Devil's Consort. Anne O'Brien

have the wealth to encompass it?’

      He thought for a moment. ‘I do.’

      ‘And I want tapestries,’ I added.

      ‘As I see.’

      ‘You have none to my taste. Not one wall in this palace displays a tapestry of any size or quality. Those I’ve seen are in a state of disintegration or covered with soot. What can you be thinking of?’ I allowed him no time to retreat. ‘Think of the display of your wealth and style, Louis. You are not some insignificant lord, still residing in a stone keep, but King of the Franks. Your palace should be a stamp on your authority, not a rough fortress no better than your ancestors could build a hundred years ago. And if that does not appeal to you, think of how much warmer the rooms will be, keeping the damp and draughts at bay.’

      ‘I don’t feel the cold,’ Louis observed. ‘But if that is what you wish then order them as you will. The tapestries from Bourges are thought to be the best.’

      I reached to kiss his cheek, delighted with the resulting quick blush, and tugged at his sleeve. Louis was open to suggestion, a blank scroll on which I might write. And I would write on it. Not Abbot Suger. Not Queen Adelaide. I would be the one to map out Louis’s future.

      ‘Will you give the orders for the stonework immediately?’

      ‘If it pleases you, I will. I should be thankful you’ve not gone ahead and done it already, so that I find us knee deep in stone dust and chippings.’ His smile was charmingly rueful, despite the ponderous humour. ‘I’ve been told that you’ve already dismissed one of my appointments.’

      So Adelaide had already complained to her son, had she? It had taken her less than twenty-four hours.

      ‘Yes,’ I acknowledged airily. ‘The cantor at the palace chapel.’

      ‘My mother was distressed that he’d been removed.’

      ‘That’s hard to believe.’ I opened my eyes wide. ‘Perhaps you misunderstood her, Louis. The man had no ear and could scare hold a tune. As for leading a choir … When you hear his replacement, one of my own household with a fine voice, you will admit my choice is good.’ I saw the muscles in his jaw twitch as he prepared to refute this, so I pressed on with an argument he could not deny. ‘It’s only fitting that God be praised to the best of our poor talents.’ I was getting the measure of my husband.

      ‘That is so, of course …’

      ‘Do you object to my plans, Louis?’

      ‘No. Not at all.’

      ‘You would say if I displease you, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘You’ll never displease me. I admire you.’

      Victory fluttered in my breast. It seemed I could play the obedient, grateful wife with skill. I had no experience of it, but a wise woman can learn, and learn fast. I had got exactly what I wanted.

      ‘And you will give your orders to the stonemasons today?’ I persisted.

      ‘Yes. Eleanor …?’

      ‘Hmm?’ I was already halfway across the room to order my women to pack away the most fragile of my gowns.

      ‘Is there anything you do like here? In Paris?’

      I halted. Turned back. He still sat, looking almost dejected at my lack of enthusiasm for my new home, my list in one hand, the untasted cup of wine in the other. How woefully deficient in authority and importance he could be. Poor Louis. He really had no presence.

      As if he read my thoughts, he stood and walked towards me, while I sought desperately for something to say to make him look less of a cowed child who had been refused a promised treat.

      ‘Perhaps you like the gardens,’ he suggested. ‘They’re thought to be very fine. Will you perhaps walk there with me?’

      How could I refuse without appearing churlish? I walked with Louis along the pathways enclosed for privacy by walls and trellised vines, bordered with acanthus. Willow, fig, cypress, olive and pear trees gave welcome shade in the heat of the day. They would do very well with some statues and the occasional water display, but these formal plantings were no compensation for the chains on my freedom to travel the length and breadth of my dominions as I had once done at my father’s side. They were no compensation for the stultifying life I had been dropped into. My new existence was almost as rigidly curtailed as if I had taken the veil. The ordered beauty of sight and scent was no compensation at all for Louis’s continued absence from my bed.

      ‘Louis.’ I touched his hand as we halted beside a bed of fragrant lilies. ‘I am not carrying your heir.’

      My courses had come on time. Louis’s energies after the matter of the white gerfalcons had failed. Our one step into the intimacy of matrimony had not had the desired effect.

      Louis’s face fell. ‘I must lay the matter before God.’

      That was all he said, at least to me. I presume God was the recipient of his disappointment.

      ‘It is a waste of money. A sheer waste of money,’ Adelaide raged when the stonemasons moved into my apartments and the air was filled with dust, along with the cheerful cursing and tuneless singing of the workmen. ‘And to what purpose?’ She raised her voice above the racket. ‘A soft lifestyle. It is not necessary.’ She glared her dislike of me and the upheaval combined. ‘You should learn to live our Frankish lifestyle. You are too soft, with your flighty southern ways.’

      ‘Do you not approve, madam?’ Soft, dulcet. My talent for acting improved daily and I had learned fast that to humour the Dowager Queen was more satisfying than to oppose her directly. To annoy, Adelaide had deliberately addressed me in the langue d’oeil in which I was now proficient. I replied in Latin.

      ‘No, I do not. What have you persuaded my son to do?’

      ‘Simply to make my life tolerable.’

      ‘It is not right. I have told Louis so.’

      ‘You do not have to tolerate the changes, madam. I will instruct the masons to leave your chambers alone. If it is your desire to live in squalor and cold and choking fumes, that is entirely your own choice.’

      She had waylaid me in the corridor to the royal chapel after Mass, where my cantor had just surpassed himself in singing the canticles. I made to walk past her, then halted, faced her. It was not in my nature to remain silent after all when my authority was under question. I fell easily into the harsh syllables of the langue d’oeil since it seemed appropriate to express my feelings thus. ‘If you wish to complain about my actions, madam, come to me, not to your son. It does not please me to have Louis troubled by your petty dislikes.’

      ‘I will complain as I wish,’ she snapped back. ‘I will complain where I think it will have the most effect.’

      ‘So you think you can persuade Louis?’

      ‘I am his mother. He listens to me.’ But her furious stare slid from mine.

      ‘Excellent!’ I smiled thinly. ‘Perhaps you would instruct him that he is no longer a monk but the King of France.’

      ‘He does not need to be told.’

      ‘I think he does. We both know that he is at this moment celebrating High Mass and that he will remain at Notre Dame for the rest of the day, despite the official deputation from Normandy that Louis himself summoned. They are kicking their heels in the audience chamber, as they were for much of yesterday.’ I paused, the length of a heartbeat. ‘Your son does not listen to you, madam, does he?’

      ‘You are discourteous!’ Adelaide hissed. ‘Without respect!’

      ‘I am Queen of France and Louis’s wife, and as such beyond reproach.’ I performed a polite curtsey. ‘Louis is grown to be a man, away from the woman who gave him birth. Good day, madam.’

      ‘You will