The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine

by Jean Plaidy

  The months were passing. I took various trips into Aquitaine visiting my subjects. I was always greeted with enthusiasm and they were a success. I very much enjoyed these journeys. They made me feel that I was their ruler in very truth. This was what they wanted. They did not want the French yoke, as they called it. They were Provenal and would remain so.

  I used to sit in the castle halls and there would be singing and dancing such as I had known in the Courts of Love. I could see how important these journeys were. They said to the people: “All is as it was. The fact that I am Queen of France makes no difference. I am your ruler. I belong to you as I never can to France.”

  There was, of course, a great deal to interest me in Paris. I loved to ride through the cobbled streets where there was so much going on. It was a city of great contrast which struck me forcibly after my sojourns in Aquitaine where people lived a healthier, cleaner life. There they were not huddled together in little dwellings in dark streets where the crowded buildings with their overhanging gables shut out the light. Paris is a muddy city. The Romans called it Lutetia for this reason, the city of mud. But there was such vitality there . . . noise everywhere, stalls, little shops, salesmen and -women shouting their wares.

  What struck me most was the number of students who had come there to discuss and listen to the new opinions which were flourishing. One saw them wandering through the streets or along the riverbanks, deep in thought. Theories were thrashed out, opinions circulated.

  I could not fail to find it interesting.

  There was one who aroused my curiosity more than any other, and that was Peter Abelard, who, some said, was the most shrewd thinking and the boldest theologian of the day. I was first drawn to him because of his romantic history. His story was like one of those renowned in the songs I heard in my childhood. He could have been a gentleman of leisure for he was the eldest son of a noble Breton family, but he chose to be a scholar. His talent was soon discovered; he was a brilliant speaker and as he had new and startling ideas to express, he began to be talked of. He became one of the Realist teachers at the school of Notre Dame. He was all set for a brilliant career.

  But how easily one can fall! And since he fell through love, he seemed to me a romantic figure. He became tutor to Hlose, the niece of the Canon Fulbert. She was seventeen and very beautiful; they became lovers. When this was discovered, the Canon used every means at his disposal to separate them but he could not do so. They fled to Brittany, where Hlose bore a son. They were married. Hlose, having been assured that she had ruined Abelard’s career, agreed to give him up. How stupid lovers can be! But if they were not, there would be no story. Abelard was brought to the judgment of the monks, who, in order that he might not be tempted again, castrated him.

  That seemed to me a very tragic story—and to others too, for Abelard’s misfortune was talked of throughout France. For a while he lived in a hut but so many disciples came to him that the hut became a school known as the Paraclete. Then he was invited to become abbot of St. Gildas-de-Rhuys in Brittany. As for Paraclete, nuns came there and Hlose was put in charge of them. Abelard remained in the abbey for some time but he was persecuted, and the chief of his enemies was that Bernard of Clairvaux who had, indirectly, been the cause of my father’s death, for I was convinced that if he had never set out on the pilgrimage—which he would not but for his encounter with Bernard—he would be alive still.

  Abelard now and then was in Paris, and when he was there people flocked to his rooms to hear what he had to say.

  I often thought about him. He could have been another Bernard, another Suger, but love had stood in his way; and now, of course, for all his brilliance, he was something less than a man. I wondered whether he ever regretted it or, if he could have gone back, would have done it all again.

  How much wiser were those who took love lightheartedly, as surely it was meant to be taken.

  So the months slipped into years; and I was growing more and more restive, asking myself how a woman such as I was could go on living with a monk.

  Four years passed in this unsatisfactory manner. There were times when I felt rebellious, but I had remained faithful to Louis. Not with a very good grace, I admit. I often railed against my fate. Yet I had to be careful. I was in a precarious position. I had always to remember that I was Queen of France. There were times when I was tempted to take a lover. There were so many attractive men at the Court and all eager. If it had not been for the fact that I must bear the heir of France, I think I should have overcome my scruples. But the French crown was a matter of the utmost importance. I dared not risk having a child who was not Louis’s. It was something which, if it were discovered, could result in the most dire consequences.

  So I kept my emotions in check and tried to reconcile myself to Louis. He still admired me, though at times he remembered one or two little things against me: my conflict with Suger, for instance, and the fact that his mother, a woman of considerable ability, who had worked well with his father, had left the Court because of me. These were matters which could not be entirely forgotten, and of course, when grievances appeared, they were remembered.

  Like most people, Louis could at times act unexpectedly. I was amazed when I first discovered that he had a violent temper. Fortunately it was very rarely aroused, but when it was it seemed to change his character completely.

  I shall never forget my surprise after the case of Lezay, the vassal who had caused trouble in the early days of our marriage. Lezay was a troublemaker who would never bow to any form of discipline, and it was not to be expected that he would forget his grievances and settle down, particularly while there was an absent overlord. He refused the usual homage to his suzerain and, with a small party of men, to show his contempt for authority, stole some falcons from one of the royal hunting lodges.

  One of Louis’s rages overcame him then. He had the culprits brought to him and with his own sword cut off their hands.

  This was so unlike Louis, who was thought to hate violence in any form, that all were amazed. But that was how he was when one of his violent rages overtook him. He suffered terrible remorse afterward. “It was as though some devil possessed me,” he said, and that was exactly how it seemed.

  Then there was the case of Marcabru, the poet-singer, who was so highly thought of in Aquitaine. I invited him to Paris. He had an exquisite voice, but unlike most troubadours he was no lover of women. His verses were cynical, which gave them an unusual and amusing quality. When he came to the French Court, however, he wrote songs dedicated to me. I have to admit that I was gratified to have the admiration of such a misogynist so openly expressed.

  Louis took exception to it. I supposed it was because he believed this man meant what he said, and he was jealous of Marcabru’s ability to express his feelings. One day when Marcabru was singing Louis stood up and shouted: “You will leave this Court at once.”

  Everyone was astounded to see mild Louis in such a mood. He even looked unlike himself. His face was set in stern lines; his eyes blazed with fury; but those who had witnessed Louis’s sudden rages before knew that he meant what he said. In that moment he was the King who must be obeyed.

  I could see I had to be careful in my dealing with him. So for those four years I lived unsatisfactorily, indulging in fantasies as I could not in realities, listening to the protestations of love, through the songs which were sung, and dreaming dreams as I listened.

  I was becoming more and more dissatisfied. I felt that, if I could turn Louis into a man, a king, I could find some contentment with him. I set myself the impossible task of trying to change him. I see now how foolish I was. But in those days I believed I was capable of anything.

  If only he could have been as enthusiastic about the things which I cared for as he was over ecclesiastical concerns, all would have been well. He was at heart a churchman. When there was a conflict between Bernard of Clairvaux and Peter Abelard, he presided over the disputation with the clergy and the papal legate, and for this h
e received a great deal of credit.

  But it was not as a member of the Church that a king should excel. A king was a ruler in his own right, and everyone knew that on occasion there had been conflict between Church and State. Louis must be a fighter, a conqueror, and I never gave up hope of trying to make him the man I wanted him to be. I should have liked to see him marching with his army, conquering, adding to our domain. France and Aquitaine were now joined by marriage, and had events turned out differently, Toulouse might be with us, because, after all, it had belonged to my grandmother Philippa.

  Why did we not claim Toulouse? I was excited by the notion.

  When I mentioned it to Louis he received the suggestion without enthusiasm.

  Toulouse was now in the hands of Alphonse-Jourdain, the son of that Count Raymond, my grandmother Philippa’s uncle, who had taken Toulouse before she had had time to claim it. She had regained it when Raymond was killed in the Holy Land, but then my grandfather had sold it back to Raymond’s son, and Alphonse-Jourdain was now in command.

  They had no right to it, I declared.

  Louis was certainly not of that opinion, in view of the fact that my grandfather had handed it over in order that he might be able to pay for his visit to the Holy Land.

  But I insisted that it belonged to me because my grandmother had brought it to Aquitaine.

  Louis did not want to listen, but I accused him of cowardice, of turning his back on the matter, not for reasons of logic but because he was afraid to go into battle.

  He was very anxious for my good opinion and after some months I wore down his resistance. Once I had done that he seemed quite eager to go ahead with the plan.

  It was necessary to raise an army, and for that we needed to bring all our vassals together, so we sent messages throughout the country calling them to Paris. There was a response from most but there was one notable exception.

  When Thibault of Champagne came to see Louis, I insisted on being present. I was rather attracted by Thibault. He was a very important man and had strong opinions. He never offered me that blatant flattery which I expected from most and I felt a little irritated because of this, but perhaps it helped to stimulate my interest in him.

  He told Louis quite frankly that he had no desire to join in a campaign against Toulouse.

  “And why not?” asked Louis.

  “Because, sire, I consider it would be doomed to failure and even if you succeeded in winning Toulouse, it would soon be taken back. The people of Toulouse are content with the way things are.”

  “But,” I said, “Toulouse belongs to me. It is part of my inheritance.”

  Thibault bowed. “I crave my lady’s pardon. I thought it was sold to the present family by your grandfather when he went to the Holy Land.”

  “It belongs to me,” I said stubbornly.

  Thibault inclined his head once more and made no further comment.

  Louis said: “I shall expect you with your company. We leave a week from today.”

  Thibault replied: “My lord, I think I could not expect my men to follow me in such a cause.”

  “I shall expect you,” said Louis.

  Thibault then retired.

  “A contentious fellow,” I said. “He forgets you are his liege lord.”

  I could not believe that he would dare disobey Louis’s summons but he did, and on the day we left he simply did not arrive.

  Louis said: “Perhaps one could not expect him to join in a fight for which he has no heart.”

  “Vassals obey their liege lords,” I said. “If they do not, it should be the worse for them.”

  “When this campaign is over, you will not expect me to wage war on Champagne, I hope,” said Louis, a little testily.

  “We can do without the help of Thibault of Champagne,” I said.

  It was thrilling to ride off with pennons flowing in the wind. There is something magnificent about an army on the march.

  I did not intend to accompany Louis into battle. I was going to my beloved Poitiers, there to await the triumphant return of his army.

  We said goodbye to Louis, and Petronilla and I with our little company rode on to Poitiers, which would always be home to me.

  Such memories came back. It had changed little. The people would always be the same. They had no great interest in conquests; they did not care that we were now bound to France by marriage. It was only when their easy way of life was threatened that they could be roused to anger.

  Petronilla indulged in memories of the past as we rode through the forest, hunting, hawking. Our evenings were spent in singing and reading poetry, and each day we watched for Louis’s victorious armies.

  Alas it did not happen that way. Why had I ever thought that Louis could be a conqueror? He and his army arrived in Poitiers just as they had left Paris. They were an army in retreat.

  Louis explained to me. “They were prepared for us . . . waiting for us.”

  “And you turned back.”

  “There was nothing else to do. The army would have been cut into pieces. Alphonse-Jourdain had his men everywhere. They were on the castle battlements . . . arrows ready. Our men would have been mown down if they had attempted to advance.”

  “So you just turned and came away?”

  “It was the only thing to do, unless I wanted to see my army destroyed.”

  Why had I thought he would make a soldier! There was nothing to be done but disband the army.

  Louis remained at Poitiers with a small company and, despairing of him, I said: “We could at least make a tour of my cities in Aquitaine.”

  So, although the expedition was a failure in one way, in another it was a success. I loved Aquitaine. Never could any other country have the same place in my heart; and to be with my own pleasure-loving people was a great joy.

  In the various castles we were lavishly entertained. I loved to sit in the great halls listening to the songsters, watching the dancers and remembering the past. I could almost see my grandfather seated there, putting out a hand now and then to caress his beloved Dangerosa. How different from the Court in the Cit Palace in Paris presided over by a puritan!

  Louis was with us, aloof, uneasy, shuddering at the implications in some of the songs. I felt more frustrated than ever. I longed for a dashing lover who would carry me off and force me to obey him so that I could not be reproached for what happened.

  The troubadours were handsome, their voices so soft and appealing, their eyes brilliant with desire.

  Petronilla was languorously excited by it all. I thought: It is time she was married. We must find a worthy husband for her. I had watched her often. She was too much like myself for me not to understand her. I had seen her laughing and flirting with a score of men, and she had not my responsibilities to consider.

  I was most attracted by Raoul of Vermandois. The fact that he was not young was an asset. I was sure he was a very experienced man. How different from my poor, inept, bumbling Louis. Raoul was married to the niece of Thibault of Champagne, a very virtuous lady, I believed. I wondered how she felt about being married to such an attractive man. I had heard rumors that he was by no means a faithful husband.

  Raoul was always in the group nearest me. He would sing with his eyes on me. He was a reckless man, I knew, and there was no doubt what he was suggesting. Would he dare, I wondered, even if I would?

  I could imagine Louis’s falling into one of his rages. Raoul must know that he was on dangerous ground. But still he continued in his unspoken courtship.

  Louis was becoming aware that I despised him. I think he felt humiliated by what had happened at Toulouse. A soldier would have gone on and fought. Alphonse-Jourdain might not have been such a formidable foe as he appeared—who knew? Louis had simply lost his nerve; so he had turned away. Any man would be ashamed of such an action—and even Louis was no exception.

  I did not refer directly to the subject, but I suppose I did taunt him in many ways, and I was sure that it was because of this that he
acted as he did about the election of the Archbishop of Bourges.

  When the archbishopric fell vacant, the man most capable of filling the post was a certain Pierre de la Chtre. Louis, however, had decided otherwise and had put in one of his ministers called Carduc. He consulted Suger who assured him that he had a right to elect his own Archbishop but there was no doubt that Pierre de la Chtre was the best man for the post. Louis was obstinate on this occasion. The Church stood against his candidate. It was always unwise to stand against the Church. I had learned that through my father and grandfather; yet often there was an irresistible urge to do so. Louis now felt such an urge. The Church was strong and in spite of the King, Pierre de la Chtre was made Archbishop and before Louis could protest Pope Innocent had accepted the decision and consecrated Pierre de la Chtre.

  This was one of those occasions when Louis was the slave of his temper. I was always amazed by these, and sometimes I welcomed them. They did relieve the monotony of my existence with my usually spineless monk.

  “I’ll not have it. I’ll not have it,” he cried. “When he comes to Bourges, the gates of the city shall be locked against him.”

  I did point out to him that he was playing a dangerous game, that the Church was against him. I watched with interest to see how he would extract himself from this dilemma.

  The Pope, like most people, was amazed at the stand Louis was taking. He thought he was under some evil influence—and what influence could that be but mine? He announced publicly that Louis was a child. He must get schooling and be kept from learning bad habits.

  When Louis heard this his rage really exploded. He took a solemn oath that Pierre de la Chtre should never enter Bourges, and this of course had the inevitable result. Louis, who had been brought up in the Church, who was devoted to the Church, was now being denounced by the Pope himself, who passed the sentence of excommunication upon him.