Alienor: the Young Life of Eleanor of Aquitaine by Mark Richard Beaulieu

Author:Mark Richard Beaulieu [Beaulieu, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
ISBN: 9781620954065
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2012-03-06T08:00:00+00:00

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In the summer morning at riverside, by the bird messaging tower with the sun in its early rise on the Clain, the Princess listened to the new children of the field in which she used to play. Eleanor raised up her shoulders in a chair by the Poitier elms. Amira was back. The head maid adjusted what the servants had placed. The outdoor bathing and hair station was set with tables for oils, brushes, bowls, and something new – a basket of personal letters. Eleanor floated her arms as if flying.

Amira stood behind and bundled Eleanor’s red-sunned hair back forcefully.

“Do you have to be so damned beautiful all the time? Shives, sit still.”

“You sound like your grandmother Lorraine.”

“Sit still child and behave,” Amira mimicked. Eleanor shook her head, pulling every gather from Amira’s hands. “Eleanor, a green branch is about to become a switch.”

“I’d like to see that. You sure got a good backsider.”

“Thanks to you!”

“It was your white ghoul mask that did it.”

Amira was about to say, ‘The spooking was your idea, and it should have been your hide,’ but it was best to leave Eleanor with the last word. Besides, she had confessed her sorrow many times. Amira drew the tangly hair in short gathers from the hair’s brill, then drew it to longer strands. This was a slow gentle business. Depending on Eleanor’s mood, in chambers at least, from bath to dress was bell to bell.

“You’ve been gone a week,” said Eleanor. “How are the birds with Paul?”

“Your hair feels like it has been two weeks in the wind. We have new stock from Spain, more routes including two in Paris. Mathieu says we’ll have news of the world, days before anyone knows. He has a new coding scheme for private messages. He’s very clever. He sends you every best wish. Mathieu is in your court, Eleanor. Just the thought of your lips on him when he was passed out keeps him going. I love reminding him. He often wears your scarf. That was a good kissing you planted.”

“Yes it was. Let me bring you up to date on the suitor follies. I met a ‘manly man.’”

“Can there be a ‘manly’ suitor, at last?”

“Not the suitor. I was going to tell you about Armstrong, a new knight of the court, but then I met Francois. He is a steward who sailed with his toadish suitor across the French channel. The Northlands are in rebellion. Francois and his brother monks worship, as he says, honestly, uncorrupted by the church. Their troubles began last year when King Henri died. You would think the son of William the Conqueror could will his surviving heir to the throne.”

“Famous Mauthild,” said Amira, pouring honey-spiced wine into a silver-glazed cup. Amira drank first. Her duty as taster was practiced somewhat since the death of Aenor and little William. Eleanor drank from their cup and continued.

“Henri’s nobles swore allegiance to Mauthild. The Archbishop too. So guess? Thirty leagues away, Stephen of Blois goes to London, nabs the treasury and thrones himself.

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