A Proud Taste for Scarlet and Miniver (10 page)

Matilda-Empress did not enjoy being reminded about her dark years Below. “It seems to me, dear Suger, that the same thing happened in France, too. I was Up by the time it happened there. I watched your beautiful church at St. Denis being destroyed by the French people during the French Revolution. I saw them tear down the gold cross of which you were so proud; they knocked the heads off your precious statues, and they made dust of your stained glass. They especially hated St. Denis because your French kings were buried there, and the time of kings was past. It seems to me, Abbot, that the French created quite a roar in Heaven, but I never bothered to find out if
that
rumble reached Hell. Fortunately, I don’t have that kind of morbid curiosity.”

Abbot Suger lowered his eyes and nodded his head slowly.

Eleanor put her arm around the little monk’s shoulder. “I remember, Abbot. Those were the days you cried in Heaven. I remember.”

“Sh, sh,” the Abbot whispered. “In Heaven, one is not supposed to care for worldly things. About a century ago they tried to piece my church back together, but, like Humpty Dumpty, it can’t be put back together again. Once something is broken, it is hard to repair it so that the damage doesn’t show. That happens with friendships, too.”

“And also with marriages,” said William the Marshal. “We seem to have strayed from the subject of Queen Eleanor.”

“To switch from talk of Eleanor to talk of the Church is to have strayed indeed,” said Eleanor, laughing. “But leave it to a noble knight to not forget his purpose.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here to bring us back to Eleanor,” Matilda-Empress said.

William the Marshal replied, “I would be most happy to continue the story of Queen Eleanor. That is, if she does not mind.”

Eleanor waved her arm and said, “Tell anything you want to.”

“I want, my lady, to tell only the truth.”

“Ah, yes! The true and noble knight will tell only the true and noble truth. Come, sit, William. Sit and spin your tale.”

“You might say, my lady, that I shall weave my tale but not embroider it.”

“William!” Eleanor exclaimed, “to find wit in you is to make me believe that in Heaven all things are truly possible.”

QUEEN ELEANOR
went South for two reasons. One reason was that King Henry wanted her to. He had recently quieted some rebellions in the Aquitaine, but the peace there was touchy. He hoped that by sending his wife there, the people would stay quiet. The people of the South, he thought, would respond better to one of their own kind. That was the king’s reason.

The other reason for Queen Eleanor’s going South was that she wanted to, and for the first time in fifteen years her reason was not the same as her husband’s. Queen Eleanor’s reason for leaving England was Rosamond, Rosamond Clifford.

Rosamond Clifford was the girl King Henry had met and fallen in love with while he was fighting in Wales. The queen did not choose to stay in a country where she was number two.

Queen Eleanor had found out about Rosamond when John was about to be born and she had gone to Oxford for her lying-in. She had heard the name
Rosamond
whispered about. Seeing young ladies throw themselves at Henry was simply seeing something that happened to kings, and something that queens learned to put up with. Queen Eleanor had joked about these ladies at court; she called them “Henry’s Harem.” But to hear a name whispered instead of spoken out loud made the queen suspicious. She investigated; she went to Woodstock, not far from Oxford, and there she saw Rosamond.

Queen Eleanor took no revenge upon her rival. Rosamond was not to blame. What young girl could resist a king? Especially Henry. Queen Eleanor never mentioned Rosamond to Henry either. She never accused him. She never asked him to admit or deny. She knew what she would do. She would return to her native Aquitaine, and there she would set up court, and there she would rear her sons to manhood. And to rebellion.

I had just been made a knight when I was sent by King Henry to accompany Queen Eleanor to Poitiers. The lords of the Aquitaine were waiting for a chance for revenge. Just outside of Poitiers, they ambushed us. It was my first chance to prove myself as a knight. My horse was killed from under me, but I put my back against a hedge and warded off all who came until I knew that my queen was safely inside the castle.

I was wounded, and I was captured, but my bravery did not go unnoticed. Queen Eleanor herself paid my ransom. I went to the castle to thank her for her generosity, and she rewarded me further. She gave me a horse, arms and clothing. She also gave me my first job; I was made knight-at-arms to the royal children.

That was the beginning of my remarkable rise in the royal household and in the world. Through loyalty and devotion to the Plantagenets, I became a wealthy and famous man. During my service to the royal family, I had to switch loyalties to stay on the same side—the side of truth and justice. My devotion sometimes had to change direction, but it never changed degree; I was always completely loyal and true.

QUEEN ELEANOR
was a generous ruler and hostess. Her court at Poitiers was open to everyone, and everyone came. Poets and troubadours came; cousins came, dozens of cousins from the Aquitaine who were happy to have a headquarters again. Second sons of famous dukes and barons came; they had no money and no skills. Besides these cousins and second sons, there were the queen’s own children, seven in all, plus the girls her sons were to marry. The castle at Poitiers was nursery, home, school and seat of government. Children and adolescents were aswarming. The air in the bailey was fetid with the scent of overactive glands. For all of these young people had two things in common: too much time and not enough responsibility.

Life in Poitiers was boisterous. For example, one day at dinner, Young Henry and his friends rode their horses straight into the dining hall, a pack of hounds at their heels. They began to eat while still mounted. Queen Eleanor continued eating. She looked up casually and said, “My duties as queen occasionally demand that I sup with a horse’s ass, but I have never been asked to dine with the horse itself. And I shall not. You may leave this dining hall, Henry. You may leave it right now, and you may not return until after you have dismounted and washed.”

After that incident Queen Eleanor was determined that her court should be gay but quiet enough to give her some peace while she was conducting the affairs of state. She wanted her court to be like Constantinople but more vigorous. She needed help to do that. So she sent for Marie, her very first child, the one she had borne when she had been a Capet, the daughter that she and Louis had hoped would be a boy. Marie was now married to Henry of Champagne and was the mother of two children herself. King Louis had married the sister of Henry of Champagne. That made King Louis not only father-in-law but also brother-in-law to Henry of Champagne. Over and above all this, he was his overlord. Thus, as father, brother and as king, he urged Henry of Champagne to allow his wife to join Queen Eleanor’s court at Poitiers and tidy it up. King Louis wanted Marie to keep an eye on his other daughter, Marguerite, the princess who had been married to Young Henry.

Marie had her mother’s gift of using the materials at hand. What were those materials? I repeat: poets, troubadours, adolescents, time, high spirits and noise. Marie of Champagne decided that the ingredients were good, but the proportions were not. To rearrange the elements and to hold them all together, she knew she needed a common cause, something that was uppermost in everyone’s mind. She chose love.

The poets were given old legends of battles and heroes and told to rewrite them, putting the emphasis on love. The troubadours were paid for writing songs in praise of women and love. And then Marie organized the whole castle into an elaborate game called the Courts of Love.

The Courts of Love had laws: the male must be polite, he must be neat, he must regard his lady-love as someone above earthly temptation, as someone too frail to be exposed to the roughness of life, as someone to protect, as someone who must be helped to sit at table, as someone whose delicate ears must not hear naughty words, as someone to tip one’s hat to.

Young knights would bring their cases before a court, which was made up of young ladies. They would tell of their love for the lady, someone worshiped from afar, someone who often was already married. A knight would tell his story, and fellow knights would testify to the man’s behavior and to his sincerity. The jury would read from the book of Rules of Courtly Love. Penalties—some songs or some poems or being pelted by roses—were given. The judgments of the Courts of Love were recorded like the English Common Law. The Courts of Love were a great success; they quieted the riotous behavior in Poitiers then, and they are still responsible for the fact that men open doors for ladies and stand when a lady walks into a room.

Until the inventions of Queen Eleanor and Marie of Champagne, women were considered nothing but property. Marie lifted women out of that; it was she who put them on a pedestal. As chess was a game of war, the courts were a game of love, but more than two people could play. The whole bailey could play. Each society invents a game about a part of life it takes seriously. I sometimes look down now and see children playing Monopoly, a game of business.

I managed another activity that kept the young men busy. That was the tournaments. Young Henry was the idol of the tournament crowd. Small wonder. He was clever, and he was lovable. He was generous, and he was easy to bring to laughter. I will give two examples.

One day as we were riding to a tournament, we stopped to refresh ourselves by a spring. As we dismounted, thirsty and dusty, we discovered that there was only one bottle of wine among us. We numbered forty-two. The single bottle belonged to Young Henry. “I shall share it,” he said. He emptied the bottle into the spring. “Diluted, but equal,” he said, laughing.

On another occasion we were riding through Normandy, and I mentioned to him that it was my birthday.

“Your birthday, William? You should not celebrate alone.”

“I am not alone, my prince. I keep company with the best of men, and any time with you is marked as a celebration.”

“Thank you. I, too, consider myself in good company when I am with a William. I think I should like to dine with many Williams.” He called for a page and ordered him to round up every William in town. William was the second most common name in Normandy, the Normans still being proud to name children for their hero, William the Conqueror. One hundred ten Williams came to dine. Young Henry saw to it that each had a good time. With him as host, and with me as guest of honor, how could they not?

There were only two things wrong with the tournaments. They were expensive, and they fostered jealousy between the brothers, Henry and Richard.

Richard was actually better than Henry at combat, but he took his losses too seriously. Henry preferred to win, but he liked participating as much as he liked winning. Henry would lose, and the winner, as was his right, would hold Henry and his horse for ransom. Henry made an art of the bargaining. Richard would not. Henry developed his wit to deal with people as Richard sharpened his sword. Richard was not a boy altogether without wit. When he became a man, he wrote poetry, some very fine poetry, but Richard was without spontaneity. The two sons, Richard and Henry, would have made a perfect team, but as often happens with brothers, each disliked the other for his best qualities.

The jealousy between them came to a climax years later. I was there to witness the end of it as I was there to witness its beginning.

At this point in my career, I was promoted to master-at-arms for my skills and my services.

ONCE MARIE OF CHAMPAGNE
had settled the children, Queen Eleanor devoted herself to keeping peace in her lands. She knew that it was important to tie up the wounds that years of petty warfare had left, and the queen had learned valuable lessons in government from her years in England.

Politics also kept King Henry busy. He wanted to make certain that the empire that he was putting together would stay in Plantagenet hands. With this purpose in mind, he called his three oldest sons to a meeting with King Louis. The three boys were to pay homage from the lands that had been given them at birth. By paying homage for their lands, the king of France became their overlord and officially recognized their right to inherit the land.

Tall, blond Young Henry knelt first to King Louis and received the kiss of peace. Next was Richard, the broad, strong prince with hair the color of candlelight. Geoffrey, slighter and quieter than his brothers, did the same. The Plantagenet princes were a handsome trio, and King Louis was pleased to recognize their right to the lands of Normandy, Anjou, the Aquitaine and Brittany.

John was too young to share in the inheritance. Poor John. King Henry nicknamed him John Lackland, and then he went about conquering Ireland for him.