“YOU WILL NOT BE allowed to leave the castle environs, Your Grace.” The constable stood in the solar at Maubergeonne Tower.
“But this is ridiculous,” said Eleanor, pacing the room. “I am duchess here and no one has authority to restrict my movements.”
“With all due respect, Your Grace, Duke Henry’s forces are on the way here and the castellan and William Marshall’s men have orders not to let anyone leave the city. If we wish to keep our heads upon our shoulders we must be seen to obey the duke.” The constable coughed and stepped closer. “But all is not lost, if you will be guided by me.”
“There is so little time!” Eleanor tried to quell the rising note of panic in her voice. “Look!” She pointed through a window to the north where gray clouds of smoke were faintly visible against the dawn sky. “If I do not make my escape today, I doubt I make it at all.” It was the twenty-sixth day of September, and she had intended to be gone already.
“You will make your escape, madam. I have a plan in mind. Now, listen carefully . . .”
Two hours later Eleanor was in her chamber with Emma of Anjou, Alais, and Joanna. Marguerite, having dissolved into tears at the prospect of being abandoned by her mother-in-law, was now lying prostrate in her own quarters.
“In truth, madam, the transformation is remarkable.” Emma looked at her admiringly then grabbed a silver mirror from an oak table. “See for yourself.”
Emma moved the silver mirror up and down so Eleanor could see the length and breadth of her body. What she saw was a knight clad in chain mail. Chausses encased her legs and her hands were covered in leather gauntlets; a helm would hide much of her face. If one looked very closely one might note a certain fullness in the chest or roundness in the hips, but then why would anyone bother to look closely?
“Yes, it is a remarkable deception.” She turned this way and that.
“Since knights travel lightly, almost everything will have to be left behind,” said Emma. “I have packed one saddlebag with only bare necessities.”
“It is a wonderful disguise.” Alais clapped her hands together, her dark eyes shining. “How I wish I were going with you to share in this exciting adventure.”
Eleanor gave her a crooked smile. And how she wished she could turn back the years to a time when she might have regarded this as an exciting adventure rather than an ordeal to be endured. The bells rang for tierce. Time to leave and put her new identity to the test. She kissed and hugged a tearful Joanna, an excited Alais, and a reassuring Emma, who begged her not to worry.
“I will let you know when I have arrived safely in Paris,” Eleanor said. “Before too long, you will see me return in triumph to Aquitaine.” As she put on her helm and lifted her saddlebag she hoped she had successfully concealed her doubts and fears.
She left the courtyard of the palace without incident as part of a group of six knights led by the constable. The guards did not give her a second glance, but the castellan had already left the castle to inspect security at the city gates so that trial by fire was still to come. Eleanor, seated astride a chestnut gelding, was attempting to adjust herself to riding in this manner, and hoped she would be able to manage such a large mount without attracting attention.
The sky was a deep cloudless blue with faint clouds of smoke still visible in the far distance, and a tang of autumn in the crisp air. They rode down the narrow streets of Poitiers in single file, as there was scarcely room for two horsemen to pass with ease. Eleanor knew this route so well she could have ridden it blindfolded. A sudden turn to the right and they were in a large square. They trotted down another street and into the center of the city swarming with burghers, ladies, merchants, and courtiers. Stalls abounded everywhere selling leather goods from Spain, ivory boxes and enamels from Limoges, swords and knives of Damascus steel. The pungent scent of roasting meat and fresh fish filled the air, mingling with the sound of tradesmen crying their wares: “Fish from the river, just caught!” “Eel pies, meat pies, hot from the bake oven!” “Wine from Gascony! A new barrel just arrived! Wine from Gascony, at Jocelyn the wine seller in the Street of the Vintners! Wine from Gascony—”
She knew old Jocelyn well. His family had been vintners in Poitiers since time out of mind. Eleanor’s party came abreast of the church of Our Lady the Greater and stopped to let a band of prentices run by. Eleanor lifted her helm to wipe the sweat off her face just as an aged priest in faded black robe hobbled out the church door. He stopped and peered at her for a moment then walked right up to the gelding.
“By the Apostle, it is my lady Eleanor, isn’t it? You must have good reason for this disguise or you would hardly be sitting in that vulgar position. Disgraceful.” He crossed himself. “But my dear madam, the way you hold those reins will give you away immediately; you are not sitting sideways in the saddle, please to remember. And look at your feet in the stirrups! No knight rides like that.” He clucked like an old rooster as he shook his head. “Watch how the others do it. And wherever you are going, a safe journey. May God be with you.”
Aghast, Eleanor pulled down her helm. “How could you have recognized me so quickly?”
He gave her a withering look. “I, a Poitevin born and bred, not know my own duchess? Hah!”
Eleanor did not know whether to laugh, cry, or jump down and hug him. But his point was well taken; she must try to ride more like a knight. Observing the knight directly in front of her, she sat up straighter in the saddle, tried to hold the reins in front of her, and gripped her legs tightly around the gelding’s belly. Toes out, heels in. Her muscles were unused to this position and a dull ache began to develop in her thighs. With God’s grace, no one else would prove as discerning as the priest. As they continued on, her glance dwelt lovingly on her surroundings. Every street they rode through, every church they saw, every market stall, every sound, every smell was as much a part of her as her own flesh. She fought back a sudden sense of despair. When would she see her beloved city again? She lifted her helm to wipe a stray tear.
“What is it, Madam?” the constable, now riding next to her, whispered. “Are you all right?”
Eleanor nodded vigorously. What was the matter with her? Of course she would see Poitiers again. Quite soon. After all, she was only going to Paris for . . . in truth she had no idea how long she would be in Paris. But all that was for later, when she was safely in the Île-de France. She had to concentrate solely on leaving the city without being stopped.
As they descended the incline that led away from the heart of the city, the party was forced off the road to avoid a herd of goats that an old woman was driving toward the Archard Bridge. She was muttering to the goats as she waved a thick oak stick at them. To her right Eleanor glimpsed large wooden houses set well back from the main thoroughfare. On the left was the fortified wall built flush with the river. Ahead lay the long bridge. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. On this side, about a third of the way across, lay the drawbridge and a gatehouse. The drawbridge was down and the portcullis up. The moment the guards at the gatehouse recognized the constable, the knights were waved through. The difficulty would lie at the second gatehouse on the far side of the bridge, which was the last barrier before reaching the main road outside the city. They were forced to wait while a group of merchants in richly furred robes, with a string of loaded mules in tow, haggled with the guards, who had removed the roped bundles atop the mules in order to inspect them. Eleanor was incensed. What did the guards hope to find? Merchants coming to Poitiers to buy and sell were the lifeblood of the city! And there they were, being treated like possible felons. An exclamation of outrage escaped her lips, and she started to ride forward but the constable grabbed the reins and pulled the gelding back.
“Control your mount—Alain.”
Eleanor forced herself to comply, swallowing her anger. Despite the brisk winds and cool air, she felt as if she were incased in a bake oven. Sweat poured from under the iron helm and she wondered how knights could endure being encased in mail for hours at a time. Finally the merchants paid their tolls, reloaded their mules, and passed under the gatehouse onto their side of the bridge. The knights drew to one side to let them pass.
“I did not know you were leaving, Constable.” It was the voice of the castellan, who was in the gatehouse at the far end, scrutinizing everyone who came and went.
“We travel north to reconnoiter the area and see how much damage the routiers have done. If all goes well we should be back by cockcrow or earlier.”
“You appear ill-equipped.” Eleanor heard the doubt in the castellan’s voice as he poked his head out of the gatehouse window. “These routiers are a murderous lot. Go back and take a full troop of knights and archers with you.”
“That is hardly necessary. We do not go to engage in battle but merely to view the lay of the land.”
As they argued back and forth, Eleanor felt her throat grow dry. The chain mail grew heavier and heavier and she felt as if she might faint. The frustration of having to remain silent while her subjects wrangled among themselves was almost unbearable. Holy Mother, she prayed, please let us get across. Just then there was the sound of a commotion at their back, raised voices and a screeching litany of threats. She turned to look. The old woman herding the goats was behind them and refusing to give way to the merchants and their string of mules. The merchants were ordering her to move aside with her animals and she was castigating them in a thick Poitevin dialect as she continued to drive her goats forward. Despite her trepidation and feeling of helplessness, Eleanor could not help but smile at the woman’s salty and descriptive language.
“Give way there, old mother, give way!” shouted the guards in the gatehouse.
The old woman ignored them and held up her heavy stick in a threatening manner. There then ensued a confusing tangle of men and animals as the goats bleated, the mules brayed, the merchants tried to separate them, and the old woman soundly beat anyone who came within reach of her stick. It resembled a Roman farce. The guards left the gatehouse to help restore order.
Distracted, the castellan shouted commands and waved his arms; during this mêlée the constable and his knights swiftly crossed the bridge before anyone could stop them. Guards at the far end, trying to see what was going on, waved them through with a cursory glance. Within moments they were outside the city walls.
“Ride!” ordered the constable, who sounded as if he were choking. “Ride as if your lives depended on it!”
As they galloped down the road, passing villages, a windmill, and a squat gray monastery, Eleanor looked back over her shoulder. Poitiers was rapidly receding into the distance, a flash of silver towers, turrets and spires, a blur of gold and scarlet pennants, until finally it became an island floating eerily above the distant horizon. Not quite real. A city out of legend, like Camelot. She felt the salt of tears sting her lips.
The constable finally came to a thundering stop by the side of the road, some leagues from the city. When he pulled up his helm Eleanor saw that he was not choking but doubled over with laughter. Her heart was beating like a hammer on an anvil, and her breath was coming in labored gasps.
“Sweet Saint Radegonde, I see nothing to laugh about,” she managed to get out as she pulled off her helm. “If that old woman had not saved us—” Still close to tears, she crossed herself.
“God’s blood, wasn’t she wonderful? Did you ever see the like? A born mummer, if ever I saw one! I must pay her even more than I promised.”
“You mean—?” Eleanor stared at him.
The constable pulled off his mailed glove and wiped his eyes. “I could not predict what obstacles we might encounter, so I arranged a little diversion. As it happens, the old woman is my wife’s second cousin and makes the best goat cheese in Poitiers.”
Eleanor started laughing and soon the whole party of knights had joined her.
An hour later they were heading north. The road was busy with the usual stream of carts, farmers’ wives on donkeys, merchants on horseback, and a shepherd leading his flock; there was no sign of armed troops, but in the late afternoon the acrid smell of smoke grew stronger. They must be well north of Poitiers, where the routiers, burning whatever lay in their path, were rumored to be heading. Eleanor, consumed with sudden guilt, drew rein.
“I have to go back. I must have been mad to think I could abandon my people in this way. If the Flemish brutes reach Poitiers—”
“How can it help the Poitevins if you are captured by the routiers? In Paris you can accomplish something.”
Eleanor knew he was right. Despite her anguish over the uncertain fate of her people, she followed the constable and his knights into the forest that ran alongside the road. The smell of smoke grew fainter and finally vanished. It was growing dark before the constable ordered them to stop in a grove of trees. Eleanor felt so stiff she had to be helped down from her horse.
“It will not be a comfortable night, Lady, but we have little choice. I must return to Poitiers with at least two of my knights. That will leave you with three. There has been no sign of any pursuers and I believe the worst may be over, God willing.” He crossed himself.
“Where are we?” Around her Eleanor could see stout tree trunks and dense foliage, above, a darkling sky with a rising harvest moon. Despite the constable’s words of reassurance, she shivered.
“We cannot be too far from the Touraine border, but as you will be traveling through the forest you will not reach it until the day after tomorrow. Now, these are your trusted knights, madam, and they will protect you.” The constable put his mailed hand on the shoulder of a large swarthy knight. “Everard here is from Tours, familiar with the woods and byways of this region, and he will escort you safely into Paris.”
“My life is at your service, Lady.” Everard bowed his head.
Eleanor crossed herself. “Pray God it does not come to that.”
“Get used to calling the duchess Alain,” said the constable. He conferred with Everard for a moment before taking his leave of her. “I cannot alert the castellan to anything amiss, so I had better be back by cockcrow. I will tell Mistress Emma of Anjou to put it about that you are ill and lie abed, so it will come as no surprise if you are not seen for a few days. After that, the castellan is bound to become suspicious and send out the alarm, but by then you will have slipped through the net and be well out of harm’s way.”
“I will never forget what you have done for me,” Eleanor said, trying to stifle a growing sense of foreboding.
“God keep you, Lady. I doubt not that we will enjoy another debate together at the next court of love held in Poitiers.”
He dropped to one knee and, pulling off her gauntlet, kissed her hand. The next moment he and two of the knights mounted their horses and disappeared among the trees. Eleanor, terribly afraid, cold, and hungry, wondered if she would ever see her trusted constable again.
Almost three days later, at dusk, they rode out of the forest and onto the main road, which bordered the banks of a large brown river. On one occasion they’d heard the far-off sounds of a battle being waged, and another time, well hidden behind a cluster of trees, they saw a small party of knights bearing the crest of Anjou on their shields gallop by. Eleanor longed for nothing more than to take off the armor; her body felt stuck to it.
“There is the Loire, so we must be in Touraine,” Eleanor said, relieved to see a familiar landmark at last. “If we follow this road we will reach Blois within a few days, where I am sure my daughter Alix will welcome us. From there it is not far to Paris. Surely we are out of danger now?”
“Touraine is still Duke Henry’s territory, Lady—Alain,” Everard replied cautiously. “We may well meet enemy troops or Flemish routiers coming from Tours or Le Mans, so we must not assume the danger is over just yet. We can travel on this road for a while, but then I advise cutting back through the woods for another day or so. As for your daughter, I doubt not but she is safely in Paris.”
Of course. Both Alix and her husband, the count of Blois, would be with the king of France.
The road curved inland and a few leagues later they crossed open heathland then entered the forest again. Everard drew rein and looked about him. “Did you hear that?”
Eleanor, who had heard nothing, shook her head.
“Wait! There it is again.”
This time she could hear it: a low faint moan.
“It comes from that direction, Everard,” said one of the other knights.
They trotted through a strip of forest where swine rooted.
“Why aren’t these swine penned?” Everard held up his hand and they proceeded cautiously until the trees opened on a large pasture and plow land surrounding a small village—what had once been a village.
“Dear God, look at this—” one of the knights gasped.
Stunned, Eleanor could not believe the sight that met her incredulous gaze. A herd of sheep lay slaughtered, their bellies cut open and thick with flies. Several men in peasants’ smocks lay huddled one on top of another, their heads a scarlet mangle. Cots were burned to the ground, byres lay in smoldering ruins. Several children lay dead in a cowpen, one an infant still in his mother’s arms. Both had been pierced through with a single sword stroke. Beside a mound of hay, two women lay lifeless, staring blindly at the sky. Another woman, a young girl, Eleanor realized, lay on her back, spread-eagled, her kirtle bunched above her waist. Her head hung loosely, her eyes were vacant, her thighs covered in dried blood. She still lived and was moaning.
Eleanor leaned over her saddle and voided the contents of her stomach. When she could speak she said in a strangled voice, “Can something be done for that poor creature?”
“What little is left of her.” Everard dismounted. “I fear she is beyond anyone’s help, may God curse the devils who did this.”
After a moment, Eleanor heard a gurgle then silence. When she looked up she saw Everard withdrawing his sword from the girl’s chest. He knelt and made the sign of the cross over the dead girl then pulled her smock over her knees.
Tears poured down Eleanor’s face and she signed herself.
“She was as good as dead, better to put her out of her suffering. May God grant her rest.” Everard glanced around him. “This is surely the work of the Flemish monsters.” He shivered. “Let us leave this place as soon as possible. It has an evil feel to it.”
“But we cannot just abandon their bodies—”
“At the very next church we pass I will tell the local priest. He will see these poor souls are buried in hallowed ground, and also absolve me for taking a life.”
As they rode away, Eleanor, softly sobbing, kept looking back over her shoulder until they had crossed the pasture and reentered the strip of woods, following a well-worn track that ran northeast toward Blois.
“The hazards of war, La—Alain.” Everard sent her a sympathetic glance. “Such slaughter is hard to bear at first sight, but one gets hardened to it.”
Eleanor, who felt as if her heart bled inside her breast, knew she would never forget what she had just seen. Ambushes and raids, the brief experiences of violence she had undergone in her life could never have prepared her for the horror she had just witnessed. She put a hand over her mouth, her belly turning over, as a picture of the blood-soaked young girl swam before her eyes. Had she known the terrible cost, the bitter toll this conflict would take on so many innocent lives, would she still have connived with Louis of France and her own vassals to bring it about? Allowed her sons to take vengeance against their father?
Suddenly there was the sound of many hoof beats just ahead.
“A band of knights or routiers coming through the woods,” said one of the party in alarm. “We are directly in their path and cannot avoid them.”
Eleanor saw Everard glance swiftly at the trees and brambles that grew either side of the track. “I agree. Ride at a slow pace, show no fear, and do nothing to rouse their suspicions. We are on our way to Le Mans with nothing to hide.”
The hoof beats became louder. Then came a rough voice ordering them to halt. Following Everard’s directions, Eleanor pulled her gelding to a stop just as a group of knights appeared, barring their path.
“Where is your destination? Who is your lord?” demanded one of the knights in the same gruff voice that had ordered them to halt.
Now Eleanor recognized the familiar accent. These were Poitevins! “These are compatriots, Everard,” she said, trembling with relief. “These men are from Poitou, fellow countrymen.” She spurred her horse forward
“No, Alain, wait!” Everard called out frantically from behind her.
Too late. The knight who had spoken rode out to meet her. “Sweet Saint Radegonde, I know that voice. Is it—Lady Eleanor?”
“Indeed,” she cried joyfully, pulling off her helm. “Your duchess.”
The knight slowly shook his head. “We are Duke Henry’s men, Madam, not yours.”
Stunned, Eleanor could not fully grasp what he had said. “But—but you are Poitevins.”
“Who serve the duke of Aquitaine.” The knight removed his helm and ran his fingers through grizzled red hair. “Word has gone out that you conspired to overthrow the duke, Madam, and are now declared his archenemy.”
“He is a tyrant,” she retorted angrily, “who has oppressed his subjects. I can bear witness to that!”
The knight stared at her in consternation. “It is with deep regret that I must now take you prisoner in Duke Henry’s name.” He inclined his head. “I take no pleasure in this, but my duty is clear.”
Eleanor felt as if a dark chasm had opened at her feet and swallowed her up. “You dare to call yourself a Poitevin?” she cried. “You are a foul traitor if you serve my husband!”
“Not so, Madam. I and my men swore an oath of loyalty to Henry Plantagenet.” His eyes were filled with a weary sadness. “Your Grace is joined to him in holy matrimony before God, and you have borne him many sons. It was as your lawful husband we accepted the Norman as duke of Aquitaine. My conscience is clear, Lady, for I have never betrayed my sovereign lord. Can you say the same?”
His words were the last Eleanor heard before the world turned upside down and she knew no more.