‘And I you,’ he replied stiffly.
‘We shall not meet again.’ She would make sure of it. There were moments in their marriage when she had loved Louis and many more when she had reviled and hated him, but just now she felt numb. It was as dust. She would ride away and not look back.
Thierry de Galeran emerged from the hall, his hand on his sword hilt. He stared at Alienor as if she were a stain on his tunic. She returned his look with equal revulsion. Without this man to poison Louis’s life and bed, without Bernard of Clairvaux and his noxious sermons, without all the petty, power-hungry men of Church and State fighting for influence over Louis, their marriage might have stood a chance of survival.
‘Madam.’ De Galeran gave her a bow that managed to be of the utmost courtesy while mocking her at the same time.
Saldebreuil arrived with her palfrey: a chestnut gelding with a gliding gait that would eat up the miles effortlessly. The horse was lightly laden and glossy with condition. Saldebreuil’s courtly flourish as he boosted her into the saddle wiped out de Galeran’s insult. Since the journey was a long one, Alienor was riding astride as she would do for the hunt rather than with a lady’s platform saddle. Her skirts were full to cover her dignity, and beneath them she wore leather hose tucked into strong boots. There was no impropriety as Saldebreuil helped her into the saddle, but still she was aware of Louis’s disapproval and her impatience flared. His next wife would have to be a nun to please him.
Young Geoffrey de Rancon unfurled her eagle banner. The morning breeze caught the silks and they rippled in a bold dance. She gave the gelding a dig with her heels, clicked her tongue, and swept out of Beaugency at a trot. A hundred and thirteen miles lay between here and Poitiers: more than three days of hard riding. On an ordinary progress that time might extend to almost a week, but Alienor wanted to be safe behind her own walls as swiftly as possible, because when this journey ended, a new one could begin.
The chestnut covered the miles at a steady pace. Alienor and her troop stopped at the roadside at noon, spreading a white cloth on the grass to eat a simple meal of bread and cured beef washed down with slightly sour red wine. Then they were on their way again, riding steadily until dusk fell and the Loire rippled like dark grey silk in the evening breeze. Clouds were encroaching from the north and it started to spit with rain. Alienor drew up her hood, but nevertheless enjoyed the fresh green scents awoken by the moisture. A blackbird was singing its heart out and others answered, claiming their territories in the dusk. The spatters grew heavier, dimpling the river.
‘Listen,’ said Saldebreuil suddenly.
Alienor tilted her head. The birdsong turned to chips of alarm as four men rode out of the dusk towards them. Their clothes were ordinary, but their mounts were strong and glossy.
Alienor’s escort reached for their swords, and she prepared to flee. The leading rider raised his hand and put down his hood, revealing a thatch of rumpled golden-brown hair. ‘Peace to all. I mean you no harm,’ he said. ‘I am here to help you. My name is Hamelin FitzCount, half-brother to Henry, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou. I have come to see you safely past Blois.’
Alienor stared at him, more than a little taken aback. He was handsome with a look of Henry, although his colouring was softer. The straight mouth was the same though, and the set of the shoulders. ‘That is most laudable,’ she replied, ‘but why should I trust you?’
He spread his hands. ‘There are but four of us. We are scarcely going to overpower you, and it is against our interests to lead you into a trap with Blois. I serve my brother and I am loyal to him.’ He dismounted and bowed deeply to her, although he did not go so far as to kneel. ‘There is a welcome party waiting for you at Blois, one I suspect you do not wish to attend. They have patrols out searching for you too, and you will not win past them. They intend taking you by force and wedding you to Count Theobald this very night.’
Alienor did not doubt his information, but was still wary of trusting him. ‘What are you going to do? Lead us by another road in the dark?’ She gestured to his men. ‘You are hardly equipped to fight.’
‘Not the road,’ Hamelin swiftly replied, ‘but the river as far as Tours. I have arranged with a pair of bargemen to take a party tonight, but they do not know your identity. You must disguise yourself, madam, or stay well in the background. It is best they do not associate you with the Queen of France.’ He glanced around. ‘We should make haste.’
‘What about the horses?’
‘A few chosen men can take them down to Tours by a different route and rendezvous there.’
‘You mean split the group?’ Saldebreuil shook his head.
Hamelin nodded. ‘It is the best way.’
Alienor looked at the four men. Her instinct was to trust Hamelin because he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if he betrayed her to Blois. Coming to a decision, she turned to Saldebreuil. ‘Lend me a tunic and your spare gambeson.’
Saldebreuil’s dark brows rose. ‘Suppose this is a trap?’ he muttered.
She shook her head. ‘It is not in the interests of Henry of Anjou’s half-brother to play false. He is bastard-born without the affinity or resources to fight the war he would cause. You take the majority of the troop and act as a decoy. If Theobald of Blois is after us, then let him chase you, not me.’
Still looking dubious, Saldebreuil nevertheless reached to his saddle pack and handed over the requested garments.
Alienor dismounted. With her escort forming a circle around her, facing outwards, she removed her dress and, with Marchisa’s help, donned the tunic and gambeson. The bulk of the latter concealed her curves. A leather belt with a sheathed knife, a short grey cloak and separate woollen hood, pulled up to conceal her hair and hide her face, completed the disguise. She removed her rings and put them in a pouch at her waist and crouched to rub dirt into her hands. Her gown was stuffed into a coarse woollen bundle tied to a spear haft. Alienor grimaced. ‘It will pass at a distance, but I doubt it will fool anyone who looks closely,’ she said.
‘A distance is all we need and it is dark,’ said Hamelin.
The bulk of her troop together with her maids prepared to go with Saldebreuil. The latter was still not happy, but held his tongue. He stayed with her as Hamelin led them down a muddy path to the riverbank where two barges were moored, the last of the light gleaming on their wet strakes and the barge masters awaiting their passengers. Since it would have seemed odd if she didn’t help, Alienor stowed some of the baggage on board, keeping her back to the barge master and hiding her face in her hood. She heard Hamelin speaking softly to the barge owners, hinting that this was a secret mission on the King’s behalf, and she heard the clink of coin as silver changed hands.
She settled herself in the first barge on a pile of fleeces, her knees drawn up to her chin and her cloak furled around her. The crew took up the oars, and manoeuvred the barges out into the channel. Saldebreuil and the bulk of the troop rode off in another direction with the spare horses and the maids to act as a decoy. Alienor bent her head into her knees and tried not to feel afraid. Hamelin FitzCount joined her, sitting down on a heap of sacks and exhaling hard. ‘I will see you safely to your borders, madam,’ he said, his voice pitched low and his face turned towards her so that only she could hear. ‘My brother sets great store by you.’
‘Your brother sets great store by Aquitaine,’ Alienor said sharply, but then relented. ‘He must also set great store by you to send you.’
Hamelin shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘There is little love lost between us, but we are practical men. He knows he can count on my skills and I know that of the three legitimate sons of my father, he is the only one worth following.’