The Summer Queen Read Free Page B

on waking, but the feeling was always of being trapped.
    She paused beside a young cherry tree and lightly brushed the green orbs of developing fruit with her hand. By the time her father returned, the fruit would be dark red, verging on black. Full and sweet and ripe.
    ‘Daughter.’
    Only two people called her that. She turned to face Archbishop Gofrid and even before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say, because the look on his face, full of trouble and compassion, told it all.
    ‘I have some bad news,’ he said.
    ‘It is about my father, isn’t it?’
    ‘Child, you should sit down.’
    She faced him squarely. ‘He is not coming back, is he?’
    He looked taken aback, but swiftly recovered his balance. ‘Child, I am sorry to say that he died on Good Friday within sight of Compostela and was buried there at the feet of Saint James.’ His voice had a hoarse catch. ‘He is with God now and free from his pain. He had been unwell for some time.’
    Grief shuddered through her like the surges of an underground tide. She had known from the outset that something was wrong, but no one had seen fit to tell her, least of all her father.
    Gofrid gave her the sapphire ring he had been holding in his hand. ‘He sent you this, so you would know, and he bade you do your best as you have always done and to heed the advice of your guardians.’
    She looked at the ring and remembered it shining on her father’s finger as he set out on his journey. She felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her world and everything that was stable had lurched downwards in one piece. Raising her head, she gazed across the garden towards her sister who was laughing at something a maid had said. In a moment that laughter would cease and in its place would come grief and tears as Petronella’s world shattered too, and that was almost harder to bear than her own shock and grief.
    ‘What will happen to us?’ She tried to sound pragmatic and mature, even though she could not control the wobble in her voice.
    Gofrid closed her fist over the ring. ‘You will be looked after, do not worry. Your father left sound provision for you in his will.’ He moved to embrace her with compassion, but she stepped away and set her jaw.
    ‘I am not a child.’
    Gofrid let his hands fall to his sides. ‘But you are still so very young,’ he replied. ‘Your sister …’ He looked towards the group of women.
    ‘I will tell Petronella,’ she said firmly. ‘No one else.’
    He made a gesture of acknowledgement, although his expression was creased with concern. ‘As you wish, daughter.’
    Alienor returned to the women, Gofrid walking at her side. After the maids had curtseyed to him, Alienor dismissed them and sat down beside her sister.
    ‘Look what I have sewn!’ Petronella held up the kerchief on which she had been working. One corner was carpeted with white daisies, golden knots at their centres. Petronella’s brown eyes were alight. ‘I’m going to give this to Papa when he comes home!’
    Alienor bit her lip. ‘Petra,’ she said, putting her arm around her. ‘Listen. I have something to tell you.’

3
Castle of Béthizy, France, May 1137
    Fetched from his prayers, Louis entered his father’s sickroom in the top chamber of the castle. The wide-open shutters admitted a light breeze and revealed twin arches of blue spring sky. Bowls of incense burned on various tables around the room, but did little to dissipate the stench from his father’s decaying, swollen body. Louis swallowed a retch as he knelt at the bedside and made his obeisance. He almost shuddered as his father’s hand touched the top of his head in benediction.
    ‘Stand up.’ Louis senior’s voice was gravelly with secretions. ‘Let me look at you.’
    Louis strove to control his anxiety. His father’s body might be a bloated ruin, but the ice-blue eyes still showed the mind and will of the keen hunter, soldier and king trapped within the dying flesh. Louis always felt