Alienor knew she dared not betray her emotions by a single look or gesture. ‘I have spoken to the King,’ she said. ‘He is furious, but I believe when it comes to the crux, he will spare you both.’
‘Then we must believe in your belief, madam,’ said de Maurienne, ‘and my nephew’s good sense. But what of them?’ He nodded towards the tent flaps. Something struck the side of the canvas with a heavy thud. A stone, she thought, and the volume of the shouting increased.
‘Help is at hand,’ she replied, praying that it was, and hoping Louis would indeed see sense by the morning.
‘Well, if it is French help, they are likely to string us up,’ Geoffrey said grimly, ‘and if you have summoned our men, there will be bloody fighting in the camp between the factions.’
‘Credit me with more sense than that,’ she snapped. ‘I have sent for the Templars.’
A look of relief passed between the men, but then Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Perhaps we do deserve to die,’ he said.
‘You have already committed enough folly to last you into your dotage, without adding more,’ she said, covering her fear with anger. ‘When we reach Antioch, my lord, I am sending you back to Aquitaine.’ He inhaled to protest and she raised her hand to silence him. ‘My mind is made up. It will benefit me and Aquitaine far more than if you remain here.’
Geoffrey stared at her, his eyes glittering with tears. ‘You will shame me before all.’
‘No, you fool, I will save your life, even if you seem keen to throw it away. Listen to them.’ She gestured to the tent flaps. ‘They will make a scapegoat of you. Someone will put a knife in you before this journey is done. It is different for my lord de Maurienne. He is the King’s uncle, and they will say he followed your lead. They may not hang you today, but nevertheless they will find some way of murdering you. I will not let that happen to … to one of my senior vassals. Besides, I need your strong arm to prepare Aquitaine for when I return. So much will have changed.’ She raised her brows in emphasis.
‘Madam, I beg you …’ Geoffrey looked at her with his heart in his eyes; then he swiftly dropped his gaze and bowed his head. ‘Do not send me away.’
Alienor swallowed. ‘I must. I have no choice.’
There was a taut silence; then Geoffrey said, ‘If that is your wish, I must yield you my obedience, but I do it at your will, not my own.’
De Maurienne had been silently watchful throughout the exchange, and Alienor wondered how much they had given away. ‘The Queen speaks wisely,’ the older man said. ‘I can weather the storm, but you are vulnerable; you have enemies. It is best for all that you leave.’
Outside the tent, the shouting and insults had fallen silent, replaced by the sound of a heavy tread in unison and the clink of weapons. Alienor turned to the entrance. A row of Templar knights and serjeants was lining up facing the crowd, shields presented, hands on sword hilts.
‘Madam.’ Their commander, Everard des Barres, gave her a stiff bow.
Alienor returned the courtesy. ‘Sire, I ask you to guard these men. I fear for their lives. There will be more bloodshed among us should anything happen to them tonight before the King has made his decision. We have problems enough in the camp without adding to them.’
Des Barres gave her a shrewd look from narrow dark eyes. He and Alienor had never been particularly cordial with each other, but were both pragmatic enough to deal on political and diplomatic terms. ‘Madam, you have my personal oath that these men will not be harmed.’
There would be a price to pay at some point, she knew, but des Barres was a man of his word. The Templars had no affinity apart from God, and were the best soldiers in Christendom. ‘Thank you. I leave this in your capable hands, my lord.’
Alienor left the tent without looking back because she did not want to meet Geoffrey’s gaze. The Queen’s traditional role was that of peacemaker; let it rest at that and pretend that her heart was not breaking.
Having passed a worried, sleepless night, Alienor had just finished her morning ablutions when Louis arrived. In the morning light, his face was pale and ravaged, with eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and weeping. ‘I have decided to spare my uncle and de Rancon,’ he said. ‘It will be a far greater punishment for them to live with their shame.’
‘Thank you,’ Alienor said, her tone conciliatory and subdued. She felt weak with relief, for he could so easily have chosen execution and in the end she could not have stopped him. ‘Geoffrey must return to Aquitaine.’
Louis gave a curt nod. ‘Indeed. I am not inclined to protect him from the men, and I can no longer trust him with any kind of military responsibility. The Templars will command the vanguard for the rest of the way.’
He left the tent in a brusque flurry and Alienor released the breath she had been holding. She could not even bear the scent of him now. Overcome by nausea, she had to run to the slop bowl.
Marchisa left what she was doing and hastened to tend to her.
‘It is nothing,’ Alienor said, gesturing her away. ‘I am all right.’
‘I am here if you need me, madam,’ Marchisa said, giving her a long, thoughtful look.
The Templars led off the army later in the morning. Louis kept de Maurienne close to his side, and Alienor had Geoffrey ride as part of her escort, near enough that he was under her protection as much as he was protecting her. It was unsettling and bittersweet. Each time she breathed him in, the sensation was almost unbearable, as it was with Louis, but for the opposite reasons. She dared not touch him or favour him because people were watching closely. It all had to be worn on the inside. No one must ever know.
30
Antioch, March 1148
Alienor and Louis sailed into the port of Saint Symeon on a glittering morning in mid March. The breeze was soft, the sky clear blue and the sea rocked with a gentle swell. Alienor walked on to the harbour side, thanking God for their safe deliverance. It was impossible to believe that the voyage from the port of Antalya to Antioch, usually of three days’ duration, had taken almost three weeks, during which their vessels had been buffeted on rough seas and blown far off course. The Greek sailors had demanded an extortionate fee of four silver marks for each passenger they shipped. The alternative was a forty-day journey through rough and hostile terrain, which was what the bulk of the army had had to do despite being weakened by sickness and hunger.
Alienor had been nauseous throughout the sea journey, even during the times when the weather was calm. Marchisa had tended to her and said nothing, but her gaze was astute. Alienor knew that sooner or later she would have to confide in her. She could not keep her condition secret for much longer without help.
Antioch stood on the River Orontes, the city wall rising in massive crenellations up the sides of Mount Silipus. It was home to the Holy Saint Peter, first disciple of Jesus, and housed the church where the word ‘Christian’ had first been coined. That church still existed, built into a cavern in the mountainside, and was a place of reverence and pilgrimage. Louis was eager to worship there and tread in the footsteps of heaven’s gatekeeper.
Alienor’s own thoughts were more directed towards meeting her uncle and claiming his protection. Preparing to meet him, she dressed in a red silk dalmatic given to her by the Empress Irene. The loose-fitting gown was ornamented with precious gems, pearls and gold beads. Sapphires and rubies adorned her fingers and she covered her hair with a veil of Egyptian linen, so fine that it was like mist. Despite the rigours of the journey and her recent uncertain health, she was determined to greet her uncle with regal dignity.
She had last seen him when she was nine years old and had a vague memory of a tall young knight with deep blue eyes and hair the same dark golden hue as her own. Her stomach was queasy with anticipation and the knowledge that she was about to begin a new phase of her life, a phase that did not include Louis, although for the moment she would play her role as Queen of France.