if he were a brother comforting a distressed sister. His manhood did not stir against my thigh despite his appreciation of me. Should I touch him? I may not have had the practice but I knew the method.
But I couldn’t do it. I dared not touch him so intimately. In the presence of God and the Book of Hours and Louis’s strange sanctity, I just could not do it.
When Louis released me to blow out the candle and we lay side by side like carved effigies on a tomb, I was mortified. My marriage was no marriage at all. I knew that Louis slept, as calmly composed as that same effigy, his hands folded on his breast as if still summoning God to take note of his prayers. When I turned my head to look at him, his face was serene and completely unaware of the disillusion that I suffered.
Eventually I slept. When I awoke with daylight, he was gone, the Book of Hours carefully positioned on the empty pillow at my side, the page open to the gilded angel. The linen of my bed was entirely unmarked. There were no bloody sheets to testify to my husband’s duty towards me or even his desire.
Well, I could have faked it, couldn’t I? A quick stab to my finger with my embroidery needle—but I did not. It had not been my choice and Louis must answer for his own lack. Faced with the Abbot’s gentle enquiry the following morning, I was haughty. I was defiant but icily controlled.
‘If you wish to know what passed between us in the privacy of our bed, you must ask the Prince,’ I informed him.
I silenced my women with a blank stare and a demand that I would break my fast as soon as they could arrange it. Perhaps now rather than in their own good time. I would not show my humiliation but coated it in a hard shell, as my cook in Bordeaux might enclose the softness of an almond in sugar. As for Aelith’s obvious concern, I shut her out. I could not speak of what had not occurred, even to her. If I had, I think I might have wept.
What passed between the Abbot and the Prince I had no idea.
In a bid to impress my subjects, Abbot Suger himself, in the glory of the great cathedral, placed the golden coronets to proclaim us Count and Countess of Poitiers. Louis accepted his new dignity with an unfortunate show of shy diffidence, whereas I spent the ceremony taking note of those who bent the knee and bared their necks in subservience, and making an even more careful accounting of those who did not.
Such as William de Lezay, my own castellan of Talmot, my hunting lodge. So personal a servant to me, he should have been first in line. He was not. Always an audacious knight with an eye to his own promotion, he sent me an insolently verbal message by one of his knights, who trembled as he repeated it. He had a right to tremble. I considered consigning him to a dungeon for a week for his weasel words—except that the sin was not his. One does not punish the messenger, my father had taught me. It only increases the trouble tenfold.
De Lezay was unable to attend my coronation: there were too many demands on his time. He informed me that such a ceremony was not to his taste, to acknowledge a Frank as his overlord. Such dislike of all things Frankish even overrode his sincere allegiance to me, with my pure and undisputed Aquitaine blood. I almost spat my disgust at the sly insincerity. With careful questioning, I discovered that the man had recently increased the number of troops at Talmont and was preparing for siege conditions.
So he had taken my castle for himself, had he?
He would hold it in the face of my objection, would he?
My temper began to simmer. That he should dare to inform me so blatantly of his defection. But that was not the worst of it. De Lezay’s messenger, remarkably straight-faced, handed over a small flat leather packet. And within it as I tore it open? A handful of white wing feathers, beautifully barred and speckled with grey and black, fluttered to the floor.
By God! I knew the original owners of those magnificent feathers. The simmer of temper bubbled and overflowed. The sheer insolence of the gesture! The birds were mine! My rare white gerfalcons, a gift from my father, kept and bred for my own use. Not fit for the wrist of a commoner such as William de Lezay.
‘God rot his soul in hell!’
The messenger trembled.
‘May he burn in everlasting fires!’ My voice was close to shrill.
‘What is that?’ Louis enquired mildly, entering the antechamber as my rage reached its zenith. He gestured to the knight to rise to his feet. ‘What has this man said to disturb you?’
‘News of de Lezay.’ I could barely force the words out. ‘My own castellan at Talmont. He has stolen my birds. And my hunting lodge. And—before God!—has the audacity to inform me of it.’ I still did not know what hurt most, the lodge or the gerfalcons. ‘My castellan! My father’s chosen man!’
Louis’s features relaxed. ‘Is that all? Most have taken the oath. He’s the only one to refuse.’
All? Is that how he saw it? My temper did not abate. ‘One is one too many! And he thinks he can get away with it because I am a woman.’ I rounded on Louis. I stared at him.
Louis Capet, Prince of France. Looking capable and surprisingly efficient in wool and leather hunting clothes, a knife in his belt. I tilted my chin to appraise him. His hair gleamed beneath his felt cap. Today he looked like a knight capable of holding his own. And there it was. I might not lead a punitive force against my errant castellan, but. Of course! Louis would uphold my rights for me, because they were now his rights too.
Ah … but would he? I was not certain of Louis’s mettle. When Louis had suspected Angoulême of setting an ambush, he had been quick to hitch his tunic and flee. What price de Lezay keeping his low-born fingers latched onto my property? But I strode to Louis’s side and took his arm, tightening my fingers into the fine cloth. I was determined. Louis must not be allowed to run from this. He must be a warrior lord, not a fool to be ridiculed and despised.
‘What will you do about it?’ I demanded. ‘De Lezay defies you as much as he defies me. He usurps my power and yours. Let him get away with this and we’ll have an avalanche of insurrection on our hands. I can just imagine him with one of my—of our—priceless white raptors on his fist, laughing at us from the battlements of Talmont.’
Louis studied the floor at his feet. Then stared thoughtfully at the messenger for a moment, to the man’s discomfort. Finally he looked at me. ‘What would you have me do, Eleanor?’
‘Punish him for his temerity. Take back my property.’
‘You wish me to launch an attack against him.’
‘Yes.’
Louis blinked as if struck by this novel idea. ‘Then if it will please you, I will,’ he replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. ‘I would not have you distressed in any way.’ Astonished pleasure lit his face. ‘I will restore your birds to you. And your castle.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ I made my smile gracious to hide the flood of satisfaction, and reached up to kiss his cheek. I was not powerless in this marriage after all.
‘It will be my wedding gift to you—the restoration of your property …’
‘Ah, Louis. I knew you wouldn’t fail me.’
Before the end of the day Louis and a band of well-armed Frankish knights set out for Talmont to teach de Lezay a much-needed lesson. I watched them go, wishing that I had been born a man and so could ride out to protect my own, but accepting
