The Summer Queen by Elizabeth Chadwick

Author:Elizabeth Chadwick [Elizabeth Chadwick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: An Hachette UK Company
Published: 2013-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

29

Anatolia, January 1148

Alienor turned over and, pulling the furs up around her ears, snuggled against Gisela for warmth.

‘Rain,’ said Marchisa who had stuck her nose outside the tent flaps to sniff the dawn air. ‘It might even turn to snow.’

Alienor groaned and burrowed further under the covers. Everyone spoke of the burning heat of Outremer, but the cold on the high ground was bone-biting.

Today they were due to make the gruelling climb and crossing of Mount Cadmos on their journey to the coast at Antalya. The notion of riding up a mountain in the face of a sleety wind made Alienor reluctant to stir. If only she could wake up at home in Poitiers or Antioch without having to travel in either direction.

Outside Alienor could hear the camp stirring to life: men hacking and coughing; snatches of conversation round the campfire; the stamp and nicker of horses as they received their rations of fodder. The ominous rasp of a sword on a whetstone.

Marchisa was building up the brazier in their tent and setting out portions of cold lamb and flat bread with which to break their fast. With great reluctance, Alienor sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She could smell smoke and grease on her hands from the previous night. The urge to observe the niceties of staying clean and fresh had dwindled to nothing when set against the need to keep dry and warm. She had not bothered to unpack her mirror for the last five nights, and the silk gowns she had worn in Constantinople had been relegated to the bottom of her baggage pack.

Alienor braced herself and left the bed. She had slept in thick socks, her chemise and a woollen gown. Now she donned a pair of soft linen braies and attached men’s leather riding hose to them. She and her women had adopted such clothing since leaving Constantinople because of its comfort and practicality in the advancing winter season and hostile terrain. A highly amused Geoffrey de Rancon had called them ‘the Amazons’ on first discovering the apparel while helping Alienor into the saddle. The nickname had quickly become common parlance among the men. Louis had not been best pleased. He said it was beneath the dignity of the Queen of France and therefore reflected poorly on himself, but since Alienor and her ladies wore perfectly respectable gowns over their hose, and since it helped them to keep up the pace, he let it pass with no more than scowls.

Alienor covered her hair and went to look outside. Pungent woodsmoke drifted from the cooking fires set up under tent awnings. She noticed dashes of white in the rain and knew it would be snowing higher up the mountain. As she stood considering the dismal prospect of riding into the bad weather, a guard detail returned from overnight picket duty.

‘The Turks are out there,’ she heard one soldier telling the men round the fire. ‘They’ll be circling like vultures, just waiting their moment, the devils.

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