The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine

by Jean Plaidy

  When I was alone with Louis, I asked him once more.

  He shook his head. “It would not be good for France.”

  “You listen to Suger.”

  “He is the wisest man I know.”

  “But surely he cannot wish you to continue with a marriage which is no true one.”

  “It is a true marriage to me.”

  “Louis,” I said, “you know that you were not meant to marry. You should have gone into the Church.”

  “God decreed it should be as it is.”

  “Yes . . . yes. God in His Heaven commanded a pig to kill your brother, I have heard it many times. You should give your country a male heir.”

  “You wish to try once more?”

  “God has shown clearly that he does not intend us to have a male heir. You must divorce me and marry someone who can give you what you need . . . what the country needs.”

  “Suger does not believe it is God’s will.”

  “Suger fears the loss of Aquitaine.”

  Louis looked at me sorrowfully. “I have heard rumors of you . . . and the young Plantagenet.”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “It grieves me.”

  “You could have the marriage annulled.”

  “For adultery.”

  “It is the most conclusive of all reasons.”

  “Do you want so much to leave me?”

  “I believe it would be best for us both. We have never been suited to each other.”

  “I am sorry I have failed you.”

  “We have failed each other. Louis, it is clear to me that we should never have married. We are too close in blood.”

  Even as I spoke I shivered. I was as close if not closer to Henry Plantagenet.

  “That,” I went on vehemently, “is the best of all reasons. If you divorced me for adultery you would not be able to marry again, and you must marry again. Suger must realize how badly France needs a male heir.”

  “He believes we could get one through prayer.”

  “It is not the usual method.”

  Louis ignored my remark. “If we were truly penitent, He would grant our request.”

  He seemed uncertain. No doubt he was thinking there was much to forgive. Vitry for him, adultery for me.

  I said: “Bernard would advise a divorce, I believe.”

  I was sure that was true. Bernard thought I was a devil incarnate. I thought: If it were not for Suger, it would not be so difficult.

  Impatiently I left Louis. He would waver constantly. Suger on one side, Bernard on the other. He would never come to a conclusion.

  The Plantagenets had left, and life was inexpressibly dreary without Henry.

  Not long after their departure there came startling news.

  They were riding with their party when, overheated after hours in the saddle, they decided to halt for a rest near the river. They sat for a while watching the cool river flow by. Geoffrey announced his intention to have a dip in the river. It would cool him down, he said. So he and Henry divested themselves of their clothes and went in.

  They swam and sported together for a while, then came out and dressed. After that they made their way to the spot where they would encamp for the night. There was a cloudburst and they were drenched to the skin, but it was a warm day and they were not bothered by this, hardy warriors as they were.

  I heard in detail what had happened later.

  That night Geoffrey developed a fever. He was fearful, remembering Bernard’s prophecy: “You will be dead within the month.” There was still time for that to come true. He called his son to him and spoke to him as a man does on his deathbed. Henry laughed the idea to scorn.

  “Do you attach importance to the words of an old man spoken in anger?” he demanded.

  It seemed that Geoffrey did, and as the night wore on, Henry began to believe that he might be right. He tried to convince his father that he was frightening himself to death just because a so-called prophet had made a pronouncement. But at length it was necessary to send for a priest, and by the morning Geoffrey was indeed dead.

  There was a great deal of talk about Bernard’s spiritual power. People remembered that he had prophesied the death of Louis’s brother. Bernard it seemed could lay a curse on a man and that was what he had done to Geoffrey.

  There would be new responsibilities for Henry now, but I had no doubt that he would be able to deal with them.

  And then . . . Suger died. Louis was desolate. He had loved the old man, and I doubt a king ever had a better servant. He was buried with great ceremony at St. Denis. When I attended the funeral, all I could think of as they laid him to rest was that the great obstacle to my freedom was removed.

  There was Bernard now, and although he was my great enemy—and Suger had never been that—I believed he would help to get me what I wanted.

  Suger had had a kingdom to hold together; Bernard had a soul to save. I was sure he thought I was descended from the Devil when he considered my grandfather and father; and I really did believe that he wanted to see me separated from Louis.

  I went to work on Louis once more. I pointed out the need for divorce, for him to marry a woman who could give him sons, as I clearly could not. Why not start afresh with someone of whom God—and Bernard—could approve?

  Bernard arrived in Paris, and Louis discussed the matter with him.

  There was a degree of consanguinity, said Bernard, and it might well be that that did not find favor in God’s eyes. Moreover my reputation would no doubt have offended the Almighty. When Bernard came down in favor of the divorce, I knew the battle was won.

  Bernard worked his will. Very soon he had the barons believing that the best thing that could happen to France was that its King and Queen should be divorced.

  At length it was decided that the case should be heard at the church of Notre Dame de Beaugency under the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Bordeaux.

  I took up residence at the nearby chteau after having given instructions that when a decision was reached it should be brought to me immediately. As soon as I had it and it was favorable—which it must be—I would make my way to my own dominions and there wait for Henry to join me.

  There was only one matter which saddened me. I should have to part with my daughters. They must be declared legitimate. I had no fear on that point. Bernard was on excellent terms with the Pope, and they both favored Louis; but of course as Daughters of France they would have to stay with their father, and I should lose them. I did love them, but my life had never been entirely dedicated to them. At that time I was not a woman to live only for my children; and the sexual hold which Henry Plantagenet had on me was greater than anything else. So I should have to reconcile myself to losing my daughters; but I had always known that if there was a divorce that would be an inevitable outcome.

  I sat in the tower watching the church for the first sign of a messenger.

  At last I saw the two bishops—one of them the Bishop of Langres—accompanied by two gentlemen, coming into the courtyard and I hurried down to meet them. The bishops were getting ready to make a long pronouncement but I said impatiently: “I can wait no longer. Tell me, what was the verdict?”

  “May we come inside?” one of them asked.

  “No,” I said vehemently. “No more delay.”

  Seeing that I was determined the Bishop of Langres said: “My lady, the Court has declared that the marriage is null and void on account of the close relationship between you and the King.”

  I was overjoyed as I took them into the chteau.

  Louis was near to tears when he said goodbye to me, and so was I when I took my farewell of my children. I promised them we should meet again and I hoped not before too long.

  I told Louis he should marry again and this time he would get a son. It was his duty to do so, and it was what Bernard and the people wanted. He would have to do his duty toward them.

  He shook his head miserably. The last thing he wanted to do was marry again.
r />   Poor Louis! What a pity they would not allow him to go into a monastery.

  But it was all over. There was no need for me to stay. I was free.

  Now I could return to Poitiers. First I must send a message to Henry to tell him the news, and that I would wait in my capital city for him to come to me.

  And so I set off.

  It was springtime, it was Easter, and the weather was perfect. I wondered how my people would receive me. They had always had an affection for me, but they might have heard of the somewhat scandalous life I had led. But what would they expect from my grandfather’s granddaughter? They had not been very pleased about the union with France. Perhaps they would be glad to welcome me back, but should I stay with them? How could I know what my future life would be with the man whom I had chosen to be my new husband? It was gloriously obscure, which was perhaps what made it so attractive.

  I was all impatience to reach my destination and I urged my little party to move with speed. We spent the nights at various chteaux where we were given hospitality. Many of our hosts were as yet unaware that I was divorced from the King of France. I doubt whether it would have made any difference if they had known, but I felt it was a good idea not to mention it. They would know in due course. Such news travels fast, as I was to discover.

  We were passing through the territory of the Count of Blois when we saw a party of horsemen approaching, led by a very good-looking young man. He leaped from his horse and almost prostrated himself before me.

  “This is the greatest good fortune, my lady,” he said. “I heard that you might be passing through my land and I prayed that I might discover you and your friends before you left. My castle of Blois is close by. The afternoon is drawing on. I shall deem it the greatest honor if you will rest under my roof.”

  This was charming and I bade him rise. I thanked him for his offer and said we would be delighted to accept it. He was soon riding beside me, and his excited glances were an obvious indication of his admiration. I was accustomed to this of course and not greatly surprised to receive it; but I was no innocent, and it occurred to me that the young man might have some ulterior motive.

  “I knew your father,” I said.

  Memories came back, for this young man was the son of Thibault who had caused so much trouble at the time of Petronilla’s marriage to Raoul of Vermandois.

  We talked a little of the past and he told me he thought I should have more protection. I should have a bodyguard. “Such an illustrious lady,” he said, “should not ride with so few to care for her.”

  “I am guarded enough,” I assured him. “I am near my own home, and one feels safe among one’s own people.”

  He shook his head. “I am glad I came upon you, for it gives me this chance to be your protector.”

  I smiled and replied that I had always believed I was a woman who could look after herself.

  “In so many ways, yes, but a strong arm and a loyal heart are good to have beside even the bravest of us.”

  By the time we reached the castle I realized that he was aware of the divorce, and I imagined there would be one thought in his avaricious mind: Aquitaine. This was a lesson to be learned. There would be suitors—not so much for me but for Aquitaine. I must not forget that once more I was the richest heiress in France. I had emerged from my marriage with my lands intact. His talk of protection made me pensive. I thought of all the women who had been carried off by certain bold men. Dangerosa had gone willingly, others might not have done so.

  What was in the mind of this young man? Would he take me to his castle? Would he attempt to seduce me? That I fully expected, but he was going to be disappointed there. But what if he held me prisoner? What if he forced me? Was that possible? I should be in his castle, surrounded by his minions. He would have an advantage over me, for in his own terrain he would have the means of keeping me captive.

  I was not exactly alarmed but alerted.

  At the castle a great welcome was given us. It was an interesting place and had been in the possession of the Counts of Champagne since the year 924. I had heard songs in my grandfather’s Court about it. The first Thibault had been a fierce baron who had ravaged the countryside, taking all he wanted, including the women, and the whole neighborhood went in fear of him. He was known as “the Black Midnight Huntsman.” The present Count seemed mild in comparison but even with him I must tread warily.

  The emblem of the place was a wolf. I thought it apt in view of the reputation of the first Count. The name “Blois,” I learned, comes from “Bleiz” which means Wolf in the Carnute and Celtic languages. I had wondered why the first Count had adopted the name and called his castle after that most rapacious of animals, and whether the present Count was trying to follow in his ancestor’s footsteps.

  As he led me into the great building, his words sounded ominous. “I shall do everything I can to make your stay here a long one.”

  And I thought: I shall do everything I can to make it brief.

  I said to him: “You are indeed kind, Count, but I am in great haste to reach my city of Poitiers, and I shall be able to take advantage of your wonderful hospitality for only one night.”

  He smiled wistfully but there was a gleam of something I did not quite like in his eyes.

  He ordered that the finest bedchamber in the castle be prepared for me and he set them in the kitchen making a meal worthy of me.

  So far so good. It was what was to be expected for the Queen of France.

  One of the saddlebags containing what we should need for the night was unpacked, and I changed from my riding habit into a velvet gown, and wore my long hair loose about my shoulders. I was rather pleased with the result, for although I was determined to teach the Count a lesson, that did not mean I wanted to diminish my allure in any way.

  I quite enjoyed the evening. I was seated at the table in the place of honor. My women, watchful, aware of the situation, were entertained graciously by the knights of the castle. Young Thibault gave all his attention to me. I was gracious to him and accepted his compliments with assumed pleasure. I allowed him to serve me with the food, which was excellent. The minstrels were pleasant, and I really felt I was close to Aquitaine and the old days.

  He told me that my visit was the greatest honor which had befallen his castle.

  “Oh come,” I said, “you exaggerate.”

  “Never,” he declared passionately. “This is the happiest night of my life.”

  He was drinking a great deal of wine and pressing me to do the same. It was something I never did, and I was certainly not going to on this occasion for as the night began to pass I grew more and more suspicious.

  I told him how I admired his castle and how interesting it must be to remember his ancestors who had lived in it for so many years, especially the founder of the family, the Black Midnight Hunter.

  “Oh, he was bold,” he said. “He took what he wanted.”

  “There are some like him today. I wonder if you are one, my lord.”

  A sly glint in the eyes! Oh, yes, he had plans. And he thought he was getting on very well with me. I let him believe it, the arrogant young fellow. I compared him with my Henry. Surely he could not believe that I would consider him as a husband! His eyes were greedy . . . thinking of me in his eager hands . . . and Aquitaine to follow.

  He said he would gladly lay his castle and its contents at my feet.

  “You hold Blois lightly, my lord,” I told him.

  “Nay, I treasure it beyond my other castles. It is why I would lay it at your feet. Only the very best would be good enough for you.”

  “You should be grateful that I do not accept your offer.”

  “Ah . . . if you would . . . I should be the happiest man on Earth.”

  He is growing a little muzzy from the wine, I thought. He is going too fast. I decided to let him trip himself up.

  “Well, Count, have you anything else to offer?”

  “This hand,” he said. “This heart.”

/>   I laughed. “That sounds like a proposal of marriage.”

  Yes, indeed he was far gone. I saw the light in his eyes. He actually believed that I liked him. His arrogance angered me.

  “I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you are, my Queen,” he said.

  “I am Queen no longer. You know that, do you not?”

  “I know it and rejoice in it . . . for myself, and condole with poor Louis.”

  “That is charmingly said. I am also ruler of Aquitaine. You had not forgotten that, had you?”

  “I can think of nothing but your beauty.”

  “But Aquitaine is beautiful, too. Surely you will agree with that?”

  “I daresay it is. But I had not thought of it.”

  “Oh, had you not? It is not very clever of you to forget Aquitaine.”

  “What I mean is that I am so deep in love with you that it would not matter to me if you were the lowest serving maid and not a great lady.”

  “Then you are a man without discernment. One who does not see the advantages will not get very far in life, I fear.”

  “You are laughing at me.”

  “Forgive me. I thought you were laughing at me. Laughter is good for us. Let us enjoy it.”

  “If I could realize my dearest dream and marry you, I should be the happiest man on Earth. I beg of you be kind to me. Tell me you will consider this. There is nothing I would not do for you. Please, please think of it.”

  I did think: This has gone too far and is quite absurd. The man must think I’m a fool, and I could not forgive anyone for thinking that.

  I said coolly: “Let us have done with this farce, shall we? Of course I will not marry you.”

  He looked quite taken aback. Oh yes, he was very drunk but there was a certain shrewdness in his eyes.

  “I will never give up hope,” he said.

  “Hope sometimes comforts even when the goal is quite out of reach. And now, if you will indulge us, I should like to hear your minstrels once more before I and my ladies retire for the night.”