Louis had rarely been so startled.
How blind he was! He had seen me with Henry. Had he not noticed that overwhelming attraction between us? Of course he had not. What did Louis know of such emotion?
He was incensed. He and I had been divorced because of the closeness of our relationship and I had immediately married someone who was even closer. It was a blatant disregard for decency, the Church and the crown of France. Why, when it had been suggested that my elder daughter should marry Henry Plantagenet, this had been rejected because of the closeness of their blood, and now I, the mother, had the effrontery to marry the man myself.
The marriage must be dissolved at once.
Henry and I laughed at the idea. In our eyes, we were ideally suited and nothing on Earth was going to separate us.
We heard that, shocked beyond measure by this “incestuous union,” many of the French nobles were assembling at Court. Naturally, rejected suitors such as Geoffrey of Blois and Geoffrey Plantagenet raged in their indignation—although why the latter should complain of the blood tie between his brother and me when he was ready to commit the incestuous sin himself needs a little explanation.
The fact remained that they were gathering against Henry.
A messenger arrived at Poitiers. As Louis’s vassals, Henry and I were to present ourselves to him to answer the charges against us.
Henry snapped his fingers at that. “Louis will have to stop thinking of me as a vassal,” he said.
But when he had news from his spies that Louis was planning an attack, he was alert. He was not sure where the attack would come from. Aquitaine would be faithful, we knew; but Normandy was less secure. His brother Geoffrey was a traitor and there was nothing he would like better than to see Normandy wrested from Henry, of whom he had always been intensely jealous.
“I must go to Normandy without delay,” said Henry. “You will be able to hold Aquitaine.”
I knew he was right. The honeymoon was over.
This was the kind of life to which I must become accustomed. I must not complain. Now it was my task and great desire to prove to him that he really could rely on me in all things.
So we said goodbye and Henry rode away. I must fortify my castle and make my people aware of the French threat.
They were loyal to me—the more so because Henry was not here. They made it clear that they would fight for me, their Duchess, for I was their ruler, but they did not owe the loyalty to my consort that they owed to me.
I accepted that. In a way I was pleased by it. I had learned enough of Henry to know that he considered himself the master of all about him, and that included me. That was something I should have to teach him was not the case. I would do it gently, of course, but no man, not even Henry, was going to subdue me.
In our passionate moments he had murmured that he had never known a woman like me. He would have to remember that. No matter what power he had had over members of my sex in the past, no matter if it was the way of the world that men should rule, it should not happen with Eleanor of Aquitaine.
So in my fortress I waited while a watch was kept for the approach of the French.
Nothing happened. I knew Louis’s reluctance to go to war and I am sure that a war against me would have an even greater repugnance for him. I heard he had turned his forces toward Normandy and there was no sign of hostility toward Aquitaine.
I thought a great deal about Louis’s campaigns. Had there ever been one which was successful? It was hard to remember. Poor Louis, doomed to failure. What hope had he against a shrewd strategist like Henry?
News came of the progress of the battle. Henry was winning everywhere. I was amused to hear that his truculent little brother Geoffrey had now lost the three castles which had been left to him and caused such a grievance.
It was not long before Louis and his pathetic attempts at war were completely routed. Henry was victorious: Normandy was safe; and Henry returned to Poitou.
How happy we were to be together!
“It is good that this happened,” said Henry. “It will teach Louis a lesson. He will not wish to meddle in my affairs again in a hurry.”
He was delighted with all I had done. I could see that he thought our marriage a real success since we could work so well in unison.
I told him that Aquitaine must be wooed. The people were completely loyal to me, but they had never taken kindly to Louis and I wanted them to feel differently about Henry. He saw that I was right.
I said: “We should make a tour of the country. We should stay in the castles. You must get to know them and let them see that this marriage of ours is a good one for them as well as us.”
He told me that England was very much on his mind. Stephen might not live much longer and when the time came he must be ready.
“Eustace will not meekly stand aside.”
“I do not think the people will want him.”
“Let us talk of these things while we are making our journey through my country.”
And this was what we did.
My people were wary of him, but it was heartening to see the enthusiasm with which they greeted me. They loved me. When I rode among them in my silk and velvet gown, with my hair flowing about my shoulders, they were enchanted. Henry, however, square and stocky, somewhat inelegant, was not their idea of the romantic lover; he did not match the heroes of the ballads they loved to sing; he was not the kind for whom lovesick maidens sigh.
Moreover, he was impatient. The nights we spent at the various castles brought no joy to him. He found it irksome to have to sit still so long. I was disturbed because I knew that, in spite of our passionate relationship, he wanted to be away in England.
The fact was that my people did not take to this uncouth man who had married their Duchess, but I did not know how greatly they resented him until we came to Limoges, where I saw a side to his nature which gave me twinges of alarm. We did not go into the town but encamped outside. This was a pity for if we had not done this, the trouble might not have arisen.
We had had a long day and were hungry. The cook came to me and told me in great distress that the town would provide no food for us.
Henry was present. “And pray why not?” he demanded. “And who has said this?”
“It was one of the servants of the castellan, my lord.”
“Bring him here to me this moment.”
The man was brought and stood trembling before Henry’s wrath.
Henry had changed. His eyes were bulging; they were wild. I had never seen him like that before.
“What does this mean?” he demanded.
“My lord,” stammered the man, “my master has said that the town of Limoges is not obliged to supply food to those encamped outside its walls.”
“Does your master know who comes?”
“Yes. It is the Duchess and her husband.”
That added to Henry’s rage. Not the Duke and the Duchess, but the Duchess and her husband. It was how they regarded him. He thought this a slight to him—which it was probably intended to be.
I could well believe in that moment that he had the Devil’s blood in him. His face was purple, his bulging eyes blazing with fury.
He strode out of the tent. I heard him shouting orders. I did not know at once what those orders were but when I did I was appalled.
The walls of the town were to be razed to the ground and the newly built bridge destroyed. In future when the Duke and the Duchess of Aquitaine visited the town of Limoges there would he no insolent men to deny them hospitality because they had encamped outside their walls.
I suppose I could have countermanded the order. What if I had? What would have happened? What would he have ordered me to do? I was too stunned to act. I did nothing to stop the orders being carried out.
I thought afterward: Suppose I had given orders that it was not to be done. There would have been war, I was sure ... war between my people and my husband, and I should have stood with them.
It was t
he first time I was aware of those black rages of his. This was when I knew that there was a great deal to learn about my husband.
We left Limoges and continued our journey. It was not the same.
The news of what had happened spread through the duchy, and I noticed some sullen looks. My people would accept me and all my sins, for they were the sort of peccadilloes which they understood. The burning of the walls of Limoges was quite another matter.
Henry was very shrewd. He quickly assessed the people’s attitude toward me and he was too clever to resent it. I realized that he was planning to leave me in control of Aquitaine while he looked after Anjou and Normandy—and of course his eyes were on England. There was nothing petty about his feelings. Everything about him was larger than life—even his rages.
During those first months of our marriage he endured those evenings when we sat and listened to the minstrels, but I knew he thought it all a waste of time. He was, though, studying those about us, deciding whom he could trust and of whom he would have to be wary. He was assessing the value of my property, considering what would be wanted for its defense if need be; and all the time he was noting the people’s love and loyalty to me.
If I had ever thought of him as a malleable boy, I was rapidly learning my mistake. I might be eleven years older than he and that must give me some advantage, but it also meant that I had the understanding to know this man I had married and how I must act if I wished to keep him. An uneasy thought had occurred to me: that my feelings for him were stronger than his for me. I was as deeply sensual as he was; we were matched in that; but it did occur to me to wonder what happened when he was far away from me. He was hardly the man to put himself under restraint. I learned in those first few months that it was not going to be easy to keep such a man entirely mine. He had always had a reputation for promiscuity before marriage. He was lusty, looking all the time for conquest, no matter in what direction. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy as I emerged from my first flush of passion.
But I was no weak woman. I was sure I would be able to deal with any situation which presented itself to me. In the meantime this wandering life had to come to an end. He was thinking of England.
I knew that he had to go and that I had to let him go. It seemed to be my fate to marry men who were absent from my bed. Louis had stayed away from choice; it was different with Henry. He was lusty, but ambition came first—so I thought then. I had to learn that this husband of mine was the sort of man who did not set great store by love when lust would suffice. For him the parting would not be such a wrench for he would casually indulge in sexual relationships whenever the opportunity arose—and such opportunities were strewn in his path. That had always been a way of life, and his marriage would not alter that. This I had yet to discover, and fury possessed me when I did.
I should have known, of course. I should have been more worldly. He did care for me in a way. He admired me as he did his mother, recognizing that both of us were exceptional women of intelligence and experience. He was not one of those men who thought of women as naturally inferior. Only when they were did he think so. He respected me as he did his mother, but I was to discover that the idea of remaining faithful to me had never occurred to him.
At this time I was still living in a romantic glow, although the affair at Limoges had opened my eyes a little and set warning bells ringing in my mind. I had begun to understand that he was not quite what I had thought him.
He talked to me glowingly of his plans. He could not rest idly anywhere, and there was a task to be completed. He had to wrest his heritage from the supine Stephen and his useless Eustace, as he called them. For this he needed an army, and armies cost money. He needed a great deal of money. I could supply some but not all that was necessary. He had to set about finding it without delay.
He was going to Normandy, from where he would doubtless cross the Channel. His mother would do all she could to help, and she would guard Normandy while he was in England. My task was to keep Anjou, with Aquitaine, safe for him during his absence.
He discussed this at length when I should have preferred to hear his protestations of fidelity and undying love, and his sorrow because of our enforced parting. But Henry would not waste time on such trivialities. The preliminaries to love-making did not appeal to him. They were a waste of time. We both knew what we wanted; there was no need for wooing. He wanted to talk of plans.
I was to go to Anjou, for my presence would be needed there more than in Aquitaine, where I could rely on the loyalty of my subjects.
I agreed with all this. I did suggest that it might be better if he tarried until the spring, for if he went now he would arrive in England in the winter. Would that be wise?
He said he would have preferred the spring but must perforce make do with the winter. And that was an end of the matter.
So he went to Normandy and I to the castle of Angers, where I settled down to wait for his return, praying that it would be a triumphant one.
To my joy I found that I was pregnant. I laughed inwardly, thinking of all the barren years with Louis. So it was his fault. I had always suspected that it was; there was bound to be something less than a man about Louis. But a woman does get uneasy feelings when she wants desperately to conceive and cannot; and it is only natural that she begins to wonder whether the lack of fertility is in some way due to herself.
I was happy; this was the best time for pregnancy, with Henry absent, and it brought with it a certain serenity which made life very pleasant.
I filled the castle with troubadours so that it resembled the Court of my grandfather. Petronilla, a widow now, came to join me and we were as close as ever. A mother herself, she had a great deal in common with me; and we both loved those evenings of song. We would sing together and talk of the old days.
I was very interested in one of the troubadours, Bernard de Ventadour, who reminded me so much of the old days. He was a fine poet and had a wonderful singing voice. I was very glad that he had come to the Court—and his coming itself had been quite romantic.
He had been wandering through the country looking for a castle where he might rest for a while and ply his profession of poet and musician. I supposed he had heard that I was in residence, and so, knowing how I cared for poetry and music, he presented himself at the castle. He had a certain arrogance which I found not displeasing. He dared to ask if he might see me.
Always interested in musicians I allowed him to be brought to me. He behaved in a manner to which I had become accustomed in my father’s Court and which I had missed since I married Louis. He prostrated himself and when I bade him rise he gazed at me, his eyes blinking as though he were in a very bright light.
I was amused.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I am dazzled.”
He was implying by my beauty, of course. I smiled. It was so reminiscent of the old days.
“You wish to sing for us here?” I asked.
“It is my great desire to do so.”
“Are you a good musician?”
“I have been told so, my lady.”
“How is it that you have no place to go to?”
“I had, my lady, until I was turned adrift.”
“Did you displease your master?”
He put his hand to his heart. “It was a misunderstanding, my lady.”
“Between you ... and a lady?”
“Between me and a lady’s husband.”
I could not help smiling at the audacity of the man. “Let me hear you sing,” I said.
His voice was exquisite, and the words of the song were romantic and poetic. I was enchanted.
“Your own words?” I asked.
“My lady, I write my own songs. Then only can I express what I feel.”
He was one of those troubadours who would have been welcomed at my grandfather’s Court, and I made him welcome in mine.
How glad I was. He fulfilled a need in my life. All through those months while I was awaiting the b
irth of my child I listened to his songs—and they were all written for me. Every word, every gesture expressed his admiration for me. I liked it. It comforted me and in a way compensated for Henry’s absence.
It amazed me how a man of such humble beginnings—he was said to be the result of a liaison between a soldier and a serving maid—could be endowed with the soul of a poet; but Bernard de Ventadour undoubtedly was. There was an exquisite refinement about his verses which was the very essence of romance. They made me feel precious, cherished, high above all other women.
There was no question of physical love between us. I just luxuriated in his admiration and the beautiful use of words which soothed the longing for Henry; and I thought the perfect existence would be with two men close to me—one to satisfy my physical needs, the other to assuage that inherent longing for romantic and unattainable love. So I dreamed of Henry’s return and listened nightly to the songs of Bernard de Ventadour.
In August my child was born—a son. I was delighted—not that I would denigrate my own sex in any way but I did know that Henry would want a son, and when all was said and done, it did please the people to have a male heir. When I thought of all those wasted years with Louis, and Suger’s eagerness and certainty that if we went on trying we would succeed, and St. Bernard’s grim disapproval, I laughed out loud. And here I was soon after my marriage with Henry producing the longed-for boy. St. Bernard had died a short time ago. It was a pity that neither he nor Suger would know what had happened.
I was devoted to the child, more so than I had been to Louis’s girls. I suppose it was because this one was Henry’s and when Marie was born I was already heartily tired of Louis. I had had no joy in my marriage. But this was different. I longed for the news to reach Henry that he had a son.
There was some news of Henry during that winter. Occasionally someone would arrive at the castle who had a little to tell. I knew he was in England. I heard of some success, but there was nothing definite.
It was spring before I saw him. Little William was then eight months old, not as sturdy as I should have liked him to be, but I was assured that children were often frail for the first months of their lives.
The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine Page 20