Before Plantagenet - Chapter 203
July 1123 - Bordeaux, Kingdom of Aquitaine
“How long ago did this happen?”
Agnes’ gaze was fixed upon the guard. However, his eyes were averted.
“We are uncertain… we found her today,” he replied.
Agnes doubted that, as she looked over the lifeless corpse of Patricia de Poitou, curled up in a sad, pathetic ball in the floor of her dungeon cell. A ragged blanket was gripped tightly in her cold dead hands, painting the chilling image of the broken woman struggling for warmth until finally succumbing.
It was the a seemingly unfitting end to the House de Poitou - she was the last of the family that had ruled Aquitaine, Poitou and Gascony on and off for the last three centuries. It was a moment Geoffrey would likely celebrate, though Agnes was not certain how to feel.
In a different world, she might have been partially responsible for carrying the house on. Her father had considered marrying her to her late cousin, Alberic, in a union that would have proved miserable as it might have been disastrous. Had that happened… who knows how it would have all shaken out?
Perhaps Geoffrey would not be King of Aquitaine, she mused.
As it was, she had not been wed to the spoiled tyrant that would die in an accident, or was murdered depending on who spoke of it, and thus the line was doomed to a slow death - through Peronelle and now Patricia - and to live on in the memories of its offshoots.
Of course, Agnes herself was such an offshoot - a child of Beatritz de Poitou - as was Geoffrey. And her current rivals were among the other set of offshoots, the de Limoges sisters, but she did certainly see quite a bit of Aines de Poitou in them.
Aines… who died a miserable death… like her siblings, Agnes recalled.
Was it coincidence that none had died naturally? Peronelle and Filipa murdered for certain, Alberic potentially, Aines dying young of a horrible illness and Patricia in her cousin’s dungeons after years of suffering. She remembered talk of their father, Duke Guilhem being cursed.
Could it be…
But then, Agnes remembered her father had been cursed as well. And yet her brother was king and her siblings all well off. Certainly nothing as disastrous as the de Poitous.
Perhaps our demon blood keeps us safe from dark magic, she thought as a smirk came to her lips.
She looked back to the guard. “Get her a proper burial. The woman did wrong, but she is a Christian. She should be treated as such in death.”
“My lady,” the guard began. “The king has not given any order…”
“Is the king aware of her death?” Agnes asked. The guard slowly shook his head. “Then do it. I will inform the king and if you do not wish for me to all inform him of your slowness in telling us of Patricia’s demise, I suggest you get to it.”
The guard nodded quickly and hurried off.
Perhaps I was too hard on him, Agnes wondered. Her tempers were up and it was hardly his fault.
No, the blame for that fell to her kingly brother. She had come to the dungeon to speak with their cousin, the captive Duke Gilles. He had arrived with Geoffrey a week before and was awaiting his day in court, where he would be humiliated and potentially sentenced to death.
It was a death that Geoffrey had handed Agnes the chance to influence, if not directly order. And that was a weight she did not take lightly - so she wished to meet with him before the court.
Only, after days of wondering what to say, when she went to the dungeon, she was denied access to him - the guards saying it was by Geoffrey’s order. And while the guards could be evasive and indirect with their answers, that they referenced the king right away made Agnes think they were telling the truth.
It was as she paced, trying to think of a way to get past, that she saw Patricia’s corpse. A shock, for certain - blocked from visiting one cousin to discover another dead.
Truly a warm family, we are, she thought.
With nothing left to do in the dungeons, she made her way back up, and to Geoffrey’s quarters. She needed to know why she was blocked from seeing Gilles.
Geoffrey’s guards made her wait for a moment outside of his quarters, as he was entertaining a guest. That, Agnes knew, was their half-sister Ermengarde, the dwarf Duchess of Flanders, who had arrived the day before with a small entourage, along with her youngest son, named Luthard, who was nearly a year old.
Sure enough, when Agnes was allowed admittance, she found the king and her sister sitting at a small table. Both gave warm smiles to her upon her entry.
“My dear sister,” Geoffrey said. “A pleasure for you to join us. Our lovely sister Ermengarde was just telling me all the details of court life in Flanders.”
“It is less interesting than our kingly brother’s voice would imply,” Ermengarde said. “I think he just is being polite to his little sister.”
“It can be both,” Geoffrey said with a smile.
“It can be,” Agnes said. “Though I suspect our brother wishes to simply compare your husband’s court to his own so he might see how much better he does things here in Bordeaux.”
Geoffrey smile became a smirk. “Agnes, my dear, you wound me.”
“But you do not deny,” Agnes noted.
Geoffrey tipped her cup to her, while Ermengarde hid her smile by taking a drink of her own.
“I have a matter to discuss with you,” Agnes said.
“Is this a private issue?” Geoffrey asked.
“No, our sister may hear of it,” Agnes said. “I wanted to know why you have barred me from seeing our cousin, Gilles, before court tomorrow.”
“Oh, that,” Geoffrey said. “I simply do not wish him to have any visitors before then. Part of his punishment is the isolation - let him stew in solitude until his fate is decided.”
“I see,” Agnes said. “But I wished to speak with him before… so I might make an informed decision.”
“Informed?” Geoffrey asked. “Agnes, you are perhaps the wisest person I know. You already have everything you need. He will spout lies to save his life and nothing more. I trust in your judgment, and think the matter is best left until tomorrow in court.”
Flattered as she was by his compliment, Agnes was not so sure. “It has been a long time. Perhaps things have changed.”
“I can assure you, having seen his actions on the battlefield and after his capture, nothing has,” Geoffrey said. Then the king stood up. “My dear sisters, I apologize but I must depart. There are some matters I must discuss with Lord Alias before tomorrow’s court, unrelated to our wretched cousin. If you will excuse me.”
Geoffrey made his exit, but as he reached the door Agnes called out: “Patricia is dead.”
The king turned back, his brow raised and eyes widened. “Our cousin?”
“Yes, in your cell,” Agnes said. “The guards claim they found her today.”
Geoffrey looked down, speechless for a few moments. When he finally did respond, he noted: “The enemies of our house seem to be suffering cruel fates as of late. Perhaps it is a sign.”
Ermengarde raised her cup. “From your lips to God’s ears, brother.”
Geoffrey scowled at that. It was brief - an expression gone as quickly as it came - but Agnes saw it.
“I told the guards to prepare a proper Christian burial for Patricia,” Agnes said.
“What?” Geoffrey asked. Then he nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. Let no one think we are so cruel as to deny her a chance in the hereafter. That punishment is not for us to decide, as they say.”
And with that, Geoffrey departed, leaving the sisters alone. Agnes made her way over to Ermengarde, and took up Geoffrey’s seat at the table, pouring herself a cup of wine.
“A dead cousin,” Ermengarde said. “And another who may soon follow. Geoffrey is pruning the edges of the family tree, isn’t he?”
Agnes shrugged. “Dealing with his enemies. Many of whom, but not all, happen to be cousins.”
“Perhaps I should ask of him to deal with some of my foes,” Ermengarde suggested. “I could use the help.”
“Troubles, dear sister?” Agnes asked.
“Oh, the usual,” Ermengarde said. “Or usual for a misshapen harpy, descended from the devil himself.”
“So usual to our family, then,” Agnes noted.
Ermengarde smiled. “I have missed you greatly, sister.”
“And I you,” Agnes said. “You were always my favorite sister.”
“Oh, you are just saying that,” Ermengarde said. “Well, maybe not, considering our other sisters are a fat, haughty queen and a pox-marked woman who lied to your face.”
“
Family,” Agnes sighed.
“They should be grateful to have escaped our brother’s wrath,” Ermengarde said. She then got down off the chair. “It is a lovely day. We should ride. Oh! We can invite Benoite! I have barely had time to see her since I have arrived!”
Benoite de Bourges and Ermengarde were just a year apart, and while some thought less of the latter due to her dwarfism, Benoite did not. Perhaps it was because she was a bastard - the daughter of Duke Gilles - but she and Ermengarde had always been close.
Yet Ermengarde only took a few steps forward before stumbling. Agnes hurried over to help up her sister, who was clearly feeling the drinks she had been sharing with their brother.
“Perhaps a bit later,” Agnes said. “When your head clears a bit.”
Then to Agnes’ surprise, Ermengarde clutched her tightly in an embrace. “Always looking out for your little sister. How I have missed you, Agnes.”
Agnes helped her up and back to her chair, a little concerned for her sister at the moment.
She knew the 26-year-old Duchess of Flanders had a somewhat difficult life given she was a dwarf. While she had endured teases and foul words in Anjou and Bordeaux, being the daughter of Foulques and the sister to Geoffrey had insulated her. Those protections were gone in Flanders, and Agnes worried they were weighing on her.
“You have mentioned troubles,” Agnes said. “These troubles… relate to Flanders?”
Ermengarde frowned and took another drink. “I am here for a reason.”
That drew a raise of the brow from Agnes. “It is not the war, I assume, you speak of?”
“The war goes well enough,” Ermengarde said. “Perhaps I shall soon be the smallest queen in the history of the Franks. And their greatest monster.”
“You, a monster?” Agnes asked. “Dear, you would not harm a fly.”
Ermengarde smirked. “Let us not go that far, sister. I would harm many in that court, or give my approval to those who would.”
Agnes nodded. “So why are you here?”
“I needed time away from that miserable court,” Ermengarde said. “It is a place where everyday they find new reason to hate me. As I have said, they think me a monster and will go through any length to prove it.
“When I arrived, they said I was a misshapen freak who could never birth Arnulf a child,” Ermengarde said. “Then I grew heavy with child… and they said it would not be born alive. Then I birthed a healthy son… and another last fall. So instead now they claim I am in league with Satan… I am his descendent, after all. Though I suppose I prefer that than when they said I was spawn of the late Count of Mortain… the King Philippe and Duke Alphonse’s old physician Jaspert.”
“Terrible,” Agnes said. “What does Arnulf say?”
“He is two-faced,” Ermengarde said. “He laughs at their mockery in public and scolds me if I make suggestions that his advisors do not like… and they never do.
“But I spend most of my nights in his bed. I have spent most of the time since my wedding with a child in my belly… even if I have managed if just my two sons have been born living.”
“I am sorry to hear of your plight sister,” Agnes said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“I am afraid not,” Ermengarde replied. “They look upon us with skepticism. Part of the reason Arnulf dissolved his friendship with our brother is due to mistrust of us. I will have to manage when I return. But for now, I am grateful not to feel their mocking eyes upon me.”
Agnes raised her cup to that.
“But how are things here?” Ermengarde asked. “I hear Geoffrey has a new… advisor?”
That drew a shake of the head from Agnes. “A child who thinks herself a thousand years old.”
Ermengarde’s eyes widened. “And our brother did not laugh her away… but brought her to Bordeaux?”
Agnes sighed. She did knew this was due to his desperation over his illness - but she did not want to explain that to her half-sister.
“It must be causing quite a stir,” Ermengarde noted.
“Yes, but here that amounts to no more than whispers,” Agnes replied. “And Geoffrey has impressed many here with his capture of our cousin Gilles. It is no secret he has brought him low in a way our father dreamed… but never managed.”
“Yet something else he was outshone father in,” Ermengarde said. “I wonder what he would say, if he could see it? I did not know him as well as you sister. Though, I know he and our brother did not get along.”
“An understatement, that,” Agnes said. She rubbed her chin. “I think father would… deep down, be proud of what Geoffrey has done… what we all have done. All of his children are either lords or consorts to lords or ladies… save myself of course. And I have overseen Aquitaine in Geoffrey’s absence.”
“You say deep down,” Ermengarde said. “But…”
“But to us, he would likely say Geoffrey is simply using the Anjou he built to win his kingdom,” Agnes said. “That Geoffrey was but a minor lord until he gained Anjou’s resources.”
“And what do you say?” Ermengarde asked. “Since you knew them both.”
“I say there is merit to both thoughts,” Agnes replied. “Geoffrey does not exist in isolation, but look no further to our cousin Alberic, the late, failed Duke of Aquitaine, Poitou and Gascony to see how incompetence can ruin even strong.”
“Good timing on that… given how have now told how House de Poitou are scattered like ashes to the wind,” Ermengarde chuckled.
“Aye,” Agnes said.
“But what do you make of this girl?” Ermengarde asked.
“I do not know,” Agnes said. “We are watching her though. For once, the queen and I are in agreement on that. A very, very rare occurrence.”
“Then she truly is a miracle worker,” Ermengarde said.
Her sister’s wit had matured in her years away, Agnes realized.
A good thing, as she likely needs it pointed to handle her situation.
“Well, my dear, how long are you planning to stay?” Agnes asked.
“A few weeks at least,” Ermengarde said. “Perhaps for most of the summer. Arnulf is away, fighting the Franks for that crown. I have no say in the duchy, so I am not needed there.”
“Your eldest?” Agnes asked.
“He is fine,” Ermengarde said. “Revered there, as his father thinks the world of him. I took my youngest with me, for… I fear he is like me.”
Agnes nodded. “Then it is they who should be afraid, for you are a beautiful and wise woman, who they underestimate at their own peril. I imagine your young Luthard will be no different.”
Ermengarde smiled broadly and raised her cup. “Cheers sister.”
…..
Court the next day was a much larger gathering than normal.
Lords from across the realm had flocked to Bordeaux, with nearly every count in the realm present. There were others who were trying to get into the keep, but were unable to, as there was no room.
And as Agnes looked back toward the crowd, she knew it was exactly what Geoffrey wanted.
This throng was here because it was all but promised they would see a grand humiliation of a lord. No, Duke Gilles was not the most powerful man among his peers. In fact, one might argue there was no duke weaker in the current and former realm of the Franks.
But he was a duke. He was of noble blood. He was a cousin to King Geoffrey, nephew to the Iron Duke, cousin to the Duke of Burgundy and Count of Charolais. And it was a rare sight that would have a person of that stature in total humiliation, so few could pass on an opportunity to see it themselves.
Gilles was paraded out from the dungeon, still in the robes he had been captured in weeks before. His mustache and beard were untrimmed and matted with sweat and dirt. He was brought forth in irons, and forced by the guards who escorted him to his knees in front of the dais, where the council stood and the king and queen sat. Agnes, who now normally was in the gallery, found herself up there as well.
Geoffrey, grinning from ear to ear, looked down upon the fallen duke. “Cousin! A pleasure for you to join us on this fine day.”
Gilles looked up. “Whatever you have planned, cousin, be quick about it. I have been made to wait long enough for the headsman, if that is what you desire.”
“Cousin, please, look at this large group of people!” Geoffrey said as he pointed out at the gallery. “They are here to see you! Surely you do not wish to disappoint them - it would look poorly upon you not to care about the interest of the people.”
Gilles glared at Geoffrey but said nothing.
“One might even call you
infamous,” Geoffrey said. “Many a lords have cursed your name for attempting to ruin their daughters… or take their wives. I will not name them, for they have come to me in confidence, but rest assured, they are here. And they hope justice is done.”
Agnes expected Gilles to respond with some charge of hypocrisy. After all, Geoffrey was hardly much better than their cousin.
Yet the Duke of Berry simply remained silent. Perhaps he did not wish to give Geoffrey the show he wanted. Or maybe he thought silence was his best way to survive.
“But there is someone here who has openly suffered as a result of your actions,” Geoffrey said. “My dear sister, Agnes, whom you called a liar and a whore all those years ago, denouncing the child you had sired within her. Even if everyone already knew you were false in your charges, you still found it worthwhile to sully her name.”
Geoffrey looked toward Agnes.
“So here he is sister. The man who demeaned your honor and called you a liar all those years ago. I present him to you as a gift. Do with him as you see fit.”
Yes, here he was. After all this time. It was ages ago, as was apparent as she made the walk toward him.
She was taken back to that night. Her sleek, lithe body practically numb with anticipation - her heart fluttering as she knew she was about to feel what it was like to be a woman grown.
Father does not give me a husband, she thought then.
Perhaps… perhaps Gilles will make me his wife.
Her stomach lurched - the embarrassment over her foolishness still raw decades later. The thoughts of a naive girl. One who would be used, and discarded… like she were nothing.
She remembered Gilles unblemished features, his soft skin, strong, youthful body. Those were long gone now, as his face sagged, wrinkled. Hair gray, eyes more sullen than before. He looked thin, weak almost… not broken or decrepit… just old.
As I am, Agnes remembered.
She felt a pang of sadness… then another of anger… then of regret, remorse… guilt. She looked out to the crowd and called for her daughter Beatrice.
As if the sight of Gilles aged face was not enough to remind her of the distance from that night, Beatrice was. Her bastard daughter, 36 years in age… the same age her grandmother was when she married the Iron Duke.
Beatrice herself had a few lines on her face, the signs of a woman who was no longer young. She remained thin in figure - perhaps the product of not carrying a child to term as her marriage to her cousin Edouard was without issue.
But she was always dutiful, usually respectful these days and she made no exception here as she approached them, head down, only picking it up to look at her mother.
“What do you wish of me, mother?” she asked.
Agnes turned her head toward Gilles. “This is our daughter. Beatrice, this is your lecher of a father.”
Beatrice could barely make eye contact with the Duke of Berry. He looked her over and smirked.
“She looks much like you, cousin,” he replied.
“So you still deny you sired her in me?” Agnes demanded.
Gilles lowered his head for a moment, though when he picked it up, he had a wide, toothy grin.
“Is that what you seek?” Gilles asked. “A restoration of your honor? For me to admit that I am the girl’s father?”
“That is no girl,” Agnes said. “But a woman. And you are not her father, in any way but the act which sired her. It matters little to me - I have moved well beyond a man who is so lecherous a fiend he has spilled his seed into a rosebush. But to my daughter… I want her to hear it.”
Gilles looked at Beatrice, then Agnes and finally to Geoffrey. The smile faded and he lowered his head.
“Aye,” Gilles said. He looked at his daughter. “What is your name, girl?”
“Beatrice,” she replied.
“Ah, that’s right, your mother just said it,” Gilles said. “Well, if you need to hear me say it, then listen well. I laid with your mother that night… or… many nights. I cannot remember at this point. But it is true, that I am your father.”
There were a few gasps in the hall, though anyone who cared to know of their situation understood that was an open secret. But Beatrice, who certainly did know, still had tears welling in her eyes.
“Why did you deny it?” she asked.
“I don’t remember,” Gilles admitted with a shrug. “Perhaps it was because I was promised to Peronelle of Aquitaine and did not wish to risk being forced into being wed to your mother. Or perhaps I just didn’t care to? It was years ago… what does it matter?”
“Mind your tongue cousin,” Geoffrey said. “For if you do not, I will have it cut out.”
Foulquesson, in the gallery stepped forth and removed his blade. “My sword is at the ready, brother.”
Agnes glared at the two of them. It was all a show for her brothers. Yes… she knew Geoffrey did hold a real grudge toward Gilles, as he cared deeply for her and felt obliged to win her honor back.
But all of this… this spectacle… it was mostly for Geoffrey. She could have done this in the dungeon, or in a private quarter. It was being aired to court because her kingly brother wished to give even more weight to Gilles’ capture - to show up their father even more.
And Agnes resented it.
“There is no need for that, brother,” Agnes said as she focused on Foulquesson. “Though I appreciate your defense. It is not necessary, I do not think.”
She leaned into Beatrice and asked if she were alright. Beatrice, still with tears streaming down her cheeks, weakly nodded.
It is hard for her… and she is forced to suffer this in public.
Agnes regretted calling her now… she could have done it later. In the moment though… she did not think clearly. She believed she was thinking clearly now, though… it was time for this charade to end.
“You wished for my judgment, my king, here it is,” Agnes said. “I do not see the worth of killing him. It changes not a thing of what happened in the past.”
Some gasps came from the gallery, many of whom clearly expected blood to be spilled from a powerful woman long scorned.
“He insulted you,” Geoffrey said. “Made a bastard of your poor daughter. Seduced two of the women closest to you, and sired children with then. He is a disgrace.”
“That he is,” Agnes said. “But a disgrace that shall be elevated if we take his life. I will not give him that honor. If you wish to… that is your right as king, brother.”
She saw Geoffrey’s brow arch, followed by a frown as he leaned forward. He probably did wish she would make the pronouncement of death. It would have given him the cover he needed.
He still could do it. Gilles was not nearly beloved enough for him to be widely mourned. But it would ding Geoffrey’s reputation as a fair, just lord.
Perhaps, as he is dying, he will not care, she thought.
Then Geoffrey stood from his chair and brought the hall to quiet.
“Gilles of Berry,” Geoffrey said. “My sister, has the forgiveness of a saint, it appears. And so, I shall honor her wishes, as promised. You are to live and you will be set free… provided your son finds the coin to pay your ransom. You did once for him… I wonder if he shall provide you the same courtesy.”
Gilles said nothing as he eyed Geoffrey and averted his gaze when they found Agnes. Then he was taken up and hauled away.
It wasn’t satisfying. It wasn’t cathartic. And Agnes was left frustrated, and angry.
…..
“You should have killed him,” Geoffrey told her in his chambers afterward.
“No,
you should have,” Agnes said. “Since
you desired it so.”
“I do not understand why you wished forgiveness,” Geoffrey said. “Is it because you thought I should not become a kinslayer?”
“Why must always be about you?” Agnes demanded. “Always about
you. This whole show was about
you.
You wished it.
You desired it.”
“I wanted to make
you happy and whole,” Geoffrey said. “After all these years, it was the least of what could be done.”
“It was the
very least,” Agnes said.
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “You… you insult my generosity? I did this for you!”
“No, you did that for
you,” Agnes said. “If you did it for me, you would have allowed me the chance to see him and speak to him in your dungeon. In private. You did not. This was a show. A game. Nothing more. I played my part, because I am used to it, and accept it. But when I saw Beatrice’s face…”
Agnes’ voice trailed off and she paused to take a breath and gather herself. She then looked at Geoffrey square. “You got what you desired… our cousin humbled. Our father eclipsed. The world knows it… and if not the world, then at least your court. That is what this was. You may tell them otherwise. You may tell me, otherwise. And most of all, you may tell
yourself otherwise. But I know you Geoffrey… far too well to not understand what this was.”
To that, Geoffrey had no reply. He raised his hand and finger as if to rebut her, but no words came. Instead the two remained in silence for a minute.
“Agnes… I did not mean for you to take it this way,” Geoffrey replied.
“No… that I realize,” Agnes said.
He simply thought I would be fine with it, so long as I got my revenge. But…
“Geoffrey, we are similar,” Agnes said. “But I cannot be like you in everything. If I was… I would not have made it to where I am now.”
“He is a bad man,” Geoffrey said. “An evil man. You would not do this normally, but exceptions… is he any better than Adhemar de Limoges?”
Agnes glared at Geoffrey. “So because I have helped kill once, I should do so with impunity?”
“I…” Geoffrey stammered. “I’m sorry, Agnes. That was unworthy of me. Especially since it was father’s fault that you got involved in that. But it was Gilles who… whose actions made you feel it was necessary.”
“I was a woman grown, Geoffrey,” Agnes said. “My choices were my own. As they are now. I need not compound what was done then. Not over something so distant. Something that should have been long buried.”
“Your wisdom shames me,” Geoffrey said. “I am sorry for what I have put you through. You know I would never mean to hurt you.”
He would never mean it, but certainly be oblivious to it, Agnes thought.
There is a difference, but sometimes it felt scant at best.
But, as Agnes said before, there were things she could not do. One was press the matter further. Geoffrey felt guilt and remorse. That battle was won, and now, she would need to play the magnanimous victor.
“Of course, Geoffrey,” Agnes said. “I accept your apology and am grateful you have listened to my concerns. As I said, the matter is in the past. Let us put this current one to bed as well.”
….
But try as she might, Agnes could not put it behind her that night. She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep as memories of her times with Gilles came to mind.
“I would treat you like a queen,” he whispered to her then. “Love you as no other can.”
She felt a longing for what was, and anger at her own naivety in believing his words. He said that, or some form of it, to every woman, she suspected. She was not special. She was no queen to him - she was like all the others, from a duchess to a peasant or servant girl.
And so in the the middle of the night, Agnes donned her robes and made a slow walk to the dungeon.
As she did so, a thought crossed her mind - perhaps she might stumble upon another body.
She only expected Gilles in there, with Patricia having been removed. But she wasn’t sure Geoffrey would not have had him quietly killed, despite her insistence otherwise.
She did not know her brother as bloodthirsty, or that underhanded, but Gilles incited something brazen in him that she rarely saw. So who could be certain?
If there was a dead body to be found, it would take a moment, as once again the guards stood in her path.
This time however, the guard in charge simply lowered his head and made way, allowed her through. But that was not enough.
“Leave me,” Agnes instructed.
One of the guards appeared to want to say something, but thought better of it. The pair then walked off, to the entrance of the dungeon to await their recall.
Agnes made her walk to the cell, when she found Gilles sitting in a corner, head down, at least until she arrived. Then he picked up his head, and eyed her for a moment.
“Did not get enough of my humiliation in your brother’s court?” he asked her. “Come for more?”
Agnes shook her head. “I got little from that, except regret.”
“Oh?” Gilles asked. He stood up and approached the bars. “Then why have you come?”
“I felt the need to,” Agnes admitted. “As to
why I felt that need, I do not know.”
“You must wish to say something,” Gilles told her. “So why don’t you?”
“You are much like my brother, you know,” Agnes said. “Incredibly charming when you wish something. A belittling louse when you do not.”
“Does he know you feel that way?” Gilles asked.
“Yes,” Agnes replied, after which she sighed.
She wanted to ask him if he ever cared for her. Granted, she knew he likely didn’t, which is why she hesitated. To him, she was just an object of desire. Nothing more and once he’d satisfied his lust, he’d moved on. As he did Etiennette, her mother and her daughter. And so many others over the years.
So instead, she asked a similar and yet very different question.
“Why did you desire me?” she wondered. “I was the daughter of a powerful lord - one who was friend to the king and the man of the hour then, months after Rouen. You undertook a great risk. Why?”
“Because you are beautiful and I decided I must have you,” Gilles told her. “Of course, I find many women beautiful and must have them. And have them I have.”
“I see,” Agnes said.
“But, I do think back,” Gilles said. “Sometimes… I wonder what might have happened had I accepted it, acknowledged you as my lover, and pressed your father for your hand. He probably would have given it to save face… the king even suggested such a thing to me.”
“Philippe did?” Agnes asked. She did not know that. “But you refused. You claim you couldn’t truly remember why in court. Was that true?”
“Aquitaine was a more powerful friend,” Gilles said. “Or so I thought, even with Alberic. A mistake… a greater fool the world has never known.”
“You make your lot with them frequently, Gilles,” Agnes said. “As you sit in my brother’s dungeon instead of the foolish Duke of Orleans, who started this war.”
Gilles smirked. “That is why you would have made a good wife. Perhaps I might not be in such a predicament. Perhaps I could have expanded my holdings beyond Bourges.”
“Perhaps,” Agnes said. She eased back from the metal bars. “But I would have been miserable. To endure having a different wench in your bed each month… your score of bastards… no… what a terrible life that would have been.”
“You would have been a duchess,” Gilles replied. “Far more than what you are.”
“I would have been a duchess, yes,” Agnes said. “But
more than what I am? Gilles, I oversaw Anjou and Aquitaine. I bested the Duke of Champagne in battle - one of the few to ever inflict a true defeat upon him. I have the admiration of my sisters… and the powerful Duchess of Toulouse. I know not what I could have been… but what I am is plenty.”
Agnes lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how it was. Momentary bliss… followed by shame. It was a choice she’d made many times since… finding bliss much more lasting, and little, if any embarrassment to follow.
“It’s funny… I would have given so much to be your wife,” she said as she opened her eyes. “Do you remember what you said to me that night we coupled?”
Gilles slowly shook his head. Agnes sighed and shook her own head, unsurprised.
“You said you would treat me as if I were a queen,” she said. “That you would love me as no one else could. And for years, I wondered if that were true.”
Agnes smirked. “But as it turns out, Gilles, it wasn’t. I found that anyway. And you… well… you found this. I pray it was worth it.”
And with that, she turned and signaled the guards to retake their positions. Then she walked from the dungeon, smile on her face as weight she did not even know she had carried was suddenly lifted.
.
