“And Lanval kept his promise,” I continued, “but it caused unrest on his return to court for he would not look at another woman – not even Queen Guenevere, who came to sit beside him and spoke of her love and desire for him. Lanval would not speak of his own true love, according to the vow of secrecy he had sworn. Instead he rejected the queen, giving his reason as the love and duty he owed to the king. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘please let me leave for I have no desire to love you. I have served the king a long time and will not betray my loyalty, nor will I do anything to harm my lord.’ The queen taunted Lanval, saying that she had seen him with young men, and perhaps they were more to his taste? She even hinted that Lanval may have corrupted the king himself.”
There was a long gasp of indrawn breath. No one moved; no one spoke. All had set aside their knives and spoons, so intent were they on my story. Their attention gave me the courage to continue.
“Goaded beyond endurance, Lanval finally spoke out. ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘of that activity I know naught, but I love and am loved by one who should be prized over all other women in the land. Even the meanest of her servants surpass you, my lady queen, in body, face and beauty, and in wisdom and virtue.’ On hearing Lanval disparage her thus, the queen was extremely angry and distressed. She went to the king and complained that he had tried to make love to her, and that when she refused he had insulted and offended her by claiming to love another far more beautiful. And she begged the king for justice. And the king swore an oath that unless Lanval was able to defend himself in court he would be burned, or hanged.
“All of this counted for nothing, for Lanval was stricken with grief. He knew that by betraying his lady love to the queen, he had lost her forever. Nothing else counted against that. Even when the king and his knights sat in judgment, he could only deny that he had tried to dishonor the queen, but he said again that his own love was the more beautiful because that was the truth of it. And so the king challenged him to produce the lady, so that all could judge her beauty for themselves. But Lanval knew he could not, for although he had called her often to come to him after his betrayal, she had always stayed away.
“When it was time for judgment to be passed, Lanval was sad only at the loss of his true love; he cared not what was to become of him, even though it was sure that death awaited him. All of a sudden, two ladies appeared on horseback, of such surpassing beauty that all of the court was stricken into silence. The two women spoke to the king, telling him to clear his chamber and hang it with silks as their lady was coming, and wished to stay a while.
“This the king agreed to do; as he agreed also when another two ladies, also mounted on horseback, and even more beautiful, asked him to make preparations to receive their lady. And finally, their lady came, riding on a white palfrey so richly appareled that surely no count or king on earth would have wealth enough to pay for it.” For the benefit of the court, I went on to describe the lady, giving her some of Guenevere’s attributes, but also with my mother in my mind.
“All the knights rushed to tell Lanval of her appearance. ‘Here comes a lady,’ they cried. ‘She is white of face, bright of eye, and with hair that shines brighter than any thread of gold. She is clothed in a white tunic, laced at the sides, and her cloak is fashioned of dark silk. She carries a hooded falcon on her wrist, and a greyhound follows close behind. She is surely the most beautiful woman in all the world.’ And Lanval told the king: ‘This is my beloved. Now I don’t care if I am killed, for I am cured if only she will forgive me.’ And so, with the agreement of the knights, and of the king, regarding the lady’s beauty, Lanval was freed from all blame, especially when his true love spoke on his behalf of the perfidy of Queen Guenevere so all could see for themselves where the blame really lay.
“Although King Arthur begged the beautiful woman to stay at his court, she mounted her palfrey and, as she passed through the gate, Lanval climbed onto a mounting block and leapt onto her horse behind her, for he would no longer be parted from his love. They went together to the island they call Avalon, where I believe they are still, although no one ever heard from Lanval again, nor did anyone see him. And so that is the end of my tale, for I have no more left to tell you.”
The king looked at me through narrowed eyes. “I hope you are not casting aspersions on my queen with that story?”
A mix of horror and shame brought the blood rushing to my face. “No, majesty! I … I beg your pardon if I have caused offence.” I glanced at Eleanor and then, inadvertently, my gaze moved on to the minstrel, Bernart.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Henry!” With a light, mocking laugh, Eleanor came to my rescue. “I grant that this is somewhat different from what we heard earlier; it certainly has an added spice to it, and you were right, Marie. I did enjoy it even more than the first story you told us.”
Her words eased my mind somewhat, although I made a silent vow to be more on my guard with the tales I told in the future, lest inadvertently I blunder into a maze not of my choosing.
Eleanor pushed back her chair then, and rose abruptly. “Anjou might be to your liking, Henry,” she said, in clear tones that everyone could hear, “but I cannot abide this … this awful fare a moment longer. I shall leave for Poitiers in the morning.” She glared at her husband and then turned to me. “I should like you to accompany me,” she added in a softer tone, and swept out of the hall before I could summon my wits to answer her, or even to thank her for her gift of the gown I now wore.
“By God’s eyes, woman, you test my patience!” Henry stalked after the queen, his face flushed red with anger. I was sorry that my story had caused a rift between husband and wife, even though Eleanor seemed to have taken no offence at it.
I soon realized the depths of my transgression when, as we all rose and left the hall in their wake, I was accosted by one of Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting. “You took a risk telling that story,” she said. I felt guilt and shame, and thought she was accusing me, until I noticed that her eyes glimmered with mischief.
“There is surely no truth in the king’s suspicions,” I said, adding forcefully, “for I would never have told that story if I’d thought it was so.”
“Oh, the queen attracts tattle and censure wherever she goes,” my companion said airily. “From the time she went on crusade with her first husband, Louis, there have been whispers about her, the first being her supposed liaison with her uncle, Ramon of Poitiers, who by all accounts is a handsome and charming man. As, of course, is King Henry’s own father, Geoffrey of Anjou, with whom she’s also said to have had a liaison.”
“No!” Shocked, I stopped and stared at the young woman, who shrugged and kept on walking, talking as she went. I hurried after her.
“No, I don’t suppose there’s any truth in either of those stories,” my informant said. “Besides, she is in company every moment of every day; she’s always under someone’s eye so a liaison would be impossible – unless, of course, she asked for a private audience with one or other of her admirers – but she’s never done that. She would know that the king would hear about it in less than a heartbeat, and then there would be hell to pay. Of course it is obvious to everyone that the troubador, Bernart de Ventadour, is hopelessly in love with her. He follows her around like a faithful hound, making cow’s eyes at her all the while. But even Eleanor has had enough of poems and songs praising her eyes, her lips, her hair, her lily white breasts – not that Bernart’s ever seen them, I’d swear my life on that! But the king is wroth with both of them. And overly sensitive, as you’ve seen, although he’s in no position to wag his finger at his wife – not when he’s wagging another appendage at every pretty woman he encounters.” She collapsed into giggles, and said, between gasps, “But of course Eleanor does nothing to bolster his pride or soothe his jealousy. Why should she, when the king’s own bastard, William Longsword, is a member of our court?”
I gasped, mute with shock. The young woman gave a knowing smile. “In fact, I would say that Eleanor’s probably enjoyi
ng Bernart’s attention, especially after the difficulties of the past few months.”
“What difficulties?”
She sobered immediately. Her tone was somber as she said, “Her son William died earlier this year. The queen mourns his death still and cannot forgive Henry for not being with her when the child died. She does have a younger son, young Henry, and she gave birth to a daughter, Matilda, in June. Both children are here with her now, and I am sure she takes comfort from their presence, but I think she has not recovered fully from the birth as yet, as well as still being distraught over the boy’s death. Small wonder that she and the king are at odds now, for Henry was not with her at the birth either, and anyway is impatient with ‘women’s matters,’ as he calls them.”
No wonder the queen seemed careworn and sad. I was struck with pity for her, the more so for I was beginning to understand how precious a new life could be. I shivered as I thought about the many hazards facing children, from the newly born to adulthood – and even beyond. The always-ready tears leaked into my eyes as I imagined how it would feel to lose a child.
“I can see you take these things to heart, Marie, but be of good cheer. Your stories are exactly what the queen needs right now to take her mind off her troubles. And I can see she’s already prepared to make a pet of you.” The young woman touched my arm in a gesture of friendship. “I know your name, of course. My name is Margaret, although I’m usually known as Meg.”
“I am happy to meet you, Meg.” And indeed I was. It was good to know that I had at least one friend – as well as an informant – within the queen’s entourage.
*
All was confusion and fuss on the morrow as Eleanor made good her threat to leave for Poitiers without delay. Delay, however, was inevitable. First a line of sumpter horses had to be loaded with all the household goods that the steward and chamberlain deemed necessary for the queen’s comfort in Poitiers, as well as numerous chests that Meg told me contained the queen’s gowns, furs, shoes and other apparel. Traveling along with her ladies-in-waiting were also an armed escort as well as her clerks and personal servants. I saw several grooms fussing around the horses, but there were others whose function I could only guess at: footmen perhaps, and washerwomen, cooks and kitchen boys, plus several women with painted faces and low-cut gowns whom I assumed would be keeping some of our entourage warm at night. There was also the devoted dog with cow’s eyes, and I had to smother a laugh when I noticed him for Meg had described him perfectly. As for me, I felt like the lowliest of low among that exalted ensemble, but I comforted myself with the thought that at least I could claim a mount of my own to add some prestige to my presence.
The queen and her escorts rode at the head of the train; the rest of us followed some way behind. But, as we rode along, the queen summoned me to her side to inform me that she would like me to tell a story that night and every other night once we’d reached our lodgings and had dined. “And,” she added, with a twinkle in her eye, “you may make the stories as spicy as you please while my lord husband is not present to hear them.”
CHAPTER SIX
I began to see, as we rode south, why the queen preferred her own lands to Henry’s demesne. It was clear, from the crowds who gathered to wave and cheer our progress, that their duchess was popular among them and they were pleased to welcome her home. Although it was not so very great a distance from Angers, the days seemed sunnier and warmer, the hedgerow and meadow flowers brighter and more plentiful, the lush vineyards and trees already burgeoning with ripening fruits. Along the way we took shelter in monasteries or one or other of the small, walled cities that we passed.
When we finally came to the castle in Poitiers, I was awestruck. I’d thought Camelot was splendid, but this castle seemed to have every comfort imaginable. There were thick, brightly colored coverings on the stone flagging, which were pleasant to walk on and which had come from the East, brought back by the queen from her crusade to the Holy Land, so Meg told me. There were fat cushions to pad hard seats. Elaborately decorated metal burners were set in the Great Hall, the queen’s solar and our sleeping chambers; they contained aromatic spices that scented the air with their fragrance. Beautifully woven tapestries and silk hangings softened the stone walls, depicting texts from the Bible, maidens and knights in flowery meads, and also hunting scenes. One thing I particularly appreciated was the huge fireplace that had been built along one wall, with a chimney that directed the smoke straight up. I had never seen such a thing before, but it meant that the air in the hall was not so smoky.
The queen was kept busy for some days, receiving the nobles in her realm along with their wives, and listening to their reports. This was my first sight of the men and women of Poitou: the women in sumptuous dresses made of costly fabrics and in a rainbow of colors. They wore paint upon their lips, cheeks and eyes, while the men’s faces were shaven and they wore their hair long. They were elegant and courteous, and when Eleanor decided to hold a reception in their honor, and requested that I entertain everyone with a story afterwards, I felt plain, unbridled fear. Having been brought up in the priory, and with only a brief taste of court life at Camelot, I wondered what story I might tell to such a sophisticated audience. True, the queen seemed to relish my nightly recitations, although I sometimes blushed as I added the “spice” she so obviously enjoyed. Even though Guinglan and I had loved each other passionately in the short time we’d had together, my upbringing in the priory meant I had a natural reticence in talking of such matters in front of an audience.
That day I went for a long walk on my own, for I had discovered being alone usually resulted in good thinking time when I was preparing the evening’s entertainment. I always called in first to Notre-Dame-la-Grande to say a quiet prayer of my own. The habits of my life in the priory stayed with me still but it was a pleasure rather than a duty, for my communion with God helped me also to feel closer to my husband. I worried that he might feel even less at home in whichever world he’d found himself than I did here. Or had he been taken back to Camelot? If so, I hoped that he would tell my mother than she had earned my undying enmity.
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the stone hard and cold under my knees. I had not thought to bring anger into this beautiful cathedral, only love and peace – and a prayer that I might find inspiration for a story for tonight. On that thought I rose to my feet, but I could not help staying a few moments longer to marvel at this, the most beautiful church I had ever seen. Its walls were painted with colorful frescoes depicting the apocalypse and other scenes from the Bible. Among them I recognized the Virgin Mary with her child, the adult Christ and also His Apostles who bore a marked resemblance to their sculpted figures at the entrance. They dazzled my eyes with their beauty. I exited through the arched doorway of the west façade, a true wonder framed by intricately carved figures and scenes from both the Old and the New Testament. Some, like the depiction of Adam and Eve, were easily recognizable but others were more obscure and it was my daily task to try to puzzle out one scene or another.
Finally I continued my walk, traversing narrow cobbled streets, and wrinkling my nose at the stench from the gutters for there’d been no rain for some time to wash the animal waste and other filth away. I passed by the site where, eventually, a new cathedral would arise, and continued on down to the river where I knew I would find solitude and peace. It was one reason why I chose to leave the castle instead of walking about in the gardens there. Although they were large and beautiful, with vine-shaded walkways and flowery bowers to delight the eye, and turf benches to sit when weary, I knew from experience that I would always encounter others who would want to talk, exchange news and tattle, or simply just sit companionably, all of which were too distracting for my purpose.
Once at the river, I found a secluded patch of grass and, heedless of my gown, I sat down. Soothed by the melodious sound of the flowing water, I let my mind drift and waited for the story to come to me. A hunt, and maybe a battle: the barons would be sure to en
joy that. And a touch or two of the otherworldly – and here I recalled stories I’d heard of the knights’ search for the Grail, and the mysterious ship that had carried my half-brother, Galahad, to the castle of the Fisher King. Should I tell the story of the quest for the Holy Grail tonight? But the ladies might find all that fighting and adventuring somewhat tedious. They would rather have a tale of romance – at least I was fairly sure Eleanor would – and she was the one I needed to please. And so I lapsed into a dreaming silence, and listened as the story and the characters began to come together, and the words unfolded in my mind.
*
“There was once a boy named Guigemar,” I began my recitation that night. “The boy was intelligent and brave, and he was sent to serve the king at his court, where he was loved by all.” I went on then to tell the assembly how Guigemar was knighted by the king and left the court seeking adventure. These adventures I went into in some detail, with gory details to illustrate the courage and bravery of Guigemar – until I sensed that my audience was becoming a little restless.
The Once and Future Camelot Page 10