People crowded forward to receive their crosses from the monks who had brought sackfuls to hand out, stitched in convents and monasteries the length and breadth of France, and for a while all was frantic activity. Louis and Alienor doled out crosses to eager, outstretched hands until there were none left. The crowd dispersed to tents and lodgings, or took the opportunity to pray in the church to seal their new vows. On her return to the guest house, Alienor saw many people sitting cross-legged on the grass, busy with needle and thread, sewing crosses on to cloaks and tunics. Someone was banging on a drum and singing a song in rousing tones.
‘Qui ore irat od Lovis
Ja mar d’enfern avrat paur
Cars s’arma en iert en pareis
Od les angles de nostre Segnor.’
Alienor suppressed the urge to mock the words. Whoever goes with Louis need not fear because his soul will go to Paradise and dwell with the angels and Our Lord. A worthy sentiment indeed, but if they went to Paradise, she suspected it might just be because Louis had gone and got them all killed. What she must do now was survive until she reached Antioch and the sanctuary and protection of her uncle Raymond.
25
Poitou, Autumn 1146
It was so good to be back in Poitiers, if only for a short time. Alienor felt as if her body had been bound in coils of rope, wound so tightly that she could barely breathe. Now, suddenly, the end had been pulled, twirling her round, unravelling her until she was dizzy with exhilaration.
Golden sunshine flickered through the trees, burnishing the leaves of chestnut and oak with the first tints of autumn. The sky was a clear, fierce blue, and the weather perfect for the progress she and Louis were making through her lands to muster support for the crusade. Louis concentrated his efforts on churches and abbeys. Alienor spoke to her vassals, urging them to provide support for the relief of Edessa and Raymond of Poitiers, the only surviving adult male in the direct line of the Dukes of Aquitaine.
Petronella travelled with her in her household, all trace of her darker moods banished by being home under the warm southern sun. Her laughter rang out and she romped like a child, captivating Raoul all over again. It was not uncommon to come across them kissing in corners like a pair of lustful adolescents. Going for a walk one night, unable to sleep, Alienor came across them making love in the moonlit garden. Petronella’s legs were clasped around Raoul’s waist as they urged each other on with words better suited to a dockside brothel. It had been a shock to witness: raw, powerful, yet strangely beautiful. Alienor had tiptoed away without being seen, feeling wistful, even sad. Raoul and Petronella’s relationship might be volatile and imperfect, but it was real.
They came to Taillebourg, and there she received the homage of the vassals of the Charente. Geoffrey de Rancon knelt at her feet to pledge his oath, and swore that he would lead the men of Aquitaine with honour and defend her with his life on the journey to Antioch.
She raised him up and gave him the kiss of peace, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. ‘Then I shall be protected indeed.’ To know she and Geoffrey were going to be in close proximity to each other for many months, gave her a frisson of pleasure mingled with apprehension.
Having travelled as far as Bordeaux on their progress to raise funds and recruit for the crusade, Alienor and Louis returned to Poitiers. Geoffrey of Anjou arrived to pay his respects and Alienor felt a gleam of interest when he requested an audience with her. The last time she had seen the Count of Anjou had been at her coronation when she was a bride and little more than a child. The way he had looked at her had filled her with frightened excitement. These days she no longer lacked knowledge or confidence. She had become one of his kind and knew exactly how to deal with him.
On the previous occasion, he had come to pay his homage as a vassal to the young King of France. The daring red fox of Anjou, circling the edges of the court, ready to snatch at any morsels of opportunity that came his way. Now his military doggedness and prowess had rewarded him with the rule of all Normandy, and his power and prestige had risen to a level that could not be nudged aside.
‘Do you think he is here to take the Cross?’ Petronella asked, eyeing him avidly.
‘I doubt it,’ Alienor said with hard amusement. ‘His wife is fighting for her right to England and he is part of that fight. He has only just won Normandy and he is far too shrewd a player to abandon his gains.’
Petronella’s smile dimpled out. ‘I’m sure he will have a diverting answer.’
‘I am sure too,’ Alienor said with a gleam of anticipation. She was keen to match wits with him and see the differences that time had wrought. Summoning her ladies, she began making preparations for the exchange.
‘You are setting yourself up to be eaten alive,’ Petronella warned her.
‘On the contrary, I am donning my armour,’ Alienor replied, watching her ladies cascade rose petals into a large bowl of warm water. ‘A thousand petals to take the place of a sword. These are a woman’s weapons.’
Petronella licked her lips. ‘What will Louis say?’
Alienor tossed her head. ‘I have gone beyond caring what Louis will say. Let him speak as he chooses. He needs me and he needs my wealth and my vassals for this great enterprise of his.’
She perfumed her wrists and throat with the scent of roses and nutmeg. She had her women cover her hair with a veil of transparent silk gauze crowned with a coronet of pearls. Her dress was of cream silk damask, adorned by a gold belt stitched with more pearls. She slipped a ring on each hand: one a hoop of embellished gold, the other set with a large topaz, and that was all. Rather than hide behind her jewels, she wanted Geoffrey of Anjou to see the power and confidence of the woman wearing them.
Her guest was waiting for her in the great hall, standing before the hearth, and she saw him before he saw her. He was stooping to fondle the ears of Raoul’s silky grey gazehound. There was no sign of Louis, but she did not expect him yet. He had gone to pray at the cathedral, and once on his knees, he lost all sense of time. Nor would the announcement of the arrival of the Count of Anjou cause him to make haste, because time for God was more important than time for anything else.
Taking a deep breath, Alienor bade an usher bring the Count before her. The servant gave Geoffrey his message and the latter looked up and across at Alienor. This time, as their eyes met, she was ready for him and her regard was cool and steady. He did not back down, but neither did she, and she saw his glimmer of amused surprise. He still thought he was in control.
‘Madam,’ he said as he reached her, and bent his knee.
‘My lord Count,’ she replied. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I find they are often the best kind.’ He raised his head, giving her the full effect of his gaze.
‘Well, let us hope so in this instance.’ She gave him a mischievous look. ‘I wondered, considering your ties with the Kingdom of Jerusalem, if you had come to pledge yourself to the rescue of Edessa?’
‘Madam, it is a vow I have often considered taking,’ Geoffrey replied smoothly, ‘but today I am here on other business that requires me to speak with the King.’
‘All that you say to my husband can be said to me,’ Alienor responded in a honeyed voice that nevertheless held an underlying sharpness. ‘Especially in Poitiers, where I am duchess.’
‘Indeed, madam, but it is a matter that concerns both of you.’
‘Well then.’ She extended her arm to him formally. ‘Come and take some wine and sit with me until the King returns from his devotions.’
‘Madam, I would be delighted to do so.’ He gave her one of those looks that had so devastated her when she was a girl. Now she acknowledged it with pleasure, like a cat lapping cream.