“Against All Odds It was long past sundown when we rode into Poitiers. Spring had come to the south. I could hear the birds coo-cooing in the trees and the heavy, seductive smell of blossoms was everywhere. Poitiers, where I had spent the brief years that bridged childhood and womanhood. Poitiers, where I had been close to Eleanor and closer still to Richard. And where Henry had been, mercifully, absent. We had changed horses three times, stopped for bread and cheese and a flagon of ale at a rud...e country inn, and then, riding pell-mell onward, achieved our destination after nightfall. It was not the four-hour ride to Fontrevault I had intended to make when I rose that morning! Although my backside was sore, I discovered, when I finally dismounted in the courtyard of some inn William had chosen just inside the city walls, that my hip no longer pained me as it had at the beginning of my long journey to Canterbury. God’s throat! Was I recovering my bodily youth in all this mindless dashing about?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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