by Jean Plaidy
‘I feared you were lost at sea,’ he told her.
She smiled wanly and thought: I hoped you were. But she was too weak to indulge in vituperation.
‘I thought my end had come,’ he said, ‘when one of Manuel’s ships overtook us, boarded us, and I became a prisoner of the Greek Emperor.’
‘If you had joined with my uncle against him that would not have happened,’ she reminded him.
‘God was with me,’ went on Louis. ‘He made that clear when he sent the Sicilians to capture the Greek ship which was carrying me.’
‘So you became the prisoner of the Sicilians instead of the Greeks,’ she said coldly.
‘Indeed I was not. The King of Sicily treated me as an honoured guest.’
‘He had attacked the Greeks. He had seen that this was the wise thing to do … as Raymond did.’
‘Oh wars!’ said Louis. ‘Little good ever came of them.’
‘Except that kings gained their crowns through them and prevented others from taking them.’
‘The King of Sicily gave me ships that I might come to Naples and meet you here as we had arranged. It was God’s will that he should rescue me from the Greeks. Eleonore, we have suffered much, both of us. God has been good to us. Let us forget our differences.’
She turned her face to the wall.
‘We have a daughter,’ continued Louis. ‘We will have more children … sons. Eleonore, we must try to be good parents to our daughter. We must get a male heir. Let us start again.’
‘I am determined to be free,’ said Eleonore. ‘And while we are here we must go to Rome and see the Pope.’
Louis shook his head.
‘I had hoped,’ he said, ‘that in view of everything that has happened we might forget our differences.’
‘It is because of what has happened that I remember them,’ said Eleonore.
And Louis knew she was adamant.
Louis was bewildered. He was torn between two emotions. His love for Eleonore was one and the other his desire for a peaceful life.
His feelings astonished him. He could not understand the power Eleonore had over him. She with her sensuous demanding body might have been repulsive to a man of his aesthetic tastes. Not so. In her presence he felt stimulated and he had come to the conclusion that unhappy as she made him he was more so without her. He knew that if she had her way and there was a divorce, duty would demand that he married elsewhere. He did not want that. What he prayed for was a reconciliation with his wife. Yet he knew that if he could have escaped from this strange power she exerted, if he could have given himself up to a life of meditation and prayer he would have been a contented man. How ironical that there were men of ambition who longed above all things for a crown, while one such as himself who had had that crown thrust on him would have given a great deal to be able to pass it on to someone else.
Suger was writing urgent letters from Paris. He had heard of the scandals surrounding the Queen and the talk that a divorce had been suggested.
Did Louis understand the full implications of this? What of his daughter? If he were wise he would seek a reconciliation with the Queen and at least do nothing until he returned to Paris and discussed the situation with Suger himself.
To shelve the matter suited Louis. He hated to make big decisions. Let it wait. There was always hope that the difficulties could be smoothed out. Eleonore was too weak now to indulge in sensational love affairs such as those she was said to have enjoyed with her uncle and Saladin. She had suffered more than he had by the sea voyage in spite of his capture and release.
‘We must do nothing rash,’ said Louis. ‘We must get back to Paris and there we will see if a solution can be reached which will be satisfactory to us both.’
Eleonore, her energy drained by her recent ordeals, agreed with unusual meekness.
Pope Eugenius III, being in exile from Rome, was in residence at Tusculum where he gave separate audiences to both Louis and Eleonore.
He had problems of his own but he was prepared to give great consideration to the dilemma of a man as powerful and as devoted to the Church as the King of France.
It was his opinion that a divorce would be disastrous, and he told Louis this. Louis was in complete agreement with him.
It was not so easy to convince Eleonore.
The Pope received her with a show of affection and told her that he deplored the nature of her problem. The Queen of France had duties to her country. She could not indulge in light and frivolous conduct, and this was what she would do if she asked for a divorce.
Why did she need a divorce? Because she no longer loved her husband? She must then pray for the return of that love. She must remember that her husband was the King of France. Could she not see that the fortune of France was bound up in the life of its King and Queen? It was her duty to love her husband; to give heirs to the country.
Eleonore pointed out that she and Louis were closely related. Louis was her fourth cousin. It was small wonder that in such circumstances there should have been only one child of the marriage.
The Pope stressed her duty. It would be sinful for her to seek a divorce from Louis. It would displease God, and in view of her recent conduct - if rumour did not lie - she was in urgent need of his clemency.
There was no doubt that Eugenius was a powerful persuader. Moreover he was the Pope and his very office put an aura about him of which even Eleonore could not be unaware.
He talked eloquently of the need to do one’s duty, of the eternal damnation which was awaiting those who failed in this, of the heavenly bliss which was the lot of those who succeeded. It was true that she felt ill, drained of her usual abundant energy. She found herself kneeling in prayer and promising to give her marriage another chance.
That night in the Pope’s palace at Tusculum she shared Louis’s bed once more; and it seemed like the blessing of Heaven when, being by this time on the way back to Paris, she discovered that she had conceived.
Pregnancy brought a certain contentment. She found reunion with little Marie a pleasure. She was surprised that she should have these strong maternal feelings. They compensated her for so much.
Her feelings towards Louis had not changed and she felt angry because she had been lured back to him. She often thought of what might have happened if she had not been persuaded by the Pope. There could have been another marriage. She had much to bring a bridegroom. Beauty, experience, sensuality and rich lands. What more could any woman offer?
Often she thought of Raymond, and wondered what would have happened if she had divorced Louis and married Saladin. He had been an exciting lover, perhaps that was due to the strangeness of him, the fact that he was an infidel. But in her heart it was Raymond whom she had preferred - her own uncle. Well, perhaps that was why they understood each other so well. He was certainly the handsomest man she had ever seen or was ever likely to.
She had heard news of him, how disappointed he was that Louis would not help him in his fight to drive the Saracens from the land about Antioch, which was the road to Jerusalem, and that he had decided to go into battle without the allies he had hoped for. She wished him well. He had convinced her how necessary it was to make the land safe for Christians, necessary not only for pilgrims of the future but for Raymond himself if he were to hold Antioch.
For the time though she could enjoy a calm serenity while she awaited the birth of her child.
And the day came when this child was born. It was another girl! Louis was bitterly disappointed. If he had been given a son he believed that this would have been a sign of his reconciliation with God. His crusade had been a bitter disappointment both costly and purposeless. Little good had come out of it - so little that he need never have done it. The cries of those condemned to the flame at Vitry still rang in his ears; he had come near to losing his wife and had discovered an unbridled sensuality in her nature which did not stop her from acting criminally. That had been a bitter voyage of discovery. Yet he had suffered, and he hope
d found favour in the sight of God, and some forgiveness of his sins. If he had been given a son he could have convinced himself that God was smiling on him.
But a daughter!
Eleonore suffered no such disappointment. As heiress of Aquitaine she would not accept the general belief that boys were superior to girls. She was content with her little girl.
The child was christened Alix.
For a short while she could give herself up to the pleasures of motherhood. She could have little Marie at her bedside and show her the baby, delighting in her children in a manner which astonished those about her.
It would not last of course. She was weak from her confinement, and fascinated by the role of motherhood. She must make a song about it. It was as beautiful as the emotions one felt for a lover.
She hoped she would have many children - boys as well as girls.
But not with Louis.
Somewhere in her mind she knew that the idea of divorce had only been set aside by her. She would return to it.
One of her women brought her the terrible news. It came through Galeran, the eunuch. He had told the woman that he thought the Queen would wish to know.
In the fighting round Antioch, Raymond had been killed and the Saracens had sent his head to the Caliph of Baghdad.
When she heard this news she listened, her eyes dilated. Raymond dead. She pictured the head she had so often caressed, held high and mocked - that beautiful head!
She had loved Raymond. He was her own flesh and blood. He had been more than a lover.
And if Louis had been a man, if he had done his duty and fought side by side with Raymond, this might never have happened.
Then she fell to thinking of the humiliating manner in which she had been taken from Antioch, abducted one might say. How could she ever have believed she could live in amity with a man who had treated her so.
She was aroused from the lethargy which had possessed her since that fearful journey by sea to Naples, where she had suffered so that all her strength was sapped from her.
‘Who gave you this news?’ she asked.
‘It was Thierry Galeran, my lady. He thought you would wish to know.’
Galeran! That despised eunuch! That half man! A fit companion for Louis! He thought she ought to know. He was exulting in her wretchedness. He it was who had spied on her and Raymond, and carried tales to Louis.
‘I will not stay here,’ she promised herself. ‘I will divorce Louis.’
The more she considered the matter the more determined she became. She should never have allowed the Pope to persuade her to continue with her marriage. It had been against her judgement and she would never have agreed had she not been sick. That terrible sea voyage had upset her more than she had realised; and now here she was with two daughters and a husband whom she despised.
She was determined to bring up once more the matter of the divorce.
She did not realise that she could scarcely do this while Louis was beset by conflict on all sides. In the first place his brother Robert, a very ambitious young man who had never stopped railing against fate for bringing him into the world after his brother Louis when he would have made a much more suitable king, was roaming the country calling people to his banner. He would be able to rule France, he assured them; he was strong; his brother was a weakling who was never meant to be king. Nor had Robert for that matter. But who could have guessed that Philippe their brother should have been robbed of his crown and earthly glory by a common pig? The fact was that France must have a king and Louis was at heart a monk. Robert believed that for the good of the country Louis should be deposed, sent back to the Church and he, Robert, set up as king.
Louis was deeply distressed. Not another war, he prayed. And brother fighting against brother was distressing. He wanted no more Vitrys.
That matter was quickly settled by the people of France. They did not want ambitious Robert; they preferred Louis. Louis was a good man. Hadn’t he just returned from the Holy Land? God would surely be on his side, and to wage war on him would be tantamount to waging war against God.
They would remain loyal to Louis; they would pray that he would give them a male heir soon, and then they would be sure that they were doing God’s will.
So while Louis was engaged in this conflict it was not possible to talk to him of a divorce. But she was determined to.
Then there was another conflict.
Normandy had always been a source of anxiety to the Crown of France. The Dukes were too powerful, mainly because since William the Conqueror had become the King of England, while remaining Duke of Normandy, there was the might of England to contend with. Now Geoffrey Plantagenet laid claim to the dukedom.
Geoffrey at a very early age had been married to Matilda, the daughter of King Henry I of England. The marriage had been a disaster, for husband and wife had had no regard for each other from the beginning. Matilda, a stormy, passionate, arrogant woman, who believed she had a right to the throne of England - and indeed she had for she was the only legitimate issue of King Henry - was ten years older than Geoffrey and at the time of their marriage he had been only fifteen. Matilda had at first refused to live with him and had spent scarcely any time in his company. However she had later been prevailed upon to stay long enough with him to produce three sons.
The eldest of these was a youth - christened Henry - who was already making a name for himself as a soldier and one with the necessary qualities to rule. Matilda, who would never have any regard for her husband, doted on this son and had made up her mind that he would one day become King of England. This was her only consolation. She had failed to wrest the crown from Stephen but her son should inherit what was his by right.
Louis, as King of France, was outside the quarrel between Matilda and Stephen, but ever since the burning of the church at Vitry, Louis had shown great friendship for Theobald of Champagne and his family. Theobald’s son, Henry, had joined the crusade and during that adventurous period Louis had kept the young man at his side.
Theobald was the elder brother of Stephen, King of England, and Stephen had a son Eustace. Knowing of the terrible remorse Louis had suffered through the burning of Vitry, Stephen thought it a good idea to get his brother Theobald and his nephew Henry to persuade Louis to help him secure Normandy for his son Eustace.
Thus it was that Henry of Champagne gradually began to persuade the King of France that he should favour the cause of Eustace against that of Geoffrey of Anjou and his wife Matilda.
Louis was perturbed. ‘I would not wish to see a war between France and Normandy,’ he said.
Theobald, who had come to court to add his persuasion to his son’s, began to enumerate the points against Geoffrey of Anjou and his wife.
Matilda was an arrogant woman. She had a way of antagonising everyone who came near her. If the King of France showed the people that he was against her and her husband they would stand behind Louis and King Stephen to a man.
‘There must be some who would be faithful to Henry of Anjou,’ said the King. ‘I can see conflict. I don’t want it. I want peace.’
At the same time Louis believed that if he joined forces, with Stephen he would be doing a service to Stephen’s family and Stephen’s brother was Theobald to whom the town of Vitry had belonged.
He must expiate his sin, for the cries of people being burned to death by his soldiers still rang in his ears.
Finally Louis decided that because of Vitry he would join forces with Stephen’s brother and try to wrest Normandy from Matilda and her husband.
The Abbe Suger arrived in Paris. He wished to see the King on urgent business.
When they were alone together he asked Louis if he realised that by going into battle against Geoffrey and Matilda he was fighting the King of England’s battle.
‘Nay,’ said Louis. ‘I do this for Theobald of Champagne. I wronged him. By this I will right that wrong.’
‘My lord,’ said Suger, ‘you are deluded by Vitry. This town
was sacked by your soldiers, but it was not on your orders. You have helped wage war on the infidel. You have expiated any sin you may have incurred on that score. You owe nothing to the Count of Champagne. But you do owe something to your subjects. You should consider well before you plunge them into a war which will only be to the advantage of the King of England.’
Louis wavered and Suger went on: ‘Yes, you will be helping King Stephen. And I ask you to consider: Is he the true heir to his throne? You know he is the nephew of the late King Henry. Matilda is his daughter. She would be Queen of England if her nature had not been so overbearing that the people repudiated her. Stephen rules not by right but because he is the lesser of two evils. The crown of England by right belongs to Matilda and her son is the true heir to the throne as he is to Normandy. You should consider this well before you side with a usurper.’
Louis was thoughtful. It was true he did not wish to go to war and he knew very well that that was what it would mean. Yet on the other hand he wished very much to please Theobald.
‘It is too late to hold back,’ said Louis.
‘Too late! Why should it be? I doubt Geoffrey Plantagenet wants this war. All you have to do is to withdraw your support from Prince Eustace and the matter will be settled.’
‘So Normandy will remain in the hands of Matilda and her husband.’
‘Who have more right to it than Theobald’s brother Stephen. There will be a bloody war in England when Stephen dies if he does not recognise Henry Plantagenet as his heir.’
‘Then what can I do?’ asked Louis.
‘You can invite Geoffrey Plantagenet to court. You can discuss the matter with him.’
‘You think he will come?’
‘There is no doubt that he will. He did not take up arms against you in support of Robert. That is something to remember.’
‘Then I will send for him,’ said Louis, relieved in his heart that war might be avoided.
