leather over a wooden core. The sword hilt within was of Nordic style, beautifully crafted and engraved. The grip was bound with red silk cord and the hilt ends were fashioned into the shape of beasts with open mouths.

‘This is the sword of my great-great-grandfather, Duke Robert of Normandy,’ he said. ‘He left it to his son, William, who then bore it into battle when he came to conquer England. It has hung at the tomb of my grandsire in Reading Abbey for almost twenty years and it is mine now. William of Boulogne will not contest my right to wield it. It was given to me as a token of my future kingship by the consent of all the barons in England.’ His eyes shone as grey as the light on the steel and as sharp as the blade. ‘Stephen will live out the rest of his life as king, and when he dies, the crown will be mine.’

Alienor felt the power in him and her heart filled with pride and exultation, but it did not blind her to practicality. ‘What of your enemies, those who have built castles and made themselves little kingdoms throughout this war?’

‘The order has already gone out that all adulterine castles are to be demolished and everything restored to what it was on the day when my grandsire was alive and dead. This sword symbolises a return to the peace and justice we had before – and shall have again. That is my priority.’

She nodded with approval. It was a future vision made of practicality, not golden dreams. Something worthwhile, steady and solid, which, in due course, would be built to last. For the moment they had Normandy, Anjou and Aquitaine to govern – and each other to enjoy.