Before Plantagenet - Chapter 52
April 1087 - Anjou, France
It was the largest crowd yet.
Foulques was not surprised by that - after all, he was arriving back in Anjou for the first time since his two victories over the Saxon King Aelfmaer. And every village in his duchy had greeted he, Geoffrey and the procession of knights with celebration and reverence. Still, though he had seen the people and heard their cheers, he could not hold back a smile, especially as he saw the pride in Geoffrey’s face as the teen heard his father’s and his family’s name praised.
It is good to be home.
While travelling from Paris, Foulques had gotten respect at all of their stops. But the celebrations were larger and more jubilant when he reached the Duchy of Anjou. It made sense to him - he was not just their lord - he was a hero of the realm. A great among the Franks - so King Philippe himself had declared.
And here, in his home, everything would be at its greatest. And here, he could truly take part. He already planned to hold a small feast before he returned to his duties as marshal in Melun in a few weeks.
Upon arriving, the crowd allowed Foulques and his main party space so they could make their way into the keep. They were greeted by Foulques’ councilors and Duchess Beatritz, with her niece Aines by her side. Foulques found that odd - he would have expected his daughter Agnes.
“It is good to see you safe and well husband,” Beatritz said as she embraced him.
Foulques was surprised - and disheartened. His wife had grown thin and her complexion almost sickly. It was a far cry from when her weight would affect her gait or make it harder for her to perform certain tasks.
“How do you fare, wife?” Foulques asked her.
“I live,” she said and before he could press her further, she moved over to Geoffrey and squeezed him tightly.
“My son!” she exclaimed. “I hear you took part in battle! How did you fare?”
“I live, mother,” Geoffrey replied.
Beatritz smirked and gave her son a kiss. He was her height now, but Foulques guessed it would not be long before he shot well past her.
While Geoffrey dealt with his happy mother, Foulques noticed that his son's friend’s, Aubry Karling, welcome did not appear as joyous. The teen was greeted by his mother, Ermengarda, not his father Eudes, and then slipped from the crowd along with her.
Oddly, Foulques noticed then that Etiennette was also missing. And unlike her mother, he had not seen her.
Etiennette and Agnes, he thought. Something is not right.
“It is good to see you return safely, my lord,” Aines said to him.
He made eye contact with Aines de Poitou and smiled at her.
And it is good to see you again, he thought.
It was strange to look at her in a way - he wondered again if this was how Beatritz looked in her younger days. And given how Beatritz looked now, he could not help but feel drawn to Aines.
“How do you fare?” Foulques asked her.
“Well, my lord,” Aines said. “My family has taken a liking to this keep. We are treated with more respect here than we were in Limousin - my aunt… excuse me, the duchess, has been very generous.”
“Good,” Foulques said.
“I am happy you return,” Aines said. “When I heard of what you faced in Rouen, I was worried. I prayed for your safe return. And now you have - thank God.”
A smirk formed on his lips.
It did help that she did appear rather inviting.
“My lord,” Mayor Guilhem interrupted, breaking his train of thought. “There is much to discuss. We will need to go over the finances of the duchy and…”
“Did Beatritz not handle such matters?” Foulques asked.
“She has, my lord,” the steward replied. “But… she requested this. She considers it of great import.”
“It can wait,” Foulques said. “I do wish to speak to you about organizing a feast.”
“I expected you might,” the steward said. “Preparations were already started. Within a few days, your feast can begin.”
“Excellent,” Foulques replied.
“Now, about the matter of finances,” the steward continued.
Foulques rolled his eyes. “Are we without gold?”
“No, my lord,” the steward said. “In fact, our coffers are fuller than they have been.”
“Then there is no problem,” Foulques said. He looked to Beatritz. “Wife, where is our daughter?”
The smile that Beatritz had on her face after seeing her husband and son vanished. She shook her head.
“Not here,” she replied. “In private.”
A chill shot down Foulques’ spine. “Is she ill?”
“She is… she is… I...” Beatritz stammered. “Please husband, this is a matter we must discuss privately.”
Foulques was growing frustrated, and concerned. Why could his wife not tell him what was wrong with his daughter? Was it something having to do with Etiennette Karling? Could they both have taken seriously ill? Could one… or both, have died?
He would have pressed her further, but Beatritz had already started back into the keep. Foulques followed, along with Geoffrey. They came to Beatritz’s chambers, where Agnes sat alone on a bench.
“Father!” she exclaimed. But, to Foulques surprise, she remained seated.
It did not make any sense. She seemed healthy.
What is going on, he wondered as Beatritz closed the door behind them.
“What is this matter?” Foulques demanded.
Beatritz sighed. “Our daughter is with child.”
Foulques did not think he heard her right. After all, Agnes was not married. To his knowledge Agnes did not have any suitors in the keep.
But Agnes stood up and tugged her dress tight. Sure enough, her abdomen bulged slightly against the fabric of her dress.
Foulques stormed up to her. “What is the meaning of this? Who did this to you? WHO?”
Tears began to well up in Agnes’ eyes. She muttered weakly: “Duke Gilles.”
“Your cousin?” Foulques demanded. Agnes nodded. “I forbade you to be alone with him! Did I not?”
Agnes again nodded. “I’m so sorry father.”
“You disregarded what I said and laid with him after your brother’s betrothal feast?”
“No father,” Agnes said. “He visited a few weeks later, in January. He told me that he loved me… and that he hated his wife the Duchess because she was so cold and… I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“You are a fool, girl,” he said before turning to Beatritz. “HOW? I told you to make sure he got nowhere near her.”
“I apologize husband,” Beatritz said. “I was bedridden when he arrived. I was not even made aware Gilles was in the keep until the day after he arrived.”
“Bedridden?” Foulques asked.
“Yes,” Beatritz said. “My condition worsens. That is another matter for when we are finished with this.”
Foulques glared at her, before doing the same to Agnes, who was still sobbing, trying to hold back her tears, and failing miserably. Geoffrey appeared uncertain - whether to comfort his sister or shun her.
“Remain here with your sister,” Foulques ordered him. “I must discuss this matter with your mother.”
“I am sorry father,” Agnes said. “You must believe me.”
“Quiet!” Foulques shouted at her. “I do not need or want to hear your apologies. You’ve ruined yourself. I doubt Toulouse will have anything to do with you now.”
In truth, Foulques had barely started discussing the prospect of marrying Agnes to the Duke of Toulouse - the man was still in hiding. But he was angry and said what came to mind.
That sent Agnes into full on tears and sobs as she buried her face in her hands, muttering “I’m sorry father” over and over. It was enough to have Geoffrey walk over to console her, while giving his father a dirty look.
Foulques wished to yell. He wished to curse. He wished to strike something. But since the only things around were stone walls, his sickly wife and pregnant daughter, he restrained himself until he reached his own chambers, followed by Beatritz.
Then he released a tirade, using every swear word he had ever learned, a few he had heard in other languages and one or two he may well have made up.
“I understand your anger husband,” Beatritz said. “But we must deal with the issue.”
“Can she be rid of it?” Foulques asked.
“I… do not know,” Beatritz said. “I have heard women say such things work, but others tell me they are dangerous. I know Agnes does not wish such things.”
“She does not matter,” Foulques said.
“You are angry,” Beatritz said. “As am I. But she remains our daughter. Do you wish her ill?”
Part of Foulques did. But a much larger part knew he could not harm her. She was still his first-born, a child he was not certain he would ever have.
“What do you suggest?” Foulques asked.
“I am uncertain,” Beatritz said.
“A convent?” Foulques asked. Beatritz frowned.
“Do we truly wish to give away a daughter who is still your child?” Beatritz asked. “She is… tainted by this but there are powerful men who would still wed her, after the child is born.”
“So you have nothing for me,” Foulques said.
“There is no simple solution, husband,” Beatritz said.
That was not what he wished to hear. “Leave me.”
“Husband…”
“I said LEAVE!” he bellowed.
Beatritz was surprised enough by the outburst she took a step back. Her face showed her concern and worry, but she did as she was told, shutting the door behind her.
Foulques sank his face into his palm. This was not supposed to be what greeted him upon his return. It was meant to be celebration and adulation. This was nothing but a headache.
Perhaps I should return to war, he thought.
But, he knew that was not an option. For the first time in a decade, the realm was at peace.
…..
When Foulques drew up a list of possible distractions from his problems, this was certainly one of the best.
Alearde has just turned 31 years. She was now a mother. And she had dealt with the stress of having the duchess essentially disown her.
But she remained beautiful. Perhaps even more so than she was when Foulques first seduced her… some 15 years before.
It was true that while his mind used to be monopolized by fantasies of being with Alearde, more and more Aines found her way into his thoughts. But he could not deny that his time with Alearde was nearly always enjoyable. She understood him, in both mind and body.
Now she slinked away from the bed, her naked form on display in the candlelight. She was a little heavier now, though her station and activity limited how much weight she could gain, and she had marks indicating her motherhood. He cared not, instead smiling when she crawled back into bed wine for him in hand.
“How is it that when I leave you only grow more beautiful?” he asked.
She blushed. “You flatter me more than I deserve. I think you just miss seeing a woman on campaign.”
It was somewhat true. Foulques did not see that many women - and the ones he did were often in a poor state after the sacking of a keep or town.
He pulled her close, enjoying the touch of her soft skin on his. With those beautiful eyes and smile that he fell in love with years before, she looked up at him.
“I ask you a favor, my lord,” Alearde said.
“What is it?”
“It is a difficult subject,” she said. “It involves your troubles.”
He looked away. “Agnes.”
“I merely ask you show leniency to her,” Alearde said. “She is young and was naive. She is not the first woman your nephew has ensnared. Nor is she the last.”
“If you speak of Etiennette Karling,” Foulques said. “I am aware.”
As it turned out, Etiennette was also with child, further along than Agnes. He learned the girl had been seduced while Gilles had stayed during the betrothal.
It had been a tumultuous month for the Karling clan. Eudes had died in March, with Aubry only learning of it, along with his sister’s pregnancy, upon his arrival.
“There are others,” Alearde said. “Rumors even speak to the Duchess of Flanders.”
Foulques raised his eyebrows. “Wife of Boudewijn? Is he aware?”
“I know not,” Alearde said. “Perhaps he is in denial. Or maybe he knows but says nothing for his reputation. Admitting to losing your wife to the bed of a fellow duke… it does not do wonders for a man who fancies himself a king.”
Foulques stroked his beard. It was an interesting tidbit. But it hardly helped him with Agnes’ situation.
“So I am to show leniency to my daughter because she is one of
many fools?” Foulques asked.
“No, you are to show leniency because you care about her,” Alearde said. “And because you are within your rights not to aid her at all.”
“Explain,” Foulques said.
“Do you know why I risk your wrath by speaking for her?” Alearde asked. “Because she once did the same for me, when I grew heavy with Belle. She did not have to, but she drew the ire of the duchess on my behalf.”
“So now you would do the same for her,” Foulques said.
“Yes,” Alearde said. “And if you are kind to her now, she will never forget it. Because she believes she is going to suffer.”
“So I am to give her no punishment?” Foulques asked. “I cannot abide by that. She ruins this family!”
“I imagine she will be kept largely in this keep as the child grows within her,” Alearde said. “And she will still carry the shame when it is born. To say she carries with her no punishment… is not true.”
“Her crime is great,” Foulques said.
“And her guilt and shame greater,” Alearde said. “But consider this - if you give her leniency, she will be loyal to you for as long as she remains here. And when you find her a proper husband, you will have an agent in his court, should you need it.”
“If I can find her a proper husband,” Foulques said.
“She remains your daughter,” Alearde said. “Just as the duchess had her faults when you wed her, so too will Agnes. And just as Guilhem of Aquitaine was too valuable an ally to ignore, so shall you be.”
Foulques stroked his beard. There was truth in what she said. He was angry with Agnes, but… sending her to a convent, which would have made the most sense, may not be the best solution. He did not wish to be rid of her. And she still had some value.
“I will think on this,” Foulques said.
“That is all I ask,” Alearde said.
“I thought you asked for her forgiveness,” Foulques said.
Alearde smiled. “I stand corrected. I ask you to consider. But I
beg you for her forgiveness.”
Foulques pulled Alearde close and kissed her neck. She pushed him back onto the bed and went back to work.
….
The feast should have been more enjoyable.
Despite being put together rather quickly, it had most of what Foulques could have wanted. Wine, some from Champagne, gift of the Duke Philipp. It had its share of meats - a hunt for boar led by Leon had even managed to secure two, despite Foulques doubting the odds of success. He was pleased about that - Beatritz was able to enjoy it once more.
But he could not shake the reminders the troubles around him.
For one, he sat alone now. Beatritz had retired early, not long after eating. She felt unwell - and Foulques was not in any position to demand her remain.
For once he wished she would be her old self, stuffing her face on the assorted meats and drinking enough wine to stumble her way back to her chambers, where he would take her… but those days were past. Possibly forever.
And then there was Agnes. He had come around to Alearde’s pleas and decided to allow her to remain in Anjou, with her bastard child. He had yet to inform her of his decision, though he would before he departed.
However, she was not in the hall now for this feast - barred as per her parents orders. Foulques had briefly wondered what would happen if she decided to test them, but Beatritz and Alearde had both assured him separately that Agnes was in no state to.
It was hardly a good feeling to know his daughter was alone, pregnant with his nephew’s bastard, and he had little power to do anything about it.
Foulques drank down his goblet of wine. He had half a mind to raise his levies and march on Duke Gilles. But such things would be frowned upon. Even if Philippe might excuse it, the rest of dukes, and possibly others, would not take kindly to it.
“Is this seat taken?”
Foulques looked up to see Aines smiling at him. He motioned for her to sit.
“You seem in deep thought,” she said.
“I return to troubling things,” he replied.
“Ah, that business,” Aines said. “The duchess has told me.”
“Of what?”
“Of your daughter,” Aines said. “Of the child your nephew put in her belly.”
“The duchess tells you such things?”
“I speak with her often,” Aines said. “We are family.”
Foulques scowled as he looked for more wine. Aines smiled and took his goblet, refilled it and then returned to him.
“You need not worry,” Aines said. “I have told no one. Not even my husband.”
Foulques took the goblet from her. “I am surprised.”
“You should not,” Aines said. “He seeks favor and cannot be trusted.”
“You would betray your husband in that manner?” Foulques asked.
“My husband has provided me with nothing,” Aines said. “You and the duchess have given us a home. You have graciously offered young Geoffrey to my Margaurite. I am no fool. I know where my loyalty must lay.”
“You hate your husband,” Foulques said.
“I think as little of him as he thinks of me,” Aines said. “Which is often the way of things in marriage.”
Now it was Aines turn to gulp down a large helping of wine. “I admit, Duke Foulques, I am envious of you. God shows you favor.”
“You believe I am blessed?” Foulques asked.
“You do not?” Aines asked. “Look at all you have accomplished. You even fathered a son with my aunt, though most thought her too old to ever produce a child, let alone two. A boy who grows strong… and one day may be able call half the realm his own.
“Then I look at myself - for years I thought myself the future Duchess of Aquitaine. Then my brother is born, I am given a husband who cannot find his way to anything beside bending over to kiss the behinds of different lords, hoping they throw him scraps.”
Aines shuddered, finished off her wine and slammed the goblet down. “I was forced to marry a dog, not a man. A cruel, brutal dog, who hates his life and takes it out on me.”
“I am sorry to hear such things,” Foulques said. “You certainly deserve better.”
“But God deems I do not,” Aines said. “Which is why I find myself envious of you, and your family.”
“A dangerous thing to admit,” Foulques said. “Envy is a sin.”
Aines laughed. “I do not think you concern yourself with that - if my aunt is to be believed.”
Foulques shook his head.
Beatritz was certainly chatty with her niece.
“I think you underestimate my part in achieving what I have,” Foulques said as he sipped his wine. “I was but a Count of Tours, the single county. Today I am the Duke of Anjou, ruler of five counties, some of which belonged to the King of the Bretons. I am the marshal of the King of the Franks, who has defeated the English when he was needed most. I did not wait for those things to be handed to me. I took them.”
“And you think God had nothing to do with any of that?” Aines asked.
“I would never say as much,” Foulques said. “But what is the expression our Lord Christ once said? God helps those who help themselves?”
Aines smirked. “I do not know if that is what Christ meant by such things. But then, I am no priest.”
She looked out and saw Adhemar. She bowed her head.
“I must leave you for now Duke Foulques,” she said. “Or my husband will think you aim to bed me. And I do not wish to promote such a thought.”
Foulques smiled as he watched her walk off, enjoying the sway of her hips as she did so. He did wish it, even if he would not.
For now, anyway.
