Behind the screens shielding an alcove, the men deciding Elise’s future spoke in hushed voices broken by an occasional chuckle or a muffled cough. Informal negotiations were in progress as they moved about the intimate room. A long narrow table draped in linen, surrounded by benches, was situated to one side. Blank parchments, ink, a quill and documents bearing ribbons and seals were scattered on the table. The room glowed from the light of tall candles placed in the triple-headed sconces of silver candelabrums flanking both ends of the table and from flaming oil in cressets mounted high on one wall. A side table, bearing a strip of red linen embroidered with blue thread, held a bowl of dried fruit, decanters of wine, and mazers.
The two most important men in the room were Thierry de Châlons, representing King Philip of the Franks, and Dreux Marchand de Ville, representing King William and the groom. Brian Dubec and Guillaume Arques both represented Elise’s uncle. Juhel de Ponthieu, Abbot of Clarion, served as recorder.
Because Elise was a countess in her own right, a cousin of King Philip, and held land of importance to two kings, her betrothal had consisted of tentative offers. Without consent of the major parties, no marriage would ensue, so, as customary, they had semi-private talks with each other until the formal discussions began. Few of the real issues would be discussed candidly. These would be left to conjecture or deduced from what remained unspoken. Offers would be made and rejected like innocent swordplay—a parry here, a clash there—quickly withdrawn and thrust into play again beneath a ruse, all within the strict rules of decorum, rank, and protocol.
Dreux Marchand de Ville exemplified the robust Norsemen from whom the Normans descended. His alert body, poised for action, was clothed in a simple dark-green tunic, which barely concealed his bulging arms, and his hose emphasized thick, muscular legs.
Thierry de Châlons, nearly sixty, had silver hair, which fell over his high forehead, and a long, thin, humorless face with deep vertical grooves beside full lips. His pale, restless eyes glistened as they darted over everyone in the room. Simultaneously, he heard every conversation. His dress—unadorned black wool over gray—reflected his early monastic training.
Dreux and Thierry had greeted each other like old friends, having negotiated on behalf of Philip and William before. Thierry took no offense that William sent a mere knight to parley with King Philip’s advisor. The balance was tipped in Thierry’s favor—as always. Besides, Thierry enjoyed Dreux, the most able envoy he had met in years, except Roland de Rennes, of course. Although Thierry had tried to lure Dreux to King Philip’s diplomatic corps, he had enormous respect for the young knight’s refusal and his loyalty to William, a devotion Thierry himself had once embraced.
Dreux had a delicate mission: reaffirm Duke William’s vassalage to his overlord King Philip while negotiating on behalf of King William to his peer King Philip. He also intended to capture rich Norman estates for Alaric, strengthening William’s hold on the duchy without provoking Philip’s aggression or distrust.
Thierry’s mission was the opposite. On behalf of King Philip, he would negotiate only with Philip’s vassal, the duke. He intended to weaken William’s hold on the duchy by limiting the estates transferring to the groom. King Philip believed William wanted his crown and all of Francia. Philip would let William have Englelond, but William could not have both Englelond and Normandie.
Dreux and Thierry began with the traditional platitudes and moved on to their central tasks, neither openly discussing their intentions. To protect Normandie’s border from attack, William wanted the eastern Aumale and Mortemer lands in Alaric’s possession. Philip wanted the land to remain with Elise, thereby segmenting control of the border and pitting Elise against her husband.
Dreux offered a compromise: Divert the revenues. Both knew the move would render those lands virtually useless to the countess and her husband.
“The proposal has merit,” Thierry said. He shifted the discussion to the Vexin, the more important of Elise’s lands, the poisoned thorn prickling both Philip and William. With the formation of the Norman duchy, the Vexin province was divided along the River Epte. The northern Vexin belonged to the Normans, the southern part to the Franks. For years, the Norman dukes and the kings of Francia had fought over it.
A few years ago, William had seized the entire Vexin and captured its count and his wife, both of whom died in William’s custody. Afterward, the Vexin went to Ralph de Crépi, William’s loyal vassal, a man married to Philip’s widowed mother, the dowager queen.
Elise held Fontenay, one of the last sovereign principalities remaining in the Vexin. Her land had immense strategic importance. Situated along the right bank of the Seine, where the river narrows and flows through a series of tight curves flanked by promontories—ideal for blocking invaders—it also hosted the road between Rouen and Paris.
Although the Vexin fell under Crépi’s rule, Fontenay, Elise’s independent principality within the Vexin, had passed from one generation to another since Charles le Magne. Following the tradition of his predecessors, King Philip had reaffirmed Elise’s holding. As Thierry and Dreux discussed the Vexin, neither mentioned its strategic importance.
King Philip wanted the entire Vexin, not merely Elise’s patrimony. At fifteen, Philip did not yet have the strength to seize the Vexin—or hold it once he got it. He was content to allow Elise her birthright. If her husband died, he would marry her quickly to a close ally. Philip had time on his side. William would be old when Philip reached his prime.
Thierry offered an attractive diversion: land in the province of Berry. “A marriage gift from King Philip, in exchange for an equal amount of land in the Vexin along the Seine.” It was an interesting consideration, for it would plant a Norman seed in land not yet part of the Norman empire. Dreux graciously rejected the offer.
“King Phillip expects the countess to retain her title and the estates in her own right.”
“Of course,” Dreux smiled. It mattered little if the countess held the titles. Alaric would control the land. William would see to it. Although both knew William would determine how Alaric used the land, only Thierry knew what Philip planned for its future.
When their negotiations concluded, Thierry learned that Dreux and Alaric were close friends. “The groom is perhaps ambitious?”
Dreux laughed. “Aren’t we all?”
Thierry nodded. His own investigations revealed how Eustace contrived the death of Alaric’s family. He supposed Alaric was typically Norman: a common opportunist, wanting land, privilege, and tenure—at any cost. Useful qualities for Philip still learning how to control ambitious men. He could be generous when necessary, and he could always send Alaric to Jerusalem.
Thierry looked across the room and saw candlelight reflecting off Abbot Juhel’s crucifix. For years, he had enjoyed reading Juhel’s ecclesiastical doctrines challenging Rome’s precepts. The abbot had recently scandalized the Church by arguing most succinctly against selling indulgences, relics, and benefices. Thierry had also enjoyed the controversy stirred when Juhel proposed prelates give up their wives and concubines.
In Thierry’s estimation, Juhel de Ponthieu, Abbot of Clarion, one of the few ethical prelates left these days, deserved his high repute. Unlike William’s brother, Bishop Odo, Juhel did not use his position to enrich himself and display ostentatious wealth comparable to the nobility’s temporal estates. Juhel expressed his zeal through his ecclesiastical writings on the liturgy and apostolic traditions. His latest letter to the pope had warned of pagan rituals still occurring in Normandie today. The claim did not surprise Thierry, for even near Paris, pagans held secret ceremonies, although he thought they no longer sacrificed animals or humans.
Thierry knew that Rome was listening to Juhel’s astonishing position on marriage. Traditionally, marriage began with a simple oral promise, private or public, between the parties. Juhel pressed the Church to consider the marriage ceremony a sacrament. It was an outrageous concept, of course. Marriage was profane, a carnal act, consigned to the laity, distinct from the sacred. Yet, Juhel argued that the Church must officiate unions among the nobility. He urged the Church to decrease annulment requests based on incest by investigating the degrees of familial relationships between high-ranking couples before marriage. He also insisted the Church participate in these unions to record the accompanying land transfers. Of course, Juhel wrote, the Church must recognize its own wealth relied on endowments generated from these very unions, although prelates should take care not to confuse the secular and the sacred.
Both Thierry and King Philip understood the importance of the last point, and so it seemed did William. This marriage between Genevieve de Fontenay and Alaric of Ewyas commingled lands in Normandie and Englelond, and Juhel would document the agreement carefully.
“I’m getting old,” Juhel said to Arques, reaching for a slice of dried apple. “My leg troubles me more and more, and I languish at Clarion.” Juhel wore elegant white and blue robes of the finest Byzantine silk embroidered with bands of gold thread. Shorter than Arques, but equally commanding in his stance, he had large hands and a large, flat face, wide-spaced hazel eyes, and a pale complexion. At forty-eight, he felt the ravages of age. An old injury had left him with a throbbing pain that now, as he gained weight, bothered him more.
“You and William are still allies, I see,” Arques said.
Arques meant the time when William revoked Juhel’s lands and titles after the abbot incautiously speculated about the chastity of the duke’s mother, a tanner’s daughter. William restored all when he needed another vote on the ecclesiastical council.
“We understand the value of strong alliances.” Juhel rocked on his feet. He had to make his move now. Pope Alexander was ill, and soon, a new pope would insist on ecclesiastical reforms. To implement those reforms, Juhel must obtain a high office in William’s kingdom, where he could live out his last years amidst the greatest changes of his time.
“I am seeking appointment to the archbishopric of Canterbury,” he said, running his fingers down the chain of his crucifix.
Arques understood immediately. In exchange for supporting Juhel’s bid, the abbot would funnel rents from Genevieve’s estates to Arques, who had augmented William’s coins by skimming off her rents for years. But now, the rents would all go to her husband unless other arrangements were made. “Once,” he reminded Juhel, “I contributed large endowments to your abbey and would do so again.”
“Um.” Juhel pursed his lips but did not dispute Arques’ overstatement of the pittance he had given, which barely provided funds to roof the chapel.
“By keeping me in coin, I can . . . influence others on your behalf,” Arques said.
Juhel nodded. Arques had little influence. Still, he had made a negligible request. “Perhaps Philip could be persuaded to reward your loyalty to his father.”
“Thank you,” Arques said. “I most humbly accept your intercession.”
Brian Dubec had watched Juhel and Arques keenly, observing a pact in the making. He recalled Eustace’s instructions: make any concession necessary to seal this betrothal. The count’s reasons remained a mystery. With secret pleasure, Dubec remembered Alaric’s knife at Eustace’s throat. Perhaps the marriage intended to humiliate Alaric, to make him swallow the death of his family. Perhaps Eustace intended to use a man like the Black Wolf. Eustace took time assembling his puppets like a master player gathered his actors.
When Abbot Juhel joined the others, Dubec approached Arques. “At Eustace’s command, you do not have a place at this table.”
Arques glared at Dubec, Eustace’s arse-tickler. He buried this insult in speechless anger, crossed the room to Thierry, and waited until the others left them alone before presenting his case for King Philip’s support.
Thierry smiled, “Be assured, the king will hear of your suggestions.”
At Juhel’s request, the men took their seats. Since they’d resolved all issues informally, formal discussions began.
As she waited for Walter’s next move, Elise considered why Thierry de Châlons came to negotiate her betrothal. He had been her father’s trusted friend, much like a beloved uncle. But that was not why he was here. After King Henri’s death, Thierry had become and remained the most important advisor to the throne. Thierry’s presence went beyond any friendship or familial ties. Her marriage was important to Francia.
Since leaving Abbey Clarion, she had taken more interest in the relationships among the provinces and kingdoms and the princely decisions affecting her villagers. Last year, with the movement of emissaries, armies, and treasuries, she’d learned how alliances coalesced to support the invasion and how William tapped resources from near and far. The preparations had stirred her, although she never dreamed she would be enmeshed in the fortunes of the new Norman kingdom.
She counted the painted roses edging the whitewashed room. Her gaze drifted to the fading mural at the back wall portraying the Last Supper. She knew the disciples grouped around the table loosely represented Normandie, Brittany, Flanders, and the Île de France. Each apostle stood for a powerful noble, surrounding the Pope as the Lord. Judas, the Germanic Holy Roman Emperor, sat alone.
She studied the Vexin, a painted wedge of cheese on a platter of fruit representing Francia. William needed strong warlords to protect the Vexin abutting Francia’s border. Philip needed the Vexin to attack Normandie.
Her heart pounded. She and her husband would be called upon to defend Normandie for Duke William or to ensure its instability for King Philip. In either case, powerful forces would squeeze her and her husband, and any mistaken alliances would cost them, especially if Eustace tried to use the marriage for his purposes against either king—
“Pay attention, Elise,” Walter yawned. “I’ve just taken one of your knights.” He straightened his back and shifted on the bench. Walter watched the confusion on Elise’s face as if trying to understand the effect of his move. He glanced toward the alcove and saw no movement. Behind him, he heard the preparations for the banquet still underway.
As Elise examined the board, his eyes followed the sweep of her shoulders down her arm to the hand resting in her lap. He longed to entwine his fingers in hers. Walter looked away. He knew there was no point, but his eyes drifted back to her hair, to an auburn wisp escaping one of her braids.
She had asked him once, last summer as they had walked in the garden, what he would most want to have if he could. He had not told her that she would have been the greatest prize. Instead, he had said he wanted King Philip to send him on a special mission. Whatever the task, left to his own devices, he would accomplish it with great success. Afterward, he would begin to regain the favor of the crown: a few estates, perhaps, an heiress. She’d smiled at him. His heart had pounded. I will pray for you to get another chance Walter, she’d said softly, her dazzling eyes so deep, so blue, so guileless.
“Take that, you beast!” she glanced up at him, grinning, her eyes sparkling in that mischievous way she had that nearly sent him to his knees.
He looked down at the game and back at her. “Why you little . . . You think to check me. Not yet, my lady.” He turned his attention to her pieces surrounding his king.
Watching Walter hover over the board, she became annoyed with herself. This morning, she let Marie lull her with visions of an enthralled husband. There was nothing carefree, innocent—nor amorous—about her marriage. It was an alliance. Like others among the nobility, it balanced titles, lands, and wealth, and assured military support. Uniting a duchy and a kingdom would become a complicated and dangerous life. She would need strength, all her wit, and vigilance to survive.
She gripped the bench tighter. Closing her eyes, she strove to calm her alarm by humming a chant the nuns had taught. Oh, Holy Mother, in this place of darkness, guide and defend me against my enemies. Be my helper and . . . When she opened her eyes, she found Walter watching her, his dark, intense expression nearly frightening.
“Do not shrink from your new fortunes,” he said softly. “As soon as you affix your seal, you will be free of your uncle and my father.”
“Free?” she chuckled. “Free to be governed by a husband.”
“A husband who battles for William, a husband likely to be killed very soon or perish from festering wounds. When widowed, you retain one-third of his estates, and you keep your own land. If you choose to marry again, you can, without interference from Eustace and my father, as long as Philip agrees.”
“What of William?”
“You may have to forfeit your English lands. But unlike me, Elise, you have a chance. So, think carefully about your betrothal. Make sure you have something to bargain with, something that does not rely on your husband’s life.”
At that moment, Walter’s father stepped out from behind the screen and motioned to Elise with a curt nod.