The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (26 page)

“Which we have both had to overcome. Never mind, my dear, it is a fact that we rule far more than is generally realized. But people will always choose a man rather than a woman. When my father died and I heard they had chosen Stephen, I was mad with rage. I appealed to Rome         .         .         .         but like everyone else the Pope decided in favor of a man. I did have my half-brother, Earl Robert of Gloucester—one of my father’s illegitimate sons and a good brother to me—to help me. He came to Anjou and later, with him, I landed in England, with 140 knights who were ready to support my cause. People began to rally to my banner.” Her eyes shone at the memory.

“And you were successful?”

“Oh yes, I was successful for a while. They accepted me as the true heiress. The late King was my father. I was the closest to the throne. They had to admit this was so, so I captured him. Eleanor, Stephen was my prisoner! I sent him in chains to Bristol Castle. How well I remember that triumphant progress through England. The people acclaimed me. They wanted me then.”

I looked at her steadily. She was staring ahead, reliving it all. I saw the haughtiness in her face: Matilda, Queen of England.

“I came to London. I did not wait for my coronation. I declared myself Queen. I was determined to rule as my father had. I told myself that I must show no weakness. The very fact that I was a woman meant that I must display my strength at every turn. I must not allow any one of them to take advantage of me. I know now that I was too proud. They did not like me and I did not understand them. They are not disciplined like the Germans         .         .         .         and I was a German.

“I did not know these people whom I planned to rule. They did not protest. They appeared to accept what I did. And then suddenly they rose against me as one. They turned me out of London. There was only one thing I could do         .         .         .         hasten to Oxford. I reached there in safety but I did not stay there. I had to get to Winchester to talk with the Bishop there. He had supported me but I had heard he was considering turning back to Stephen as the people had shown so clearly their rejection of me.”

She turned to me and gripped my hands.

I said: “Would you rather not speak of it?”

She shook her head, and a look of scorn came into her eyes. She was a woman who would always despise weakness, most of all in herself.

“I think that stay in Winchester was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. I had forced my way into the city, and no sooner had I taken possession of it than it was stormed by Stephen’s followers. He was still a prisoner in Bristol Castle but his wife—another Matilda—had rallied an army to fight for his cause. She was one of those good, gentle women who surprise everyone by their strength when it is necessary to show it. Sometimes I think they are really the strong ones. She was with the army which besieged the city.

“Have you ever thought what it would be like to be within the walls of a city when the foodstocks are dwindling daily and everywhere people are dying of sickness and starvation? I hope, my dear, that you never experience it. I knew that we could not continue much longer, and when the city was taken I should fall into the enemy’s hands. I should take Stephen’s place. I should be their prisoner. I would rather face death than that. Humiliation         .         .         .         indignity         .         .         .         they are something I could never endure.

“Stephen’s wife, Matilda, was a humane woman. All she wanted was our surrender and the release of her husband. She did not want revenge. I thought then what a fool she was, for out of the kindness of her heart she allowed us to take our dead out at night, passing freely through the guards, so that the corpses might be given a Christian burial. One day I was watching one of these sad ceremonies—the bier, the rough coffin, the body wrapped in a winding sheet—and an idea came to me.”

She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling. She was a woman whose face betrayed her feelings. I could well imagine that she had not been able to hide her contempt for her humble subjects, and this was the main reason why she had lost her throne.

“I saw my way out. I should be a corpse. I should be wrapped in a winding sheet and placed in a coffin, and so I should be borne out of the city gates and through the guards to safety.”

“What a daring plan! And it worked?”

“I remember it clearly         .         .         .         even now. I awake at night thinking of it. It seemed an unending journey through those guards. I could hear their voices and I lay, still as Death, in my rough-hewn coffin, the sheet over my head, scarcely daring to breathe, and I thought what a fool the saintly Matilda was, to have made such a procedure possible.”

“And when you had passed the guards were there horses waiting for you?”

She shook her head. “No, there could not be. All I knew was that I could get help at Wallingford, so there was nothing to do but make our way there on foot.”

“And you did that?”

“It is surprising what one can do when one has to.”

“But what a triumph!”

“Shortlived. From Wallingford I went to Oxford. There I hoped to rally help and continue the fight. Unfortunately, in attempting to escape from Winchester my half-brother Robert of Gloucester was captured by the Queen’s men. This was a bitter blow to me because he was my greatest general, one of the few in whom I could have complete trust. Queen Matilda bargained with me. The release of Stephen for Robert. I stood out for a long time, but at length I saw that I had to have Robert back and I gave way, so Stephen was freed.”

“And so was Robert.”

“Oh, my good brother! He came to Oxford. He said we could not continue without help. I had sent messengers to Anjou asking Geoffrey to come to my aid, but my husband ignored my request. Robert said he would go to Anjou himself. He would impress on Geoffrey the urgency of the situation and see if he could induce him to come to my assistance. I was loath to lose Robert but at length I agreed, and he went. It was then that Stephen—now freed—came against me and the castle was besieged. Can you imagine my feelings?”

“Indeed I can. You had escaped in a shroud only to find yourself in a similar position.”

“And there is nothing more depressing. Moreover, it was winter, for the siege had lasted three months. It was the same as it had been before         .         .         .         lack of food, sickness and what looked like inevitable surrender. ‘I will not fall into Stephen’s hands,’ I said. ‘I will not. I will not.’ And those about me just looked at me sadly and shook their heads. They did not understand my fierce determination.

“I sat at my window. The wind was blowing a blizzard, and the river below my window was one thick sheet of ice. It would be weeks before it melted even though the weather changed tomorrow. Then I had an idea. There was no moon. Clad in white, one would not be distinguished from the scenery         .         .         .         and on the other side of the river was freedom.”

I caught my breath in admiration for this woman. I was not surprised that Henry admired her so fervently. She was indomitable.

“I sent for a dozen men I trusted,” she went on. “I told them the plan. We should wrap ourselves in white furs and let ourselves down from the window onto the ice, and silently we would cross it to the bank. And that, my dear daughter, is what we did.”

“And when you had crossed the river?”

“Then we walked         .         .         .         in that bitter wind, we walked. But my spirits were lifted because once more I had had a miraculous escape. It was six miles to Abingdon. It seemed more like forty. But at last we arrived. There we found horses and made our way to Wallingford.”

“I suffered great hardship during our crusade, but I think you suffered more.”

“I had a cause to fight for and that buoys up the spirit. It carries one through adversity.”

“But you had so many defeats.”

“Yes, but I always thought that in the end I should succeed. I was not sure how, but I was the rightful heiress of England and I believed that justice would be done in the end.”

“Tell me what happened at Wallingford.”

“We were exhausted. We took food first, I think, and then we slept and slept         .         .         .         and I had the most wonderful awakening. When I opened my eyes, standing by my bed was the one I loved best in the world: my boy Henry. I thought I was dreaming. I struggled up and stared at him. He flung himself into my arms. ‘I am here, Mother,’ he said. ‘Uncle Robert brought me. I am here to fight for you.’ It took me some time to realize that he was actually beside me. But there also was my good brother Robert. He had been to Anjou. He had not been able to bring Geoffrey, that wastrel husband of mine, but he had brought my beloved son.

“What a joyful reunion that was! What a day! After that night of adventure to come to this. I shall never forget that descent on ropes down to the cold ice; and then to come here and find my boy waiting for me         .         .         .         it was wonderful.” She smiled and the softening of her face was remarkable. “Just a boy         .         .         .         but ready to fight. You know the power of him. He only has to appear to make you feel that because he has come all will be well. Do you feel that too, my dear?”

I nodded, feeling too moved to speak.

“I think you know the rest. It is common knowledge. Robert brought up my boy to be a soldier, but my cause was a lost one. The people of England had rejected me         .         .         .         and they would continue to do so. I might be the King’s daughter, but to them I was a German and they do not like Germans. Stephen, for all his weaknesses, was preferable.

“My brother Robert was very wise. He knew that further fighting could only bring us defeat, and I could not hope for more miraculous escapes. I had been lucky to have achieved that twice. It would be tempting fate, said Robert, to hope for more. But he had great belief in Henry. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘he will take what is his but we must wait for that day.’ I knew he was right and I believed that although the people of England would not accept me, when the time came they would take Henry.

“There was nothing vindictive about Stephen         .         .         .         nor about his wife. They wanted peace. She was a deeply religious woman; he was easy-going. That was well for us. I stayed in England for five years after that, living mostly at Gloucester or Bristol. And meanwhile Henry was growing up         .         .         .         learning to become a soldier. Robert took charge of his education, too. I have Robert to thank, in part, that Henry is the man he is today.”

“And it has all worked out well. England will one day be Henry’s.”

“With no more fighting. When Stephen dies         .         .         .”

“That cannot be very long now,” I said.

“Five years         .         .         .         ten years. In the meantime Henry has a great deal to look after here. There will always be vassals ready to seize opportunities to rebel. But I thank God that in time he will be King of England.”

The bond between us was growing stronger. She had shown me a vulnerable side to her nature which few saw. In her turn she understood my feelings for Henry, and each day she let me know in many ways how contented she was with the match.

She was delighted when I was able to tell her that I was pregnant once more.

“You will be the mother of many sons,” she said, and she embraced me warmly. “Sons,” she went on. “Although I deplore this denigration of our sex, what power they bring to a family.”

“I wish William’s health was better.”

She nodded gravely. “You will soon have others, my dear. The only way to guard against sorrow in one’s children is to have a quiverful.”

Now our talk was all of babies. I often smiled to think of two women such as we completely absorbed in this domestic talk.

It was October. Henry had not yet returned when a messenger arrived at the castle. He came from the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Stephen had died unexpectedly of a flux. Henry, Duke of Normandy, was now King of England; and it was imperative that he cross the sea at once and lay claim to his kingdom.

Messages were immediately sent to Henry. He came to Rouen without delay. There was no time for anything but intensive preparation. He was taking an army with him, for how did he know what he would find on the other side of the Channel?

“You must come with me,” he said. “You must be crowned with me. A king is not a king until he has been crowned.”

Matilda’s eyes were shining with triumph.

“It is the moment I have been waiting for,” she said. “Everything will be worthwhile now.”

“You must come with us,” cried Henry. “You must see me crowned.”

“And what of Normandy? Because of this great prize, are you going to forget your lesser possessions?”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Is not my mother a great general? Let me tell you this: there is not one that I value as I do her.”

So she must remain in Normandy and we should set sail.

It was with emotion that I bade her farewell.

“Alas that you are not with us,” I said.

“My place is here,” she answered.

“It is sad that after all you have done you cannot see him anointed.”

“I shall be happier here knowing that Normandy is safe.”

So we left, my baby William with us and the other in my womb. Petronilla was in my suite. It was comforting to have my family around me.

And so to Barfleur to embark for England.

Queen of England

T
HE WAVES WERE LASHING
the coast; the wind shrieked a warning to all mariners; and we were drawn up at Barfleur contemplating that menacing sea and thinking of our new kingdom which lay on the other side of it.

It is impossible to cross in such weather, was the general verdict. No ship could be sure of doing it. It would be thrown about and all on board drowned.

Henry could never bear delay. He looked at the angry sea and gnashed his teeth. I thought he was going to fall into one of those rages which I dreaded. I had seen only a few of them but they were terrifying. No. Surely he would not dare show his rage against the heavens at such a time.

He gritted his teeth and said: “We sail.”

Sail in this weather! We were all aghast.

They tried to dissuade him. Perhaps by tomorrow the sea would be calmer.

He shouted at them. We were not waiting until tomorrow. We were sailing that very day. The ships were seaworthy. He could not wait. Rough seas could go on for months. December was not the month he would have chosen to set sail, but Stephen was dead and England without a ruler. It was a hazardous situation for any country to be in. He was not going to risk disaster just for the sake of a trip across the water. It happened to be a time when he had inherited a kingdom for which he had waited many years, and he was not going to allow a little wind to stop him taking it.

Never shall I forget that crossing. I do not know how we survived it. I was pregnant too, and in any case suffering certain discomforts. I should have demanded that we wait for more clement weather; but not even I argued with Henry when he was in his present mood.

He could not stand still. He strode about the deck, ever watchful. I remained below. I could not face the terrible pitching and tossing of the vessel. My condition made me feel really ill, and I knew that Henry would not care to have sick females about him. He never would, and certainly not at such a time. He was in a fever of impatience to claim the throne.

It seemed that we suffered this torment for hours; and then one of my women told me we were in sight of land. I staggered onto the deck. There was no sign of the rest of the convoy.

Henry wanted to get ashore at once. He would not wait for the others. He would go straight to Winchester.

As we rode along, people came out to look at us. I realized that they had not been expecting the arrival of their new King, for they could not believe that any could cross the Channel in such weather. Already they were recognizing him as a man of power since he defied the elements and with a jaunty nonchalance.

He acknowledged their greeting with obvious pleasure and so we rode into Winchester to be greeted by Theobald, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

We were in due course joined by the rest of the company who had reached England, and Henry, having satisfied himself that that portion of the treasury which was kept in Winchester was intact, made arrangements to set out for London.

He was insistent that his coronation should take place without delay, for he firmly believed that a king was not accepted by the people until he was anointed.

So we came to London. I had never seen anything like this city. The sky was overcast and there was a light drizzling rain in the air. There was activity everywhere; the river was crowded with craft of every description; I saw the great Tower which Henry’s great-grandfather, the Conqueror, had built. It dominated the landscape. The cobbled streets were full of people. Everywhere there were shops and stalls; and the great purpose of these people seemed to be to buy and sell. There were two great marketplaces, I discovered later, one near the western gate by the Church of St. Paul, where the folkmote was held; the other in Eastcheap. I was amazed to see what goods were offered; they seemed to have come from all corners of the world. There were taverns and eating-houses. No, I never saw a city like this one. It seemed as if the streets must be crammed full of life as compensation for the leaden skies.

In Paris I had missed the clear brilliance of my native skies; but here, in spite of the weather I felt an uplifting of my spirits. An excitement gripped me. This would be my country. I had noticed the brilliant green of the countryside as we passed on our way to the capital, but this city filled me with anticipation. I was surprised that I should be contemplating living here with pleasure.

I saw from the glint in Henry’s eyes that he was feeling a similar emotion. Of course, it was not new to him. He had lived in this country for several years. But now it was his and I believed he was going to love it with an intensity which neither Normandy nor Anjou could arouse in him.

First we went to Westminster Palace, which was in such a state of disrepair that we could not stay there. Alternative accommodation was found for us at Bermondsey Palace which, though somewhat primitive compared with those to which I was accustomed, was at least an improvement.

Henry said that the coronation should take place without delay. Until he was crowned King he could not be contented.

I doubt whether there had ever been such a speedy coronation.

“These people will expect a grand display,” he said, “and even though there is little time for the preparation we must give it to them.”

Fortunately I never traveled if I could help it without as splendid a wardrobe as I could muster. I was seven months pregnant, but that must be no deterrent. I intended to be crowned beside Henry, for if he was King of this country, I was its Queen.

I was determined to impress the people of England. I wanted to give them the sight of fashions they would never have seen before.

My kirtle was of blue velvet with a collar of the finest gems; over it I wore a pelisse, edged with sable and lined with ermine, with very wide sleeves. It was not unlike the pictures I had seen of the costume worn by the wife of the Conqueror. I thought it would be a good idea to look a little like her, to remind them of the stock from which their King had come. I wore my hair flowing with a jeweled band about my brow.

Even Henry had taken some trouble with his appearance on this occasion. His dalmatica was of brocade and embroidered with gold, but he clung to the short cape which had earned him the nickname of “Curtmantel.” In spite of his rather stocky figure and his contempt for fashion, he looked quite impressive with his leonine head and close-cropped tawny curls. A King they could be proud of.

The people had crowded into the streets to see us as we went back to the Palace of Bermondsey. They cheered but they were not overenthusiastic. It was as though they were waiting to see what would come from this new reign.

They had suffered civil war, and that must always have a sobering effect. But now the succession was settled. This was the grandson of that great Henry, and they knew, now that he was dead and they had experienced life under a weak monarch, that he had been a great King.

The new reign had begun and Henry was eager to put right those wrongs which had been perpetrated during the reign of his predecessor and to introduce his own rule.

Our coronation had taken place on December 19, and although he was impatient to be off on a journey which would take him to the important places throughout the country, he did realize that the people would expect Christmas to be celebrated in a royal manner—he must not make the mistake his mother had. As soon as the Christmas celebrations were over (and he warned me they must be lavish, as I would know how to make them), he would set out to discover what was wrong with the country and what he was going to do to remedy it.

With Petronilla’s help I devised some entertainment for Christmas. I would send for some of my minstrels but of course there was no time for that now. I thought of the pleasure it would give me to see Bernard de Ventadour again. I would create a Court under these gloomy skies which would equal that of my beloved Aquitaine.

But now the time was short. We planned feverishly. We must not disappoint Henry. Nor did we. It might well be that he would not have wanted anything bearing a resemblance to the Courts of Love, but later I should make my own Court to suit myself.

One memory which stands out very clearly from those Christmas revels is that of Thomas Becket, because I first saw him there.

I did not see any great significance in the meeting then; it was only afterward that it became of such importance. But I could not fail to notice him. There was something distinguished about him, and that was obvious in the first moments of meeting him. He had great presence. He was very tall and good-looking, with a somewhat hooked nose which gave him a patrician look, and one of the most compelling pairs of dark eyes I have ever seen. He must have been about fifteen or sixteen years older than Henry.

I had rarely seen Henry take to anyone as quickly as he did to Thomas Becket. He had charmed Archbishop Theobald equally, it seemed, for he had spent several years in the Archbishop’s household and had been favored by him, which of course had aided him in his career.

Henry brought him to me and, almost before the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, he would have him tell me of the romantic love affair of his parents.

“It will please the Queen,” he told Becket. “Doubtless she will make a song of it, or get one of her minstrels to. She has a great liking for poets, and she is one herself.”

Becket and I took each other’s measure steadily, and I knew in that moment that there was some special quality about this man; I was not sure whether I should be wary of it.

“I am honored,” said Becket, “that my gracious Queen should wish to hear the story of my humble beginnings.”

Henry gave the man an affectionate push. I wondered why it was that they had become on such familiar terms so soon; he could not have known the man long. We had arrived in England only a few weeks before. Henry, of course, was open in his dealings with people. If he liked them, he did not disguise the fact; nor did he if it were otherwise. He had no time for subtlety.

Becket was learned and well read. So was Henry. I had gathered that. They made allusions to classics with which they were familiar and which the others might not understand. The difference in their ages was great, but Henry was mature beyond his years; he was not the sort of man who would suffer those about him who bored him.

He urged Becket to tell me the story. It was certainly strange. It went something like this:

His father, Gilbert, had been a native of Rouen, but after the Norman invasion of England, like so many, he decided to seek his fortune there. When he was a boy, in his little village of Thierceville, in Normandy, Gilbert had played with Theobald, who was determined to go into the Church. Theobald was a very ambitious man; he followed the Conqueror to England and in due course became Archbishop of Canterbury. Like many men of his generation, Gilbert decided to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and, taking with him one servant, he set out. He reached Jerusalem without any great mishap but on his way home the party with which he was traveling was captured by the Saracens.

Becket continued: “To my father’s horror, he heard that he was to be taken to the Emir Amurath, who was a sadistic man whose favorite pastime was torturing Christians. My father in due course was brought before him. Now, I must tell you this: my father was a man of unusually dignified bearing and outstanding good looks. The Emir admired beauty in men as well as women, and he could not bring himself to impair such beauty, so he sent my father to a dungeon. My father must have been blessed by God for his jailers were also struck by his appearance and showed him some kindness. He responded and they became so friendly that he learned their language.”

“He certainly was fortunate,” I said.

Henry said jocularly: “Naturally so, good Becket. Providence was determined to put no hindrance in the way of your entry into the world.”

“I thank you, sire,” said Becket, bowing with mock irony.

Yes, I thought, they are certainly on unusually good terms.

“In time,” went on Becket, “the Emir remembered my father and sent for him. He was amazed to see that the only effect prison had had on him was to make him understand their language. My father told him that he had learned it from his jailers. The Emir asked him questions about London. My father knew how to talk entertainingly and he amused the Emir with stories of that part of the world which the powerful ruler had never seen, but of which he had heard much. He was given fine garments, for the Emir made a companion of him; and soon my father had apartments in the palace, and the friendship between them grew so much that in time he was invited to dine at the Emir’s table.”

“Now,” said Henry, “the romantic story begins. This is what you will want to sing about.”

“The Emir’s daughter dined with her father, and she was impressed by Gilbert’s fair looks as well as his talk.”

“You know what is coming,” said Henry to me.

“There was love between them?” I asked.

Thomas Becket nodded. “Of course he was a Christian and she was of another faith. For all his friendship with my father, the Emir would never have agreed to a marriage between them. She was very determined. She insisted on my father’s teaching her to become a Christian. He gave her a name         .         .         .         a Christian name. He called her Mahault—which is another name for Matilda—because that was the name of the wife of the great Norman, Duke William, who had conquered England. My father was fully aware of the dangerous game he was playing. If the Emir discovered how far this matter with his daughter had gone, he would be put to death         .         .         .         very likely crucified, a favorite punishment for Christians. They were always singing the praises of One who died in such a manner, so it seemed logical that they should die in the same way. My father was prepared for that, for he was a deeply dedicated Christian.”

I cannot remember his exact words, but he went on to tell us how the Christian prisoners planned to escape and Gilbert, of course, was to escape with them. His position had made it possible for him to help them, and this as a Christian he was committed to do. But there was Mahault. He could not take her, of course; but his duty lay with his fellow Christians. The escape was well planned and succeeded.