Devil's Consort. Anne O'Brien
for me to demand intimate relations with you more frequently than seems appropriate.’
Appropriate. Frustration built within me, stone upon stone. I fixed my eyes on his. This was no time for shyness. ‘Do you not think, Louis, that sharing my bed could bring pleasure—to both of us?’
A little frown creased his brow, although he lifted my fingers to his lips. ‘But that is forbidden. It is sinful, Eleanor. The Scriptures teach that the purpose of a man knowing a woman is for the procreation of children, and for no other reason.’
‘But God made us in his image, to experience physical satisfaction—together.’
‘Of course—but within the bounds of Holy Scripture.’
Louis looked at me quizzically, as if amazed that I should not understand this. He was so gentle, so considerate, his certainty so absolute, that I knew I was right to be afraid as I saw my future in his calm explanation. How could any woman—even I—compete with God and the demands of Holy Mother Church for his attentions?
‘God determines the course of my life, although I will always be concerned for your happiness. I’ll not neglect you, Eleanor—but you must understand that I dedicate my life to God.’
‘Will you at least eat with me? Tonight, in my chamber. Privately. Just the two of us so that we might …’ I shrugged helplessly, clutching at a passing straw. If he would at least spend time with me, I might win him over to seeing that intimacy need not be sinful.
‘No. I cannot. On Fridays I fast—on bread and water. It is a day of penitence for our sins.’ He stood, releasing my hands. ‘And now you must go. I keep vigil every day, when royal duties permit, between Prime and Vespers. I must pray for my mortal soul. For my country. And I will pray for you too, dear Eleanor.’ Hand firmly at my waist, he was almost pushing me from the cell.
‘When will I see you again?’
‘When my time permits.’
His smile held the sweetness of honey, the emptiness of a stone tomb. Without a second look, Louis walked away from me, back towards the body of the church and the brotherhood of monks, not caring whether I followed or not.
‘Louis …’
He did not turn his head.
‘Louis!’ This time I did not moderate my voice.
And this time Louis turned his face, even at a distance a study in reproach. ‘You must not shout, Eleanor. Not in church. It is not respectful to God.’
Which left me with nothing much to say. Louis left me standing there, my blood colder than the stone that surrounded me. Isolated. Adrift. Uncertain as the truth hit me. Here I was no longer Duchess of Aquitaine, a ruler with power in her hands, merely a woman with no place but as wife to King Louis.
But Louis did not want to be King. Nor did he want me as his wife.
I was thoughtful on my return, seeking firm footing in the swamp that had suddenly spread itself around my feet, threatening to suck me down. How easy it would be to wallow in misery. Instead, I summoned my women. Quiet, pretty Mamille. Florine and Torqueri, sharp and sly, lovers of gossip. Flirtatious Faydide. Solemn, thoughtful Sybille, Countess of Flanders. There was no laughter here. They were as unsettled as I. Seeing their doleful faces as they huddled in their furs made me decisive. There were changes to be made.
‘Come and walk with me,’ I invited Aelith. ‘And you too, Sybille. Tell me what you think of our new home.’
‘You don’t need me to tell you.’ Aelith grimaced at the encrusted muck from the brazier that our slippers and skirts spread across the floor.
‘Pull it all down and start again!’ Sybille stated with unusual candour.
I laughed, my spirits lifting in their company. ‘Our thoughts run together.’
At the end of an hour I sent for parchment, pen and ink. The result was a list, not long but with consequences. I set it aside until Louis could satisfy God and visit his wife.
The changes I foresaw would not be only in my living arrangements.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT took three days for Louis to feel his soul safe enough, restored to the bosom of the Almighty, to emerge from Notre Dame and come to my apartments. He came after the order of Tierce and greeted me as if no time had passed, and he had no apology to make for his absence. He bowed, kissed my fingers, my lips and cheeks with tenderness, but fleetingly, as if he greeted a friend.
‘Have you ordered affairs to suit you? Are you comfortable, dear Eleanor?’
He was so certain that I would say yes!
‘No. I am not comfortable. How can I be?’ I ignored his startled expression. ‘I cannot be expected to live like this.’
‘Are you unwell?’ he asked uncertainly.
‘Of course I’m not unwell! Do I look unwell?’ Louis needed a firm hand. Pressing a cup of wine into his hand as I drew him towards the detested brazier in my solar, pushing him into a cushioned chair beside it, I presented him with the list.
‘What’s this?’
‘You said you wished me to be comfortable. Did you mean it?’
‘Nothing is closer to my heart.’
‘Then I need improvements to my rooms. These!’
His gaze slid to the parchment. ‘Can you write, Eleanor?’
‘Of course I can write!’
‘Not many women are considered able to acquire the skill.’
I ignored that. Did he think I’d been raised an illiterate commoner in a peasant’s hut? ‘And, as you see, Louis, I have made a list.’
I watched him as his eyes travelled down it. His lips pursed, twisted; he glanced up at me, then back to my demands. If I was to live out my days here, in the sweet Virgin’s name there had to be some concessions to the life I’d been raised to.
‘So you have.’ Louis continued to read—how long would it take him?—tapping the page with one hand. ‘Windows? Why do you need windows? You have windows.’
‘These are not windows. These are defensive slits for shooting arrows.’
‘I need to be impregnable. This is a fortress.’
‘Is the King of France not safe in the heart of Paris? My women do not shoot arrows. We need larger openings to let in air and sunlight. How can we see to sew and read? How can Faydide see to play the lute? Surely your stonemasons can create some wider, taller windows without too much difficulty.’
‘I suppose they could. But would that not allow cold air in?’
‘Shutters! It’s like sitting in a gale even now. I want wooden shutters for all the windows in my apartments. And in my own chambers I want glazing.’
‘Ah! Glazing.’ Louis’s fair brows climbed as if my extravagance was as gaudy as a peacock’s feathers, but he did not refuse. He tilted his head. ‘It says here, “Remove smoke.”’
‘So it does.’ To my good fortune a chance draught wafted a curl of poisonous fumes to envelop him and reduce him to coughing. ‘I’ll die of the smoke if I have to live with it much longer. My hair, my garments reek of it.’
‘But the Great Hall—’
‘Yes, yes, I know the Great Hall must keep its central fire, but in here I want stone fireplaces, Louis, with chimneys built into the thickness of the walls to carry the smoke away.’
Louis eyed the formidable wall of stones before him as if he personally would have to take a hammer to them. ‘A major building programme, then. The cost will be great, of course. My Treasury—’