They were greeted by a crowd of people singing hymns and scattering blossom petals before them in a pink and white cloud. Louis’s jaw tightened. ‘Let us hope that this place is not another Constantinople,’ he muttered with a curl of his lip.
‘Why should it be?’ She gave him a sharp look. ‘It is ruled by my father’s brother and his wife is your cousin.’
‘Because the ways of the East are tainted, and the fine flourishes only serve to conceal and gild their treachery,’ he said.
She stared at him. ‘You believe our own kin to be treacherous?’
‘Until I have been given good reason to think otherwise,’ he said grimly. ‘After all, I have encountered treachery and deceit close to home on more than one occasion.’
Alienor swallowed nausea. Just a little longer, she told herself, just a few days more and she would be free. ‘Antioch is not Constantinople. My uncle and his wife are of our lands even if they have made lives here, and we have come to help them – that was our original purpose.’
‘Not our only one,’ he said. ‘Our duty to God is the more important.’
Outside the palace, her uncle Raymond waited to greet them with his wife, Constance, who was kin to Louis. Many years in the Middle Eastern sun had bleached Raymond’s hair to the white-gold of ripe wheat, and his blue eyes were surrounded by deep creases from staring into harsh light. He was taller and broader than Louis, and had such a look of her father that she wanted to fling her arms around him and sob on his neck, but she restrained herself. Constance was slightly younger than Alienor, slender and dark-haired with light green eyes and fine features. She had a look of Louis around her nose and cheekbones, but there was something a little exotic about her too, as if the East had added its quality to her blood.
Their marriage had begun in scandal and subterfuge. At the age of twenty-two, Raymond had been invited to Antioch to become its ruler by marrying Alice, widow of the recently deceased Count Bohemond. But Alice was headstrong and not of the bloodline, whereas her nine-year-old daughter Constance was. Travelling in secret to avoid enemies, Raymond had arrived in Antioch, ostensibly to marry the mother, but had taken the daughter to wife instead, thereby thwarting Alice’s ambitions and setting himself up in dominance. Although under heavy threat from the Seljuks, he remained a powerful player in the game and was still only in his thirties.
‘Welcome,’ Raymond said, his voice deep and mellifluous. He spoke the French of the north as he greeted Louis with the kiss of peace and embraced him, but he did not kneel. Then he turned to Alienor and his gaze filled with warmth and compassion. ‘Niece,’ he said in the lenga romana. ‘My brother’s child.’
When he kissed her cheek, she clung to him, feeling like a shipwrecked sailor being thrown a rope by the master of a seaworthy boat. ‘You look so much like my father,’ she said, a quiver in her voice.
Raymond smiled, revealing large white teeth. ‘I hope that is a flattering comparison. We are so glad to see you and welcome your aid. I hope you will find Antioch pleasing.’
‘I feel as if I have come home,’ Alienor said, her throat tight with emotion. She turned to Raymond’s young consort, and embraced her too. A perfume of incense hung around Constance, smoky and spicy at the same time. Louis’s jaw was tight with tension, but he was not hostile, just wary.
‘The bulk of my army is taking the overland route and will be here in a little less than two weeks,’ he said. ‘We will be glad of your succour until then.’
Raymond raised his brows. ‘You are welcome to stay for as long as the campaign requires,’ he replied. ‘I had heard that your troops were on their way overland. You have found to your cost that the Greeks charge extortionately for their services.’
‘Indeed, I have found to my cost that trust and loyalty are rarer than Tyrian purple and the horn of the unicorn,’ Louis replied grimly. ‘And that everything has its price, and it is always more than it is worth.’
‘That is so,’ Raymond replied. ‘Welcome to Outremer.’
For the first time in months, Alienor was able to truly relax and feel safe. Raymond reminded her so much of her father, but a version that was larger than life and filled with vitality and exuberance. He was secure in his manhood and he occupied his space effortlessly. He casually tousled the heads of his children as he introduced them. Baldwin his heir, four years old and shining gold like his father, and two dark-haired enchanting daughters, Maria, who was two, and Philippa, a babe in arms. Alienor felt a pang as she looked at Maria and thought of her own daughter of that name. She would be running about now and learning to say ‘Mama’ to other people – to Petronella and the women of the court. It was a world away – another life, and one to which she did not intend returning. There was another child to consider also, its life a tiny flickering secret within her womb.
The palace at Antioch was not as large or as opulent as that of Constantinople, but still gracious and filled with riches beyond anything that the courts of France possessed. The floors were dressed with iridescent tiles and mosaics. Marble fountains plashed in flower-scented courtyards and the courtiers wore silk just as they did in Constantinople. Alienor and her ladies were afforded a set of chambers with cool marble floors and high latticed windows to sift the breeze. Although the outward trappings were similar to Constantinople, the ambience was very different. She could feel her power here, and it was the power of Aquitaine, not France. She had presence and influence. As Duchess of Aquitaine and the niece of the Prince of Antioch, she was treated with respect and reverence. Her ideas and her abilities were valued, and the way she chose to dress and comport herself was regarded as normal and the right thing to do. It was in such contrast to her treatment at home and on the journey that it made her throat ache.
Indeed, Antioch felt close to Aquitaine in many more ways because her uncle had imbued his palace with that land’s energy and traditions. The court’s official language was the lenga romana, and the culture and music was all of the southern lands. Alienor and Raymond had memories to exchange – he of the times before she had been born, when he had been a child growing up with her father, and she of the years after he had gone.
‘I would love to see Poitiers again before I die,’ Raymond said, ‘but my life is here now and I know I shall never go back.’ He squeezed her hand in his and kissed her cheek. ‘You must do it for me, niece. Govern wisely and well.’
Alienor looked down at his broad, capable hand over hers and drew a deep breath. ‘I want to annul my marriage with Louis,’ she said. ‘I loved my father dearly, but he did me no favours when he made the match.’
Raymond’s expression grew very still. ‘That is a serious undertaking. Does Louis know your intent?’
She shook her head, feeling tense. What if Raymond took Louis’s part and refused to help her? ‘Not yet. I wanted to be in a safe place before I broached the subject with him.’
‘Why do you desire an annulment?’ He fixed her with an intent stare. ‘What makes the match untenable?’
She could not tell from his words and his expression whether or not he was sympathetic. ‘Because it is not right for Aquitaine,’ she said. ‘Louis hems me in and belittles my abilities. He is no husband to me in any sense of the word.’ Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘He might as well be married to Thierry de Galeran. The Templar has shared his tent throughout this campaign and sleeps in his chamber. Louis is swayed by the advice of men who have no love for me or for Aquitaine. And because you are of Aquitaine and keep a southern court, he will not love you either.’