The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (10 page)

“Petronilla, you fool! I could have arranged the grandest marriage for you.”

“Raoul is one of the most important men in France.”

“And already a husband.”

“I have told you that can be overcome.”

“And then you will marry. Oh, how could you? How could he?”

“I have always loved him         .         .         .         from the time I first saw him. Do you remember? He came with Thibault of Champagne before you were married.”

“Thibault of Champagne! Holy Mother of God, Vermandois’s wife is his niece.”

“What of it?”

“What of it? Do you realize that we are on the worst possible terms with Champagne? Do you think he will meekly stand by and let his niece be cast aside?”

“Raoul says it will come out right in the end.”

“He is a philanderer         .         .         .         so to take advantage of an innocent girl.”

“He didn’t have much chance, poor man. I forced him.”

Petronilla laughed suddenly and I laughed with her. “You are an idiot,” I said.

“I know, but a very happy idiot. I shall have the best man in the world for a husband.”

“Not yet and I would challenge that statement.”

“And I have the dearest sister in the world. None could challenge that, Eleanor. You’ll help, won’t you?”

“I am most displeased.”

“I know. But you do like him, don’t you? You do agree that he is the most fascinating man at Court?”

“At least that is one matter on which you and he will agree. He is conceited and arrogant.”

“And so very attractive. Admit it, Eleanor.”

“I suppose he would appeal to some.”

She looked at me archly. She would have heard those honeyed compliments which had come my way. She knew that I liked the man myself. I could not hide such things from Petronilla.

She cried: “I am so glad that you know. I wanted to tell you before. We always shared things, didn’t we? But Raoul thought you would not approve. He was afraid you would try to prevent us. But now         .         .         .”

I said: “I see this has gone so far that there is only one thing for you, and that is marriage. But I do not think it is going to be as easy as you appear to think, sister.”

“But you will help us, won’t you?”

I nodded slowly.

I wanted to be alone to think about him. I was deeply shocked. For so long I had thought that I was the one who mattered to him. I was the one for whom he was singing his songs. The looks had been directed at me, and all the time he and Petronilla were lovers!

It was a great blow to my self-esteem. I began to wonder how sincere any of the men were who cast desirous eyes on me. I wondered what they said to their mistresses in moments of intimacy.

But of course there was nothing to be done than to get Petronilla married as soon as possible. The sister of the Queen of France could not produce a bastard. What a scandal that would be! I could imagine how the Pope, Bernard and Suger would receive such news. To get them married quickly was common sense, and face whatever came of it after that.

I sent for Raoul of Vermandois. He came at once, bowed low and lifted his eyes to my face. They were full of the yearning which I had come to expect from him. That angered me.

I said: “So, Monsieur, you are a monster. My sister has told me of this matter between you and her.”

“I await your pleasure, my lady.”

“I have not yet told the King. He will be even more displeased than I. I am surprised and shocked.”

“My lady, mortal man cannot go on yearning for the impossible forever.”

“So he takes the next best? I think my sister should hear this.”

He smiled at me ruefully. “My great sorrow is that I should cause you concern.”

“Did you think I should not be concerned to find my sister in this condition?”

“I will marry her at once.”

“You have yet to learn that the laws of France allow a man to have only one wife.”

“I no longer have a wife. I hope soon to remedy that when Petronilla honors me.”

“And when will that be?”

“Now. I have the annulment. I am a free man. It was granted to me this very day.”

“Through the good grace of your Bishop brother.”

“Families should always stand together. Do you not agree, my lady?”

“It is fortunate for some that they do. Well then?”

“I shall soon have the inestimable honor of calling you my sister.”

“I wonder how much good that will do you when you have to face the wrath of the Count of Champagne         .         .         .         not to mention the Pope.”

“I am a man who will face his difficulties when it is necessary to do so and not before.”

“Sometimes that is not a very wise policy.”

“So I have your approval of our marriage, my lady?”

“I can do nothing else but approve when I am faced with such a situation. Please go now.”

He bowed and left me.

I was very angry. What a deceiver he was! To think that I might so easily have given way. It had been in my mind. He was very attractive and would be a skilled lover, I was sure, for practice makes perfect, they say, and he would be a very practiced man.

And Petronilla had been his mistress! Of course, she was beautiful and more feminine than I. There was something helpless about Petronilla and men like Raoul of Vermandois were attracted by that sort of thing. I was more handsome than Petronilla but of a stronger and more forceful nature; I lacked that helpless femininity which I supposed was irresistible. And all the time he was pretending to long for me he was making love with Petronilla!

Moreover she had become pregnant, a state which eluded me although I had been longing for it intensely since my marriage.

This liaison between Petronilla and Vermandois would make trouble, I was sure. I dreaded to think of the action Thibault of Champagne might take. But what in the first hours upset me was the conduct of this man who had aroused such strong emotions in me.

I had anticipated the effect this would have on Louis. He could not believe it, and when I was able to assure him that it was true, he was overcome with shock.

“But it is so         .         .         .         immoral.”

“All men do not care to spend half the night on their knees,” I told him tartly.

“It would perhaps be better for all concerned if they did,” he retorted.

He was looking at me with the faintest of criticism in his eyes. This is your sister, he was thinking. It is to be expected considering the family from which you come. Your grandfather’s antics were the talk of Europe         .         .         .         and your father was in perpetual conflict with the Pope.

I came at once to Petronilla’s defense.

“She is in love with Vermandois and he with her. There is such a thing as love in the world, you know         .         .         .         real love         .         .         .         not the tepid variety which some have to put up with.”

He was too bemused to take in what I was saying. “With child,” he kept murmuring. “But this is impossible. We cannot have a scandal at Court.”

“It would seem we have that already,” I said. “Louis, listen to me. This is regrettable but it has happened. Petronilla is my sister         .         .         .         yours now. Raoul of Vermandois is your kinsman. Let us face facts. There is only one thing to do. We have to accept this marriage. After all, Vermandois is divorced from his first wife. These things have happened before. It is of the utmost importance that we stand with them in this. If you give your approval, who can raise his voice against that?”

“I can imagine there are some who will.”

“Louis, you have to remember that you are the King. Your will is law.” I went to him and put my arms about him. “You only have to stand firm, Louis. All must obey you.”

He said: “You are right. There is nothing else we can do.”

When the marriage was announced there was a great deal of gossip throughout the Court. What of Vermandois’s first wife? What was to become of her? Was this a precedent? When a man wanted to be rid of his wife, did it mean that all he had to do was to arrange for a divorce through obliging relatives? Of course, everyone did not have such relatives. Everyone was not related to the King and Queen.

I was astonished by Raoul and Petronilla. They were quite blissful, seeming oblivious of the storm they were raising.

I heard that Raoul’s first wife had taken her children to her uncle Thibault of Champagne, and I knew then that it could not be long before there was real trouble.

I was right.

He did what I expected. He took the case to the Pope. His niece had been cursorily cast out by her husband because he wished to take a younger woman to be his wife. There had been a bogus annulment arranged by a relative of the Count of Vermandois, and two priests had been bribed to assist in this. Moreover the whole dastardly scheme had the approval of the King and Queen, whose sister was the new wife. Thibault begged the Pope to intervene on behalf of his wronged niece.

Louis was, of course, still in trouble with the Papacy, so we could expect Innocent to come down heavily on the other side. This he did. He answered Thibault’s plea without delay by sending his legate to judge the case. A verdict was soon arrived at: Raoul was still married to his first wife, and he and Petronilla were living in sin. They were excommunicated and so were the bishop and the priests who had granted the annulment.

I was furiously angry with Thibault of Champagne.

“There lies our enemy,” I said. “You are too lenient, Louis, with those who work against you. This man should have been punished long ago for refusing to send troops to Toulouse.”

Toulouse was an unhappy subject with Louis. He knew he had behaved in an unkingly manner, and if ever I wanted to get my own way I could do so by subtly referring to it.

“He is our enemy,” I persisted. “He has done this to discountenance us.”

“Well,” murmured Louis, “one would have expected him to be angry, Raoul’s first wife being a close kinswoman.”

“I would she had been anyone else.” That was a point on which we could agree. “But it is as it is,” I cried. “And now he has done this. What a scandal! What when the child is born? There will be those to say it is a bastard.”

“Which it will be if the marriage is invalid.”

“We are not going to accept this, Louis.”

“I do not see what can be done.”

“Something has to be done.”

He looked at me fearfully.

“We could march,” I said.

“March?”

“On Champagne.”

“You mean
war
?”

“What else is there to do? Sit meekly here and accept their insults?”

He was silent. I could see the fear of war in his face. I despised him. Raoul was a rogue, but at least he had courage to act as he wished and face up to the consequences.

“You will have to take up arms against him,” I insisted. “You cannot allow him to flout you in this way. People will laugh at you. They will say you are not worthy of the crown.”

“I shall pray that God will settle the matter for us.”

“He will expect
you
to do something about it, Louis. It is your affair         .         .         .         not His.”

“All matters are for God’s judgment.”

“I think God expects His servants to act for themselves. That is what you must do, Louis. In my mind, you have no alternative., You must take an army into Champagne. You must ravage the country. You must let him see that he is but a vassal of the King of France. If you do not act,
he
will be calling himself the King of France         .         .         .         for that is what the people will say he is.”

Louis was silent, grappling with his thoughts, trying to find some good reason why he should not go to war against the Count of Champagne.

He could find none.

And I knew that in time I should wear down his resistance.

Once I had made Louis see that war was inevitable, he began to grow enthusiastic about it. I reminded him again and again of how many times Thibault of Champagne had flouted him. He should take no more insults from him. Drastic action was necessary. Thibault had to be taught a lesson, and this was an opportunity to do so.

We discussed plans together and when Christmas was over he set off with an army for Champagne.

This was no Toulouse. The last thing Thibault had expected was war, and he was not ready as Alphonse-Jourdain had been. Marching through Champagne taking towns was an easy matter.

I was delighted by Louis’s victories. Champagne was fast falling into our hands.

Then there was to occur an event which scarred Louis’s conscience for the rest of his life and which I believe was responsible for widening the rift between us.

It happened at Vitry-sur-Marne.

Louis himself was never in the forefront of the battle, war being so alien to his nature. He loathed violence and it was only when spurred on by one of his violent rages that he was guilty of it. He knew that his soldiers had ravaged the towns through which they passed, taking provisions, burning what they thought fit, ill-treating the women. Knowing him, I realized that he would have grappled with his conscience telling himself that it was all part of war. It was the soldier’s reward for coming to the help of his lord. Why should they leave their homes, risk their lives, if not for the spoils of war, the warriors’ perquisites? It shocked Louis, but he realized it was inevitable. It was one of the reasons why he hated war.

Truly he should never have been a king. It was an unkind act of Fate to send that pig running wildly under his brother’s horse’s hoofs.

At Vitry Louis suffered the supreme horror. He was encamped on the La Fourche hills with a few men while the army went in to storm the town. He could see what was happening from his vantage point.

The people of the town were unprepared. There was no defense, and Louis’s soldiers went through the gates to the town with ease. Louis could hear the lamentation of the people, their cries for mercy. He covered his face with his hands because he could not bear to look. He had wanted to call a halt. I knew exactly how he felt for he told me afterward. In fact he could not stop talking of it. He talked at odd moments during the day and in his sleep he woke from nightmares shouting about it.