The Summer Queen by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

On more than one occasion she had heard her grandfather’s explicit poetry and that in itself had been an education. Her fluxes had come regularly for over a year now: a sign that her body was producing seed and ready to mate. But having such awareness was not the same as personal experience, and she was apprehensive. Would Louis know what to do, having been raised as a monk until his brother died? Had someone explained everything to him?
    Petronella opened the door and peered round it. ‘There you are! Everyone’s looking for you!’
    Alienor turned, feeling a flicker of resentment. ‘I wanted a moment just to be alone.’
    ‘Shall I tell them you’re not here?’
    Alienor shook her head. ‘That would only lead to more trouble.’ She forced a smile. ‘It will be all right, Petra; I told you so, didn’t I?’
    ‘But you don’t look as if you think that. I wish you were still sleeping with me, not him.’
    Alienor wished it too. ‘There will be time in the future. You will always be a part of my chamber – always.’ She put her arms around Petronella, seeking comfort for both of them.
    Petronella returned her embrace fiercely, and the sisters only parted when the ladies from the wedding party arrived to prepare Alienor for her bridal bed, scolding her for disappearing. Alienor imagined fending them off with her father’s shield, and projected an air of pride and command to conceal how frightened and vulnerable she felt. Sipping from a cup of wine laced with spices, she let them remove her wedding clothes and dress her in a chemise of soft white linen, before combing her hair until it shimmered to her waist in golden ripples.
    The sound of masculine voices lifted in praise to God heralded the arrival of the men. Alienor stood straight and faced the door like a warrior on a battlefield.
    Archbishop Gofrid entered first, solemnly pacing, accompanied by Abbé Suger and twelve choristers, chanting a hymn of praise. Louis came next escorted by Theobald of Blois and Raoul of Vermandois, followed by the nobility of France and Aquitaine, bearing candles. There would be no bawdy revels tonight, but a dignified and solemn ceremony to witness the future King of France and the young Duchess placed side by side in the marriage bed.
    Louis wore a long, white nightshirt similar to Alienor’s chemise. In the candlelight, his eyes were wide and dark and his expression apprehensive. Gofrid instructed Alienor and Louis to stand together and join hands while he prayed over them, asking God to bless the marriage with fruitfulness and prosperity. While he was doing this, Louis’s attendants set up a small portable altar at the bedside.
    The bed itself was blessed with much sprinkling of holy water, and then Louis was guided to the left side of the bed and Alienor to the right, the better to ensure the conception of a son. The sheets were cool and crisp against her legs. She stared at the embroidered coverlet, her hair swinging forward to screen her face. She was aware of Geoffrey among the group of witnesses in the chamber, but she did not look at him and had no idea if he was looking at her. Only let this moment be over. Only let it be morning.
    At last the chamberlains ushered everyone from the room, the bishops and the choir being the last to leave in stately procession, singing. The latch fell, the chanting voices receded, and Alienor was alone with Louis.
    Turning towards her, he propped himself on one elbow, one hand cupped behind his head, and gazed at her with unsettling intensity. She adjusted the pillows at her back and remained sitting up. He smoothed the sheet with his other hand, tracing the outline of one of the eagles. His fingers were long and fine; beautiful, in fact. The thought of him touching her made her shiver with fear – and a stirring of desire.
    ‘I know what is expected of us,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘The women have explained to me my duty.’
    He reached out and touched her hair. ‘My duty has