The great hall was spruce and cared for. A lively fire burned in the hearth; the floor rushes had a sweet, clean aroma. Fresh candles burned in the sconces to augment the weak grey light from outdoors. Alienor gazed round the room and felt memories pressing in on her, demanding acknowledgement. She had played chess with Geoffrey in this hall and joyed in music and dance with him and his family. She had seen his children lying in the cradle and wept for them all when Geoffrey’s wife had died in childbirth. Later, she had looked at Geoffrey with a young woman’s first awareness in the spring, and he had taken her hand. Then her father had died and her world had crumbled. Last time she had come to Taillebourg was as Louis’s bride.
She and Louis were shown to separate chambers this time. There was not even the pretence of unity. Alienor was relieved that her allotted room was not the one of her wedding night but a smaller chamber with warm red hangings and a brazier to keep out the chill from the river. Soft lamplight gave the room a welcoming feel. A selection of books stood on a hinged chest-seat, arranged to catch the best of what light there was should she wish to read. As Marchisa was helping her to remove her cloak, the eldest daughter Burgundia brought a brass bowl of warm scented water for washing.
‘I was sorry to hear your father has been unwell,’ Alienor said. ‘Dare I hope he is any better?’
Burgundia looked down, concentrating on not spilling the contents of the bowl. ‘Your visit will much improve his spirits, madam,’ she replied. ‘He has talked about it often and it heartens him.’
Alienor washed her face and hands, and dressed very carefully. She donned an undergown of the finest linen, delicately embroidered, and then a dress of green silk with hanging sleeves stitched with pearls and emeralds, and a gold belt decorated the same. She had Marchisa coil her hair in a net of gold mesh and perfumed her wrists, throat and temple with some scented oil that Melisande had given her in Jerusalem. Lastly, she pinned to her gown the eagle brooch Geoffrey had sent her. Toilet complete, she drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and went to see him.
Geoffrey’s son was present in the chamber, together with various officers of the household. Geoffrey himself sat in a chair by the clear light of the window embrasure. He too had dressed for the occasion and wore an embellished tunic of deep red wool. As Alienor entered the room, he rested his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself to his feet.
She strove to conceal her shock at the sight of this skeleton clad in a parchment-thin covering of yellow flesh. He trembled with the effort of standing upright.
‘Madam,’ he said weakly. ‘Forgive me that I cannot kneel to you.’
Alienor stretched out her hand to him. ‘There will be no talk of forgiveness between us,’ she said. ‘We have known each other too long for that to be necessary. Please – sit.’
Gripping the table at the side of the chair for support, Geoffrey eased himself down and gasped. His son produced a cushioned chair for Alienor, facing his father. ‘Why did you not tell me you were so sick?’ Alienor demanded.
Geoffrey gave a languid wave of his hand. ‘Because I hoped I would improve. I still hope with God’s blessing to do so because there comes a time when there is nothing left but hope, whether for recovery or salvation. If that is gone, what remains but a void? I knew you would come, and I prayed to be given the grace to see you again.’
Alienor’s throat closed. This was unbearable. She wanted to throw her arms around him, and could not because of the public situation. ‘I am here now.’ She covered his hand with her own, the gesture appearing concerned and compassionate to the eyes of witnesses, but meaning so much more.
‘My son will serve you well. I have had him in harness ever since my return from Antioch and he is both skilled and diligent.’
Alienor glanced at the young man and he bowed to her, his complexion ruddy. ‘I am sure you will be a credit to both your father and to Aquitaine,’ she said, and then, turning back to Geoffrey, lowered her voice a note. ‘There are things I would say to you of a private nature between friends.’
Geoffrey gestured to his son. ‘Leave us,’ he said. ‘I will summon you if it becomes necessary.’
Since the lord’s chamber was public during the daytime, the young man’s ‘leaving’ meant withdrawing out of earshot but not quitting the room.
‘I do not know what to say.’ She continued to pitch her voice low, dreadfully aware that they might be overheard. ‘I am filled with great sadness. I hoped to have you for many more years to come.’
He gave a wan smile. ‘You will always have me,’ he said. ‘Nothing has changed. We have always spent more time apart than together, have we not?’
‘Not from choice.’
‘But it is the way of the world.’
She noticed how cold his hands were, and the effort he was making to breathe. ‘It does not make it easier to bear.’ She looked down and bit her lip. ‘I have received an offer of a second marriage when this one is annulled.’ She paused to steady herself, then raised her head and said, ‘Henry, Duke of Normandy, has asked me to accept his suit.’
Geoffrey gazed at her with yellow-shot eyes and his expression did not change. ‘And what did you say?’
‘I gave no answer. I wanted to discuss it with you, but I can see you need to rest.’
Geoffrey gathered himself. ‘I have enough strength to talk with you even if my light is dwindling,’ he said with dignity and leaned back in his chair. ‘He is much younger than you.’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Not long into manhood, although already in the thick of the fray. He came to Paris with his father.’ Knowing that Henry’s father was so recently in his grave brought the spectre of mortality further into the room. ‘I did not know what to make of him. He was circumspect and quiet much of the time, but I think it was a deliberate ploy. It does not accord with what I hear of him from others who say he is brisk and confident in all things. I am not sure of him, and that makes me hesitate.’ And I thought I would have you at my side, to advise me, but it is not going to be. ‘His father was eager to have the match agreed, but he has always wanted to unite Anjou and Aquitaine – and he was careful, as you would expect. If Louis had caught even the edge of a notion about their plan, he would have had them skinned alive.’
Geoffrey drew a laboured breath. ‘If you do marry the young man, Louis will not forgive either of you for as long as he lives.’
Alienor raised her chin. ‘I do not care for Louis’s opinion in this. As his wife I have often feared his moods and been disgusted by the way he has treated me, but as a political opponent, he does not frighten me. He is not my equal.’
‘Indeed not.’ Geoffrey gave a wry smile. ‘You have time to think on the matter and to observe the Duke’s progress.’
She nodded. The word ‘time’ was another that filled her with grieving.
‘You will have to make a match with someone,’ he said. ‘And there are few enough of worthy status.’
She swallowed. ‘You know my thoughts on that.’
‘Indeed I do, but we both know it would not be the right road for Aquitaine, and it is a path that cannot be taken now anyway.’ His head drooped as if it was too heavy for his neck to support, and there was a grey tinge to the sallow hue of his skin.
‘I will make sure your son is given the attention and support he needs,’ she said, striving to keep her voice steady. ‘I will do my best for him as I know he will do his best for me and for his father.’ She removed her hand gently from his. ‘I think you should rest awhile.’
Geoffrey forced his head up. ‘You will visit me again before you leave?’
‘Of course; you do not need to ask.’ She stood up and lightly touched the side of his face in a gesture that to others was the affection of the Duchess towards a loyal vassal in difficult circumstances, but in her heart it was a deep cut. This was not a good place to bid farewell.