“Good-bye, my lord,” she said softly. “I pray God keep you safe, and that we may meet again in this world.”
Henry nodded to her—she suspected, indeed hoped, that he could not trust himself to speak—then wheeled around and shouted to his train to follow him. Eleanor watched as he rode away from her toward Lusignan, clouds of dust in his wake. Then she turned to Earl Patrick, forced a bright smile, and spurred her horse in the direction of Poitiers. Home. She was going home, after her long exile.
For all Eleanor’s sorrows, it was wonderful to be back in residence in the Maubergeonne Tower. The duchess’s apartments had recently been refurbished, and were both spacious and luxurious. Eleanor walked about them hugging herself and fingering in delight the soft squirrel counterpane on the bed and the silky fabric of the cushions. Every room was vivid with color: deep indigo blues, forest greens, and warm reds. There were hangings depicting erotic scenes of nymphs bathing in mythical streams and lovers entwined in forbidden pleasures. Vases of aquamarine glass and porphyry graced the brightly painted cupboards and windowsills. In the duchess’s solar, a silver ewer of wine had thoughtfully been placed on the wide table before the fireplace, and an ivory chess set was left awaiting her pleasure, while in the corner of the room, a portable altar stood on an armoire spread with an embroidered cloth.
Supper was a delight. Truffles! She hadn’t tasted them in years, and they were as ambrosia to one who’d had to put up with the less refined cuisine of England. They were followed by a plate of duck roasted in its own fat, which was utterly delicious! And peaches and apricots, plump and juicy, such as were never seen in the kingdoms of the North. It was a happier homecoming than she had anticipated.
As she lay back on fine linen sheets in her bathtub, with Mamille and Torqueri and Florine washing her with herb-scented water and massaging limbs that were aching after days in the saddle, Eleanor began to unwind and to feel a sense of well-being that had long been absent from her life. Here, she was the duchess. She could please herself. She did not have to consider the moods and caprices of her husband. Almost, she felt a sense of liberation.
To boost her new confidence, she began ordering the finest textiles to be made into gowns and cloaks, and commissioned the goldsmiths of Poitiers to make her elegant jewelery—circlets, bracelets, and brooches—in the latest styles. Wearing her fine new attire made her feel more like her bold former self again, and helped her slough off the feelings of worthlessness that had been the legacy of Henry’s betrayal. She forced herself not to think of him, and to embrace her new life wholeheartedly. For this was what she had long wanted, she told herself. Yet not like this, not like this!cried her persistent inner voice.
Resolutely, she occupied herself with the business of ruling her duchy, taking a particular and genuine interest in every aspect of its welfare. Daily, she would occupy her high seat at the head of the council table and patiently listen to the arguments and advice of her seigneurs. Important decisions always had to be referred to Henry for ratification, and there was a constant stream of messengers between Aquitaine and the North. No one, especially Eleanor, liked this alien interference in the affairs of her domains; the duke had never been accepted by her people, and he was hated and resented. But power over her lands was his right, as her husband, and she kept reminding herself, in all fairness, that Henry was allowing her a considerable degree of autonomy.
When she was not in council, she was out riding or hawking, or supervising the children who were left to her. Presently, with Henry’s blessing, Young Henry and his wife Marguerite traveled south to enter her household, joining Richard, Geoffrey, and Constance; and with this blithe crowd of young people to cheer her, life in the palace was lively and joyful, a panacea for Eleanor’s inner heartache. She was never alone; she had made sure of that, having summoned sixty ladies to wait upon her and cheer her days, and there was always dear Raoul de Faye to give her succor and advice in the business of governing—and to pay her meaningful compliments, as if he still hoped to win her favor in more intimate ways.
This was very heartening, for she was forty-six years old and given to looking anxiously in her mirror for the dreaded signs of encroaching age. Yet the image reflected back in the burnished silver was of a fine-boned woman with lips that were still full and eyes that could flash wittily and invite to conversation … and more. Beneath the veil, her red-gold hair was paler than it had been, and well silvered with gray, but it was still long and luxuriant, and rippled down over breasts that were yet full and voluptuous. Maybe, she thought wistfully, just maybe, she might even take another lover, since Henry was no longer interested. But it would not be Raoul. She loved him, and depended on him, as a friend and an uncle, but she did not want him in her bed.
Patrick proved himself to be a charming and witty companion. She sensed that he liked her, and could see in his hazelnut-colored eyes the kind of admiration she had inspired in men many times in the past. It was balm to her bruised pride. She thought that Raoul saw it too, and was jealous. But Raoul was not to nurture his jealousy for long.
The spring being glorious, with flowers budding unseasonably early and the winds mild and gentle, Eleanor planned a hawking expedition with Earl Patrick. Word reached them that Henry had efficiently crushed the rising at Lusignan, then ridden north to treat with Louis—the news that he had gone so far from her sparked a twinge of anguish in Eleanor’s breast—and now Patrick deemed it safe to ride out for the day.
“There have been no recent reports of any trouble,” he smiled, “so I’ll leave my armor at home, and we’ll take just a small escort.”
It was good to be out in the sunshine, Eleanor found, even though her heart was heavy. She was surprised to discover herself thrilling to the sport, watching her mighty falcon soar into the blue sky and swoop with unerring precision to catch its prey, then return to her outstretched hand and settle on her glove, meekly accepting its gay scarlet hood and the jesses with which she tethered it.
“Bravo, my lady!” exclaimed Earl Patrick. The men-at-arms clapped and cheered admiringly from a distance; they themselves would never be privileged enough even to touch a royal bird like Eleanor’s.
The ambush, when it came, was sudden and deadly, with mounted armed men closing in on them from every side, uttering bloodcurdling war cries.
“It’s the Lusignans!” the earl cried, frantic. “À moi! À moi!”
Eleanor quickly collected herself; in that instant, she could see herself being captured and ransomed, if not worse. But as she made to gallop away, Earl Patrick, shouting orders to his men, dismounted from his horse, quick as lightning, and grabbed her bridle.
“Take my steed, my lady, you’ll not find a faster in Christendom.” She wasted not a moment in swapping mounts, as the earl told her to make for a ruined castle a mile distant and wait for him there.
Their assailants were almost upon them as Eleanor, spurring her borrowed steed, deftly evaded them by almost flying through the only gap in their ranks, then cantered off like the wind toward safety. They would have come after her had not Earl Patrick and his escort engaged them furiously in battle. As the Queen rode away, she could hear the clash of steel and the shouts of men receding into the distance, and was in a fever of anxiety to know which way the combat was going.
Having ridden for several miles and reached the sanctuary of the ruins, Eleanor stood fuming in the peace of the afternoon. How dare the Lusignans make an attempt on her person! No doubt they wished to wring concessions from Henry. Wait until he heard! Then she paused. She was ruler here now, not Henry. Undoubtedly he would come and deal with them, if summoned; he would be furious on her account, if only because she was his queen and duchess, but she decided now that she must prove to him that she did not need him, and show him that she was capable of dealing with problems efficiently by herself.