Devil's Consort

‘But I think you miss it.’ I was reluctant to allow the Abbot to dictate the direction of our conversation.

‘Sometimes.’ The volume of noise rose around us again as Louis smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I was intended for the Church, you see. I was taught to value abstinence and prayer. To give my mind to higher pursuits than—than this.’ The sweep of his hand to the now roistering crowd was, whether he intended it or not, entirely derogatory. Unfortunately Bernart, roaming the room with lute to hand, chose the moment to swing into a well-loved song, with a raucous chorus for all to join in. Since the wine was flowing, the merrymakers were in good heart.

Don’t marry this cheat, sweet Jeanne, for he is stupid and unlettered.

Don’t take him to your bed, sweet Jeanne, your lover would be far better.

Louis smacked his hand down on the cloth, making the silver dishes dance. ‘Listen! How can you approve of that? Your minstrels sing of lust and intimacy not sanctioned by the Church or by any moral code. They have no respect for women and encourage them to behave without restraint.’

The hearty phrase ‘these flaming whores’ was bellowed from a hundred throats, both men and women.

‘It is immoral. Degrading. Such verses should be forbidden. Such foul-mouthed braggarts as this … this scurrilous minstrel should be whipped through the streets for their impertinence.’ Louis’s voice rose alarmingly.

‘But he is not a scurrilous minstrel,’ I objected. ‘He is Bernart Sicart of Maruejols.’

A blank look, and derisory at that.

‘He is famous throughout Aquitaine. My father thought very highly of him.’

‘His words are insulting and offensive! I don’t want him at my court.’

A trickle of fear, as hard and cold as ice, invaded my chest. It hadn’t taken my new lord long, had it, to wield his new authority over me? He did not know me very well.

‘I’ll not dismiss him.’

‘Even if I demand it?’

‘Why should you? He is mine and I’ll remain his patron. You’ll not change my mind in this.’ I closed my lips against my lord. I was beyond terms of respect.

As Louis sought for a reply, quietness fell, as sometimes happened in a crowd.

‘Colhon!’

I heard the comment drift across from my left. No attempt was made to mute it and I froze, my fingers clenched around my spoon, in humiliation for Louis—for myself. I felt my skin flush as bright as his. Abandoning the spoon, I curled my fingers round Louis’s wrist. I could feel the temper rising.

‘Do you think that of me? As ruler of Aquitaine? That I am immoral, my thoughts fit only for the sewer?’ My cheeks might flame, my temper might burn, but my voice was tight with control.

‘No. I think you are beautiful beyond measure,’ Louis replied with disarming candour, his voice returning to its low timbre. ‘I think your mind is as fine as your face. I can find no fault in you. I can’t believe you are my wife.’

My mind struggled to grasp the quick lunge and feint of this conversation. Was Louis so naive that he would think to win my favour by this lurch from condemnation to flattery? How dared he pick and prod at my own people, at my way of life, within an hour of our marriage? So he could find no fault in me. I admitted to no fault in me! Or with the uninhibited behaviour and language of my guests. Temper remained hot in my blood as I retrieved my spoon in a pretence of sampling a dish of succulent figs.

Clearly disturbed at the flash in my eye, Louis lifted his cup, intending to take a hearty swallow of wine—but Abbot Suger was instantly there to place a hand on his wrist.

‘Perhaps not, my lord.’

And Louis immediately pushed away the cup. ‘No. It would be better if I did not.’

‘Do you always take his advice?’ I demanded.

‘Yes. My lord Abbot always has my best interest at heart. He would never advise me wrongly.’ Louis looked puzzled. ‘Do you have no one to advise you, lady?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know what to do, what decisions to take?’

I had to think about that. It was not a question I had ever been asked, to justify my desires and needs. The answer was simple enough. ‘When my father was alive, we travelled constantly. I watched and I learned. And now I act as I know he would have done. He was a good man. I miss him,’ I admitted.

Louis’s face was transfigured by a blinding smile. ‘You need me, Eleanor. I will advise you.’

Could a child brought up as a monk give me advice, brought up as I had been in my father’s court? I did not think so. ‘I hope we will come to an agreement,’ I compromised.

‘My lord will rule your lands wisely, my lady,’ Abbot Suger interposed.

I bit back a sharp reply. Of course, it would happen whether I liked it or not. I lowered my voice, leaning towards Louis, suddenly intent on mischief.

‘If we are speaking of advice, my lord—try this dish.’ I offered a flat silver platter stacked high with translucent grey shells. ‘Oysters are known to raise the humours and make a man think of a night heating the bed linen with a beautiful woman. Oysters give a man magnificent stamina.’

He looked at me as if I had struck him. ‘My lady!’

‘I am your wife. Is this not a proper conversation?’

Louis swallowed. ‘I think it is very forward, madam …’

I hooded my eyes. ‘It would please me if you would try them. I shall. We might both be pleased with the result tonight.’

Louis le Jeune looked like a hunted rabbit. With regret, I thought we were both in for some inexpert fumbling before we came to know each other. I wished my husband might have some experience, even if he lacked finesse. Entirely oblivious to my anger, my barely concealed scorn, Louis accepted the oysters without comment. I prayed silently that the old wives knew the efficacy of the succulent shellfish.

Barely had he lifted one, unenthusiastically, to his mouth than a courier approached down the length of the hall, pushing aside servants and guests alike. I expected him to come to me, but, of course, he would approach Louis—no, he bowed before the Abbot, which spiked my irritation further. The messenger stooped, whispered in Suger’s ear so that I could not hear. The Abbot issued a number of terse replies, brusque enough to fix my attention. Relaying the information to Louis, there passed between Abbot and Prince a welter of instructions and affirmations as the courier left the hall as fast as he had come.

I had been involved in none of it.

‘What is it?’ I would not be kept in the dark.

Louis turned reluctantly to me. ‘A problem.’

‘Well?’ I raised my beautifully plucked brows.

‘We leave now.’

‘Leave … You mean the palace? In the middle of the feast?’ As bad as I had feared.

‘We leave Bordeaux. It is not safe.’

‘Not safe? How could it not be safe in my own streets, my own city? No one would dare harm me here …’

Abbot Suger offered the explanation, speaking around Louis, his expression bleak. ‘An ambush, I am informed, outside the walls, my lady. Planned for tomorrow, under the auspices of the Count of Angoulême. Your vassal. He will take you both prisoner and assume the power in Aquitaine for himself.’

‘Angoulême? I don’t believe it. A show of force would soon drive him off …’