‘It would be better to negotiate an agreement with Geoffrey of Anjou and his son, rather than going to war against them, sire,’ Suger said. ‘The Angevin support was vital to me during the time that I was regent during your long absence.’
‘You are saying I should ignore their impertinence?’ Louis drew himself up. ‘They must be taught their place.’
‘Your brother attacked the Angevins when you were still on your pilgrimage. Geoffrey of Anjou is a powerful vassal. You have recognised him as Duke of Normandy and now he has conferred that title on his son. Better for now to have them in our camp.’
‘Geoffrey of Anjou conferred that title without my sanction, and the young man is a whelp who needs bringing to heel,’ Louis snapped. ‘I shall not let upstarts dictate to me.’
‘Indeed, sire. But you should think of the future. Many favour the Angevin’s heir to sit on England’s throne rather than Stephen’s son.’
Louis’s nostrils flared. ‘I will not see an Angevin wear a crown. They have already seized more than their due.’
Suger persisted with firm but weary patience. ‘But you should leave your pathways open,’ he said. ‘And you should not keep risking yourself in war until you have your own heirs firmly established. The country is still recovering from the harsh winter and spring. The crops are barely in the fields. Make this a time of husbandry and rest.’
Louis looked at his tutor, really looked, and noticed the shadows under his eyes and the hollows in his cheekbones. Suger had been elderly for a long time, but Louis had never thought of him as being frail or mortal. Certainly he had wished him gone or less interfering on many an occasion, but now, suddenly, he saw that what had been a constant in his life, taken for granted, was on the wane. This time of husbandry and rest might also be one of letting go for Suger. ‘I shall think about it,’ he said, and managed to keep his voice steady, even though the moment of realisation had jolted him.
‘That is all I ask of you for now, and I hope your wisdom sees you through.’ Suger gave Louis a shrewd look. ‘And you do have wisdom, my son, even if it is hard-earned and sometimes overridden by your own stubborn will and the foolish advice of others.’
Not so frail that he was unable to lecture. Louis’s moment of concern passed into the background.
A steward rapped on the door with his rod, and announced that attendants from the Queen’s apartments had arrived with news of the birth.
Louis’s chest swelled as he commanded their admittance. Now he would see his son.
The midwife came to him, a bundle carried in her arms. Her eyes were downcast and her expression was neutral. ‘Sire,’ she said and, kneeling to him, spread the blanket open in her lap to show him the naked baby. Louis gazed down at the tiny creature as it wriggled in the sudden exposure to cold air and gave a mewling cry. He was being shown a girl baby, but that was impossible and the sight rendered him speechless. He looked from the baby to the gathering of courtiers accompanying the midwife and back to the baby in utter disbelief. It was true, but it couldn’t be. He set his jaw. ‘I have seen enough,’ he said with a flick of his hand. ‘Take the child away.’
The midwife carefully folded the infant back in the blanket and, with her escort in tow, bore it from the room. Louis looked down at his hands, which were shaking. His mind was blank with shock; he couldn’t think. It was as if the missing genitalia on the child had caused that part of himself to vanish too, and he felt as if all of his body was crumbling inwards.
‘Be steady,’ Suger said. ‘At least the Queen has proved she is fertile.’
Louis paced the room numbly, touching this and that. He paused by his earlier working and the word ‘Philippe’ stood out to him like a brand. ‘I had a son a moment ago,’ he said. ‘Now he is gone, usurped by a girl, and I have nothing.’ He seized the vellum and crumpled it in his fist.
‘Sire …’
He cast Suger a look filled with anguish and fury. ‘What will people think of me that I cannot sire a son on this woman even with the blessing of the Pope upon us? What will people say?’ He could feel a terrible pressure of tears growing behind his eyes and there was pain in his stomach. ‘It is all her fault. She has let me down again. If God cannot persuade her to produce a boy, then surely I cannot.’ He felt a moment of almost overwhelming bitter hatred against his wife for doing this to him, and then the shock surged again. He had been so certain it would be a boy. He had been convinced by the Church that he was doing the right thing. The Pope had promised. They had forced him into this and made him a victim. ‘No,’ he said to Suger, holding up his hand. ‘Do not try to console me and tell me all will be well. I should have had this marriage annulled long since.’
‘I know you are suffering, my son,’ Suger said, ‘but it is not your right to question God’s will, and you have a healthy daughter. That is something to celebrate, because you may make a good marriage for her. You are both still young enough to try again.’
Louis shuddered. ‘Not with her,’ he said. ‘She has let me down for the last time.’
‘But if you annul your marriage, you will lose Aquitaine, and in truth, that is a greater consideration than losing your wife. I counsel you not to act in haste, but to think the matter through. Think of what it will mean to France, not just yourself.’
Louis bit the inside of his cheek. His mind was made up but he knew Suger would fight him to the last because of the great wealth of Aquitaine. The fact was that Louis did not care any more. He wanted to be rid of Alienor. When he had first seen her she had seemed like an angel to him and he had trembled with his love for her, but in the end all she had brought into his life was scandal and disgrace. She made him feel guilty and unclean, and she herself was unclean because all she could bear him were girls. Physicians said that a woman who bore only girls was too dominant in her humours and her unnatural imbalance caused her seed to override her husband’s and thus produce females. The other way of looking at the matter was that the husband’s seed was not strong enough to dominate, but Louis would admit no such weakness in himself. It was her fault, all hers, and he could no longer be saddled with a wife so flawed. He would begin the search for a mate more suitable; one who would bear him a living son. ‘Yes,’ he said to Suger. ‘I shall think matters through.’
The elderly churchman coughed and took a drink of his wine. ‘You must see to the christening of your new daughter,’ he said. ‘You have decided on a name?’
Louis hadn’t. All his focus had been on a son. He certainly wasn’t going to change the name to Philippa even though it was in both families. ‘I leave that to my wife,’ he said. ‘She bore her. Let her have the naming.’
36
Abbey Church of Saint-Denis, February 1151
Alienor signed her breast and rose from her prayers, her breath clouding the air. Saint-Denis was bone-cold on this bleak February morning. The swords of light piercing the high windows to strike the tiled floor imparted no warmth. The only heat in the church came from the rows of votive candles flickering on their stands. Alienor paused to light one and place it beside the others.
Suger had been in his grave for several weeks. Saint-Denis had tolled a knell for its beloved abbot as he was laid to rest in the church he had glorified for so much of his life. He had died in fear for his mortal soul – afraid that he had spent too much time on politics and dealings with the world instead of attending to spiritual matters. He had begged Bernard of Clairvaux to attend his deathbed and pray for him, but Bernard, old and frail himself, had been unable to come, and instead had sent him a linen kerchief, which Suger had been clutching when he died, begging for constant masses and prayers to be said for his soul.