The Summer Queen by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

also an affront to me.’
    ‘But you do not know them as I do.’ She struggled to free herself, but Louis tightened his grip until his fingers pinched.
    ‘I know enough to deal with them.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘Do not trouble yourself. I will see to this. Your first duty is to our child.’
    It was easy for him to say, Alienor thought, but to her it brought back all the grief, fear and anxiety she had felt after her father’s death. First her family was stripped away, then she had to leave her home, and now revolt threatened the very notion of her own identity.
    ‘Go and rest in your chamber, and I will set things in motion.’ Louis turned her with him towards the Great Tower.
    She managed to shake free from his grip. ‘Today. You must make preparations immediately.’
    He heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Yes, today, if you insist.’
    She wanted to be on a horse, galloping to Poitiers, and was frustrated that she could not do so. Had she not been with child … ‘I shall write letters to my vassals in Poitou and to the bishops.’ She rubbed her sore arm. ‘They will bring influence to bear.’ At least she could do that. And for the rest, she would have to trust Louis.
    A month later, feeling dizzy and sick, Alienor stood in the abbey church of Saint-Denis, attending a mass to honour the saint’s day. Courtiers packed the nave and everyone was wearing their finest clothes and had brought gifts to present at the altar step. Presiding over the service, Abbé Suger held aloft the vase that Alienor had given to Louis on their wedding day. The womb-like base was opaque with wine as dark as blood. Suger had asked permission to use the vase as part of the service to honour the church’s patron and also the King, who was Saint Denis’s especial devotee. Even now, Louis was riding into Aquitaine under the protection of the abbey’s sacred banner, the oriflamme.
    Not every French noble had ridden with him. Theobald of Blois-Champagne had announced stiffly that he was not feudally obliged to go to Poitiers and had declined the muster, treating Louis and Alienor as if he was putting a pair of silly young pups in their places, and Louis had left for Poitiers in a sullen mood, bringing with him two hundred knights, a contingent of archers and a train of carts piled with siege weapons, determined to make his mark as a king and commander. Alienor had noted Theobald’s refusal. He would bear watching because, with his connections, he was capable of causing great disruption, and his family had rebelled before.
    She began to wish she had not given Suger permission to use the vase as a receptacle, for the sight of the wine was turning her stomach. She felt stifled, as if people were stealing the air from her lungs. The walls were pressing in on her, and she had a fancy that the decomposing former Kings of France were all staring at her through their stone tombs with disapproving eyes.
    At her side, Petronella touched her arm with concern. ‘Sister?’
    Alienor gripped her prayer beads and shook her head. She dared not open her mouth, lest she retch, and she could not leave the service, because then rumours would spread that she was impious and disrespectful, or even a heretic. She was the Queen of France, and she must do her duty whatever the cost. Closing her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, she set herself to endure as time passed like the hot, slow drip of wax from a melting candle.
    When the service eventually ended, the congregation left the church in solemn procession, following the great bejewelled cross held high on its gilded staff by Suger, who was clad in robes of scintillating white and silver. Alienor concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Just a little longer, just another step.
    Outside the church, a man lunged from the crowd and hurled himself at her feet, kissing the hem of her gown. ‘Madam! Of your mercy, the people of Poitiers beg your intercession. I bear grave news!’
    Guards