Nay, Eleanor protested, it is I who have failed as a wife. I lack the necessary meekness. I know my own faults. She could afford to be generous now that she was no longer bound in wedlock to this man.
I wish you well; I want you to know that, Louis said. If ever I can extend good lordship to you, you have only to ask.
I thank you. Eleanor smiled. And now I must depart. I have a long journey ahead of me, and wish to cross the Loire by nightfall. Adieu, my lord. God keep you.
And may He have you in His keeping also, Louis whispered, loosing his hands from Eleanors. Then he watched as she stepped from the dais, sank before him in a deep curtsey, and walked out of the hall, her two damsels following.
5
Blois and Port-de-Piles, 1152
Free at last, Eleanor kept saying to herself, spurring on her horse and cantering southwest across the lush wide valley of the Loire, now lit by the rising moon. She had been saying it for several hours now, ever since they had set off from Beaugency that morning. Free. I am free!
The Archbishop, her lords, and her women were following close behind her, huddled in their thick cloaks; and on either side, carrying lighted torches, rode the helmeted men-at-arms who made up her escort. They had long ago lost sight of the sumpter mules and the carts, heavily laden with her personal possessions, so urgent was the need to move ever southward and put a great distance between her and her party and the kingdom of France. If King Louis got wind of what she was planning, he would certainly send a force to seize her and bring her back.
to pay his respects and offer us hospitality, Eleanor replied, a mischievous smile playing about her lips, since she knew that to be most unlikely, for there was bad blood between their families. But that was in the past, and supposedly forgiven and forgotten. They were all meant to be friends now.
Nay, lady, by their words, which I overheard, they are planning to lie in wait for us. They were saying something about Count Thibaut having plans for you.
Does he indeed? she replied grimly. Of course, he is a widower, so I can well imagine what they are. You have done gallantly to warn me.
The lords and the captains were eager to be gone; their taut faces betrayed their alarm. This was what they had feared. Madame, we cannot risk the bridge. We must go by another way, the Count of Angoulême urged.
À moi! Eleanor cried, as her forebears had done many times in the field of battle, and spurred her horse, knowing they must hurry and get away from this place if they wished to avoid disaster. She had no mind to end her days as the Countess of Blois.
Moving by stealth along the river banks, one of Eleanors captains came upon a barge tethered to a jetty, which he gleefully appropriated. Huddled together in the sanctuary it offered, and almost crushed by such baggage as they could squeeze into the remaining space, Eleanor and her companions uttered not a word as the craft glided swiftly along the river, making its silent way toward Tours. Only when dawn broke did they relax enough to begin a debate as to which way they should now take.
Let us make south for the Vienne, and cross the Creuse at Port-de-Piles, Eleanor decided. On the other bank, the men-at-arms were waiting with the Archbishop, having been permitted to cross the bridge at Blois after convincing the guards they were merely escorting His Grace back to his diocese.
The further south they rode from the Loire, the safer Eleanor felt. But as they neared Port-de-Piles, another scout came hastening toward them.
Go no farther, lady! he cried. There is an ambush lying in wait for you ahead.
Gods teeth! Eleanor swore, as the Archbishop winced. Another fortune hunter! Who is it this time?
I fear it is young Geoffrey of Anjou, lady, Duke Henrys brother.
That young idiot? Hes still wet behind the ears, surely. Well, my good angel, for that you certainly are, we will disappoint him of his quarry. My lords! Eleanor turned to the two counts, who were waiting grim-faced in their saddles. What do you suggest?
We should swing south, madame, to where we can ford the Vienne, and then make a dash across country for Poitiers.
That makes sense, Eleanor agreed, as the others voiced their approval of the plan, and the weary Archbishop craved leave to make his own way to Bordeaux. Having bidden the old man a quick, affectionate farewell, she wheeled around her horse and spurred it on, smiling to herself as she imagined young Geoffreys fury when he discovered that she had eluded him. How enraged Henry would be when he learned that his little brother had plotted to supplant him!
6
Poitiers, 1152
As the flat swaths of the Loire Valley had given way to the great plain of Poitou with its lush countryside, scattered castles, solid Romanesque churches, and stone longhouses with red-tiled roofs, Eleanors sense of elation burgeoned. It was the sight of those red tiles that had first moved her. You never saw such things in the dreary North. Soon, she would be home!