by Jean Plaidy
They walked in the gardens of the castle together. She showed him the flowers and the herbs which grew in the South. She told him how it was possible to make cures and ointments, lotions to beautify the skin and make the eyes shine, a draught to stir a reluctant lover.
‘Dost think that I shall need to make one for you -‘
He caught her hand and looked into her face.
‘No,’ he said, vehemently. ‘That will not be necessary.’
‘Then you find my charms enough for you, my lord?’
‘Enough indeed.’
‘So that you long for our marriage?’
‘I yearn for the day,’ he told her.
She drew back, laughing at him.
Not bad for my monk, she confided afterwards to Petronelle.
The Abbe Suger, seeing how their relationship was ripening, believed there should be no delaying the marriage. It was true Eleonore was in mourning for her father’s recent death but this was a State marriage and the sooner it was solemnised the better for everyone concerned.
He mentioned this to the Prince and was amazed by the alacrity with which he - once so reluctant - agreed.
‘The Duchess of Aquitaine is an enchantress,’ said the Abbe.
It was July when the wedding took place.
Eleonore’s women dressed her in her glittering wedding gown and she wore her long hair flowing. She sat on her glitteringly caparisoned horse and rode through the streets of Bordeaux to Saint Andrew’s Church where the ceremony was to be performed by the Archbishop of Bordeaux. What a day of triumph for the bride! Only a year ago she had wondered whether she would be robbed of her inheritance by a half-brother. But Fate had intervened. No one could come between her and her ambition now.
She was exultant and only a little sad that she had had to come to her triumph through the death of a father who, in her way, she had loved well enough. But there was no doubt of her success.
Duchess of Aquitaine with none to dispute her claim and soon - she believed very soon and so did everyone else - Queen of France.
Eleonore blossomed. Sensual in the extreme she found marriage to her taste. Poor Louis was a little less ardent - although there was no doubt that he loved her with a deeper emotion than she could muster for him. Eleonore loved love; she had known she would when as a very young girl she had sung of it in the gardens. There, love had been glorified - romantic love. She wanted that, but she wanted physical love as well. She it was who led the way in passion. She might have been experienced in such arts; this was not the case; he was her first lover; but with her there was a natural knowledge and understanding.
They were glorious summer days, spent in watching the celebrations for their wedding and nights spent in making love.
There was music and singing and Eleonore was initiating him into an appreciation for the chansons and poems at which she excelled. It was a delightful existence but of course it could not continue. The contests and tournaments in the castle grounds must come to an end, for the Prince must return to Paris with his bride.
She had through him become the Princess of France; through her he must become the Duke of Aquitaine.
Everywhere they went they were met by rejoicing crowds. Such an alliance all knew could bring nothing but good. The people of Aquitaine could shelter beneath the golden lilies of France and the kingdom of France had gathered a powerful neighbour into its eager embrace.
This could only mean more hopes of peace and as what was more dreaded than anything by the humble people were armies invading their homes and carrying off their goods and women, this was a desirable state of affairs.
They had reached Poitiers and were enjoying a great welcome there, when the Abbe Suger came to their apartment in the castle where they had been given hospitality, and it was clear from his expression that he was the bearer of ill news.
He was not a man to break bad news gently.
He bowed low. ‘Long live the King!’ he said.
And Louis knew that his fears were realised and Eleonore that her ambition was achieved.
Her husband was now the King and she was the Queen of France.
‘So my father has gone,’ said Louis blankly.
‘He passed away in great discomfort of body,’ said the Abbe. ‘But his pains are past. If you would obey his wishes you will rule as he would have wished - that is wisely and well.’
‘That I shall endeavour to do with all my heart and mind,’ replied Louis fervently.
The carefree honeymoon was over though. There were too many warring elements in the country for the young Louis to be accepted without opposition.
It was not that the people of France wished to put up another king in Louis’s place. Louis the Fat had kept them in order but he had not always given them what they considered their due. Now that a young and inexperienced boy was on the throne was the time to demand those rights.
A few days after the news of Louis VI’s death reached the wedding party there was further news. This time of a rising in Orleans.
Abbe Suger told the new King that now was the time to assert his authority. How he acted now was of the utmost importance. He must show his people that while he would be a benevolent ruler he would be a firm one. He must say au revoir to his bride and go with all speed to Orleans and from there to Paris. Eleonore and her court should follow him at a more leisurely pace.
Louis, less disturbed by events than a short while before he would have believed possible, rode with his army to Orleans. He must act in a kingly fashion; he would not wish Eleonore to despise him for he knew that she, who was so strong and forceful herself, would indeed despise weakness. So he must not be weak.
He prayed earnestly for wisdom to make the right decision and the strength to put it into execution.
He would carry a flower Eleonore had given him - a rose from the gardens at Ombriere. She herself had plucked it and pressed it. He must carry it near his heart she had told him; he had been enchanted with the mixture of romanticism and sensuality which made up his wife’s character, and her insistence that the laws of chivalry should be obeyed. She fascinated him, she who was so determined to be treated as a tender woman and at the same time so eager to be obeyed. She would expect him to come through this new ordeal with honour.
So he rode at the head of his troops, and how delighted he was that the citizens of Orleans, seeing him come with his army, quailed before his might, and instead of insisting on their dues craved pardon for their insolence in making demands to their liege lord.
An easy conquest and he had no desire to be harsh; his advisers insisted that one or two leaders of the rebellion were executed but he would not allow others to be punished. He even granted some of the reforms for which they had originally asked.
The people of Orleans cheered him. In the very streets where they had banded together and sought a plot against him they now called: ‘Vive le Roi.’
That matter was settled. Louis rode on to Paris and there he was joined by Eleonore. The reunion was tender; they had missed each other sadly.
‘Now we must think of the coronation,’ declared Eleonore.
By December of that year the celebrations had been planned and the great event took place.
What a long way she had come in one short year! thought Eleonore with gratification.
Chapter II
PETRONELLE AND THE COUNT
She was briefly content. She was Queen of France, the leader of the court, adored by the King, worshipped by those whom she gathered together that she might instruct them in the rules of chivalry. She surrounded herself with poets and troubadours. To win favour a man must be possessed of exquisite manners; he must know the rules of the Courts of Love; he must be able to express himself with grace and if he had a good singing voice so much the better.
She was the judge of the literary efforts; she applauded or derided. During the summer days she would sit in the grounds of the castle surrounded by young men and women, and she would impart to them her p
hilosophy of life.
The girls must obey her, admire her and emulate her as best they could so that they were pale shadows of herself, and she might shine the more because of this. The young men must all be in love with her, yearn for her favours and be ready to die for them, and she would be gracious or remote; and never must their passion waver. They must write their verses, sing their songs to her; they must mingle talent with desire. She was determined that the court of France must be the most elegant in the world.
There was Petronelle growing up very quickly like a forced flower in this over-heated atmosphere. Men made verses and sang their songs to her for after all she was almost as beautiful as Eleonore, and was her sister.
How much more exciting it was to live at the court of France than that of Aquitaine, to be a Queen instead of the heiress of a Duke, providing he did not get himself a son.
It had worked out very well.
Petronelle, following Eleonore in all things, was growing more and more impatient of her youth.
‘We should find a husband for Petronelle,’ said Eleonore to the King.
‘Why, she is a child yet,’ said Louis. Poor blind Louis, thought Eleonore, the King who knew so little!
‘Some reach maturity earlier than others. Methinks Petronelle has reached hers.’
‘Think you so then? Mayhap you should talk to her, prepare her. She should be awakened gradually to what taking a husband would mean. It could be a shock for an innocent girl.’
Eleonore smiled but she did not tell him of the conversations she and Petronelle had together, and had had for many years. Petronelle was no innocent. A virgin perhaps but how long would she remain so if they did not get her married?
Louis judged others by himself. His innocence was attractive to her … at this time … though she had begun to wonder whether it would pall. Sometimes her gaze would stray to older men, men experienced, with many an amorous adventure behind them, and she was just a little impatient with the naivety of her husband. But it still amused her to be the leader in their relationship, to lure him to passion of which he would never have believed himself capable.
So she did not enlighten him about Petronelle. At the same time she believed it was time to find a husband for her sister.
Petronelle was not of a nature to wait for others to arrange her affairs.
Like her sister she loved the sensuous strumming of the musical instruments and the languorous words hinting at love.
To be young was frustrating. It always had been. And having a fascinating sister such as Eleonore did not help her to bear her lot more easily.
Eleonore had promised her that she would find a husband for her, but the King thought she was too young as yet.
‘Too young,’ groaned Petronelle. ‘The King believes everyone to be as cold-blooded as himself.’
‘Have patience, little sister,’ cautioned Eleonore. ‘I am not of that opinion. I know that if we do not give you a husband soon you will take a lover. But have a care. It is always wiser to have a husband first. That would seem to entitle you to lovers. But a lover first … I believe that might be a little shocking.’
‘You are always singing of love,’ cried Petronelle. ‘What is the use of that?’
Eleonore could only repeat her caution, adding: ‘Have patience.’
She herself had little of that useful virtue. She wanted excitement. Was she growing tired of holding court, of spending her nights with her serious young husband?
While she was pondering on how soon she could find a suitable husband for Petronelle and get the girl safely married, there were signs of unrest in the country. She had always been interested in increasing her power and the elevation from Duchess to Queen had enthralled her. It had been the dream of many a King of France to extend his territory throughout the entire country. Normandy, of course, was firmly in the hands of the King of England - well, perhaps not firmly, for the Count of Anjou would never accept the fact that it did not belong to his wife, Matilda, and as they had a son, naturally they would wish to restore it to him.
At this time Stephen of Blois had taken the crown of England, and it seemed very likely that he would hold it although England was not in a very happy state. Matilda, whom many believed was the true heiress, for she was the daughter of the late King Henry I, whereas Stephen was merely his nephew, would never cease to urge her husband and son to bestir themselves to get back their dues.
Suffice it then that Eleonore and Louis leave Normandy out of their calculations. But what of Toulouse? The fact that the Counts of Toulouse asserted that they were the true rulers of that province had always rankled with Eleonore. Her grandfather had married Philippa of Toulouse, and Eleonore maintained that through this marriage Toulouse had passed to Aquitaine.
Eleonore discussed this with Louis. He saw the point.
‘Mind you,’ he temporised, ‘I doubt whether the Count would agree with us.’
‘It is not a matter for him to agree or disagree about. The fact is I have a right to Toulouse through my grandfather’s marriage and I see no reason why I should waive it.’
‘Why did your grandfather and father never take it?’ asked Louis.
Eleonore shrugged impatiently. She did not wish to recall that neither her father nor her grandfather had been noted for their success in battle. Her father had been somewhat inept politically and her grandfather had been more interested in the conquest of women than territory.
She however was more ambitious. Within her there still burned the resentment engendered by her father’s desire to displace a forceful young woman, possessed of all the attributes a ruler should have, for the sake of an unborn child merely because he might be a boy.
‘The fact that they allowed others to take that which was theirs does not mean that we should.’
Louis was uneasy. She could have shaken him.
‘But Toulouse has been independent for many years.’
‘I know, I know! When my grandfather went crusading he put it into the care of Raymond Saint-Gilles. It was to be a temporary measure.’
‘But it has remained in his family ever since.’
How impatient he made her! She frowned and then allowed her smile to become tenderly exasperating. ‘My dear, dear Louis, you are so gentle, always ready to defend your enemies. I love you for it, of course, but it is no way to rule.’
He could not endure her disappointment in him. She had ensnared him completely. Sometimes he wondered whether she had given him one of those potions she had once mentioned. He could not bear that she should not admire him. It was true that he needed to be war-like. His father had warned him that he must be strong and that it might be doubly hard for him, brought up as he had been to be a priest.
‘What do you suggest we do, Eleonore?’
Her smile was radiant.
‘First you will summon all your vassals to court. There you will tell them that you intend to wage war on Toulouse for what belongs to the Crown through your marriage shall be brought to it. You will tell them that you expect - nay demand - their support. It is your due and their duty. Are they not your vassals?’
‘Eleonore, I confess the thought of going to war disturbs me.’
‘That is a feeling you will have to overcome, my King.’
‘Of course I have you always at my side.’
She took his hand and smiled dazzlingly.
‘Always,’ she assured him, ‘to help and comfort you.’
He certainly felt much comforted.
In the gardens were gathered about Eleonore the ladies and gentlemen of the court. There were young girls whose families had sent them to the Queen to be schooled in all the graces and accomplishments they could find nowhere else. Eleonore delighted in these young people. Her love of power was, even in this small way, satisfied. These young people regarded her as their teacher. Under her guidance they made their gowns; they sang, they composed music and songs; and they learned to play chess. Eleonore could not bear the illiterate near her. Sh
e herself had been taught to read and write and she believed it to be an important part of every girl’s education - as well as that of boys. She was determined that there should be no discrimination against her sex. Never would she forget that she could have been diverted from a very brilliant future merely because she was female.
These hours when she ruled over her own little court were her relaxation. Anyone who composed a poem or a song would submit it for her approval; she would then have it read aloud or sung as the case might be, and deliver judgement.
She was determined to uphold chivalry and this meant the adoration of the female. A man must be prepared to woo the lady of his choice; he must be grateful for her smiles; he must be prepared to wait for the fulfilment of love. He must fight for his lady and die for her if need be. This was the essence of romantic love.
Eleonore was sensuous in the extreme but her sensuality was tinged with romance. She was as deeply aware of the virile men of her little court as they were of her. Often she allowed herself to imagine taking them as lovers. That would have given her immense satisfaction. How sad that a queen could not indulge in such romantic attachments. The duty of a queen was to provide the heir to the throne and even she - law unto herself that she might be - was aware that there must be no doubt as to the paternity of the heir of France.
There was one man who attracted her very much and this was Louis’s cousin Raoul, the Count of Vermandois. He was not exactly young; but he had a powerful personality and a reputation for his conquests not only in war but in love.
Often he would sit at Eleonore’s feet and woo her with his eyes, his gestures and the longing in his voice. There was no doubt that Raoul was inviting her to throw aside her scruples. He did not actually say so; he was wise enough to know that in Eleonore’s courts of love there must be no crudity. Hints were far more exciting than bald words; and he had made his feelings clear through those.
