The hall was crowded with Philippe’s vassals, but only Mathieu de Montmorency had the courtesy or the courage to offer her his condolences for the death of her son. Barthélemy de Vend?me, the Archbishop of Tours, was seated on the dais beside Philippe, but he did not look to Eleanor as if he was enjoying the honor. Touraine was part of the Angevin empire, yet the archbishopric of Tours itself was under the French king’s control, and the archbishop was squirming like a man caught between two very hungry wolves.
Her grandson Arthur and his mother were seated on the dais, too, accompanied by Breton lords whom Richard would have called “the usual suspects,” men always eager to dip their oars in troubled waters. For a moment, Eleanor’s eyes rested on the boy. Only twelve, he would be taller than his father when fully grown. In truth, she could see little of Geoffrey in him; he had Constance’s dark eyes and arrogance. Would it have been different—would he have been different—had he been raised at her son’s court as Richard had wanted? The lad was spirited; Richard would have liked that. Her gaze shifted to her former daughter-in-law. Constance was making no effort to hide her hostility. Even now she did not realize that she’d sacrificed Arthur’s bright hopes for a grudge. Eleanor could have told her that revenge had a bittersweet taste, but she’d learn that for herself soon enough.
The presence of Guillaume des Roches amongst the Bretons was troubling, though, for he was an Angevin baron who’d been utterly loyal to Richard. He ought to have pledged himself to her son, not Arthur. She would, she decided, have a word with him ere she departed Tours. But now it was time.
The hall quieted as she stepped forward and began to walk toward the dais. It was customary for an heiress’s husband or sons to do homage in her name, yet now she was defying tradition by doing homage herself. She did not doubt that some of Philippe’s vassals were shocked and indignant that a woman could exercise authority in her own right, independent of a man. At the French court, they were saying that she must be desperate to safeguard her own lands. None would ever have believed she’d have put her duchy before Richard’s interests. She knew it was easier to believe of John.
Reaching the dais, she sank to her knees before the French king, holding her hands up for them to be clasped between his own. “My lady queen, are you willing to become my liege woman?” he asked, his voice as unrevealing as his expression. This was the first time she’d met him face-to-face. His appearance was not regal; he would never command all eyes merely by entering a chamber as Richard had done. But he was the one breathing God’s air and plotting to destroy the Angevin empire, whilst Richard slept in a marble tomb at Fontevrault Abbey. She could feel the pain stirring again and fought it back savagely; she’d have the rest of her life to mourn her son, but not now, not here.
“I am willing, my lord king,” she said composedly, her voice giving away no more than his had done. When he raised her up to give her the kiss that sealed the ceremony, she was not surprised that the lips brushing hers were cold to the touch.
An oath of homage must be followed by one of fealty, and she knelt again as a priest brought out a small reliquary. She wondered what holy relics she’d be swearing upon. Some were more credible than others; she very much doubted that straw from the Christ Child’s manger or nails from his cross had survived so many centuries. Not that it mattered.
“I promise on my faith,” she said, “that I will in future be faithful to King Philippe, not cause him harm, and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”
Only then did Philippe smile.
Eleanor rose to her feet again. All that remained now was the investiture ceremony, in which the French king would formally “return” her domains to her keeping. Male vassals were usually presented with a material symbol such as a scepter or lance. She was curious to see what Philippe would choose for his first female vassal. Most likely a glove. And then it would be done. As his vassal, she would owe Philippe obedience, military aid, and wise counsel, and as her liege lord, he would owe her protection.