The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (7 page)

He turned on his would-be captors and slew several of them. Lezay, unfortunately, managed to escape. The party returned to the castle with the tale of how they had been attacked and how, largely through Louis, they had routed Lezay and his men.

Louis told me his version of the affair after. “When they attacked us, I was seized with a fury which was uncontrollable. I just drew my sword and slashed at them. I am afraid I killed several of them.”

“They deserved it. I’m proud of you.”

“Such rage is not pleasing to God. I should have controlled my anger.”

“And stood by and let them slay you! No, Louis. It is no use your pretending you are not a hero. You are. And I intend to treat you as such.”

He was very pleased that I should admire him, but I could see that his conscience still troubled him, and he was on his knees for a long time that night before getting into bed, though I was there waiting, propped up on my pillows, looking, I knew, most alluring.

His upbringing could never be completely eradicated. Even I, with all my wiles, could not do that. But I did not give up hope.

It was a glittering ceremony which took place in the cathedral at Poitiers when Louis and I were consecrated as Duke and Duchess of Aquitaine.

Afterward we went back to the castle for a banquet, and we were feasting merrily when Suger came into the hall.

He strode to where Louis was seated and fell on his knees.

Louis rose to his feet and I saw his color fade. He knew what this meant.

“Long live the King,” said Suger, kissing Louis’s hand.

Poor Louis! He had only just become accustomed to a wife and now a crown was being thrust at him—neither of these had he wanted, although he was becoming reconciled to his wife. The unwelcome crown was going to weigh heavily on his head.

As for myself, a great triumph was rising in me.

I had just been proclaimed Duchess of Aquitaine and now I had become Queen of France.

Queen of France

P
ARIS IS A FASCINATING
city. I have never known one like it. When I knew it, it stood on a crowded island in the River Seine. Parts of the wall which the Romans had built around it remained, and where it had fallen away steps had been made down to the river, making a landing-place for the numerous craft. Two bridges connected the Ile de la Cit with the banks of the Seine and that extension of the city which was fast expanding.

The island city seemed to be divided into two parts—the west dominated by the Court and the east by the Church in which rose the gray walls of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The eastern streets were full of churchmen, and those on the west side housed knights and barons. The sound of bells was ever present. Every little byway was crowded and boats of all description filled the river. Students flocked to the place to hear the monk Peter Abelard who had arrived in Paris to preach; there were scholars from many countries eager to hear him.

I had never seen such a motley crowd. There were quarters where the tanners lived—butchers, bakers and tradesmen of all kinds. They filled the streets, rubbing shoulders with the prelates and gentlemen of the Court. It was a city of vitality. Young students sat about in taverns talking of Life; traders shouted their wares. They joked with each other; they abused each other; everything was there—except silence.

Intrigued as I was, I felt homesick for Poitiers and Bordeaux.

I did my best to make the Court similar to those I had known all my life. I had brought many followers with me; I had my minstrels and my poets. I wanted to re-create the Courts of Love in Paris—and this with a King who was almost a recluse and a mother-in-law who disapproved of everything I did.

I was so sure of myself. My friends were there. I was frivolous; I was pleasure-loving and my success with Louis made me feel omnipotent. He was very much in love with me and I found I could bring him to my point of view with the utmost ease because he wanted so much to please me. I could have my own way with him and considering the difference in our natures, that was certainly an achievement.

I was gentle with him in those days. I suppose that was how I achieved my hold over him. I was often impatient with his pious ways. There were times when he seemed to be trying to turn the Court into a monastery.

He was constantly at church. He used to pray for what seemed like hours at night when I lay shivering in my bed waiting for him. I took a venomous delight in contemplating how cold he must be kneeling on the floor. But of course people like that enjoyed discomfort; they took a delight in it because they felt it must be good.

I enjoyed riding through the streets of Paris, for the people cheered us. When they considered what I had brought to France, they must have thought Louis had made a good choice.

But I had my trials—chief of which in the beginning was my mother-in-law, Adelaide of Savoy, and of course the Abbot Suger was always there in the background casting a shadow over any form of pleasure.

They were forever criticizing me. They objected to the way in which I was bringing the Provenal way of life into the Court. The songs my minstrels sang were about love, just as they had been in the Courts of my father and grandfather. My grandfather was referred to as a man who had lived immorally and died excommunicated, who had abducted another man’s wife, living openly with her and actually allowing his son to marry her daughter.

And I was the child of this union! “Bad blood,” said my mother-in-law, Adelaide.

Her disapproval was more obvious than that of Suger. His criticism was spoken in prayers directing God to be lenient with me, to remember my youth. I supposed old Suger thought he was important enough to give God instructions. I was always amused by the prayers of the saintly. “God do this, God don’t do that.” I thought God probably laughed at them too, unless He was a little annoyed by their temerity.

My mother-in-law began gently in the beginning. “My dear Eleanor, you are so young         .         .         .         and so is Louis. Two children, in fact. Do you think that dress is just a little too revealing?”

No, I did not. I had always worn such dresses.

“What a color you have, my dear. You haven’t a fever, have you?”

“I find color becoming, Madame.”

She was such an old hypocrite. She pretended not to know that I had put it on.

Petronilla and I used to laugh at her. I thanked God for my sister. She was enjoying life at the French Court, although my mother-in-law’s disapproval extended to her.

I heard her murmur once to one of her ladies: “Dear God, how were they brought up in that licentious Court? One must not blame them. They are only children.”

I think that to be referred to as a child annoyed me more than references to the family’s licentious Court. It was not true in my father’s case, but I suppose it might be an apt description of my grandfather’s.

It was inevitable with one of my temperament that the little niggling annoyances which I suffered from Adelaide should eventually become more than I could endure.

One day she came unannounced to my apartments. Petronilla was there, and we were trying on new gowns. Petronilla was in her petticoat when Adelaide appeared.

She said: “I heard you laughing         .         .         .         quite immoderately         .         .         .”

I had had enough. I was bolder in Petronilla’s company than I should have been alone. My sister was too. We gave ourselves courage. I said: “Is there a law in France against laughing?”

“What a thing to say!”

“You seemed to object.”

“I was just passing.         .         .         .”

“And listening to our discourse, I doubt not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you had not been listening, you would not have heard.”

Petronilla was looking at me with shining eyes, admiring, encouraging, urging me on.

“I prefer not to be spied on,” I said, “and I ask you to desist from the practice.”

“You forget to whom you speak.”

“Do not forget that you speak to the Queen of France.”

“You         .         .         .         you         .         .         .” she spluttered.

I drew myself up to my full height. “You may go now,” I said haughtily.

She stared at me in amazement; her face turned white and then red. She turned abruptly and went from the room.

Petronilla collapsed onto my bed and covered her face with her hands, her body shaking with mirth.

I was not amused. I wondered what I had done. She was after all the Dowager Queen and I was a newcomer.

“‘You may go,’” said Petronilla imitating me, between gusts of laughter.

“There will be trouble now,” I said.

“Oh, you only have to talk to Louis. He’ll be on your side. He’s madly in love with you.”

I wished I had been more dignified. What had taken place had bordered on a brawl.

Louis was upset. He said: “My mother is unhappy. She says you don’t want her at Court.”

“I have never said that,” I told him.

“She says she thinks she should go away.”

“Did she really say that?”

He nodded wretchedly. “I have tried to persuade her to stay but she is adamant.”

It seemed too good to be true. But it was not. A few days later Adelaide of Savoy left the Court. She said she thought there was no place for her there.

What a triumph! If only I could always rid myself of all my enemies so easily.

Louis was sad for a while. He hated conflict of any sort. But in time he seemed to forget it; and he bore no malice to me because of her departure.

I was amazed by my power over him. It was wonderful to be so cherished.

About this time there were murmurings of discontent in France. It was hardly to be expected that there would not be some malcontents. A king who had been much respected, and who, I know now, had been one of the best rulers France had ever had, had died leaving a young one in his place. Naturally there were some who believed they could take advantage of the situation.

Louis was panic-stricken. I felt annoyed with him. There were times when he seemed to forget that he was king. Much as I liked having a docile husband I did not want a poltroon.

“You will have to quell this revolt at once,” I told him.

“I thought of sending one of my generals with a few men.”

“One of your generals with a few men! Oh no! You must go yourself. You are the King. It is you who has to defend your realm. You must go at the head of your army.”

He looked dismayed. Poor Louis, he would be much happier on his knees before an altar or praying in a monk’s cell than leading an army. His early beginnings when Suger had molded him into a churchman had formed his nature—just as my upbringing in the Courts of Love had molded my character. He hated the thought of war, but he had to go. I insisted. France was my destiny now as much as it was his. If he did not put down this uprising, there would be more.

Because he could not bear that I should despise him he put on armor and went to Orlans.

I proved to have been right. The sight of him with the might of the army behind him settled the question. The people of Orlans meekly surrendered, gave up their leaders to the executioners and shouted:
“Vive le Roi!”
as Louis rode through the streets.

He returned to me triumphant. It had not been so difficult after all. He was sorry he had had to order that the leaders be executed, but that was what his generals had suggested should be done.

“They were right,” I said. “If you had allowed them to escape, any little town which thought it had a grievance would rise up against you. Oh, Louis, I am so proud of you. This is your first real test since you became king, and see, you have come right through with shining honor.”

I kissed him and told him how great he was and that it was nonsense to think he was not a soldier at heart. It was the duty of every king to defend his realm.

“I have no real feeling for it, Eleanor,” he said. “The thought of inflicting pain and death nauseates me.”

“You’ll grow out of that,” I assured him. “A king must be strong. The death of a few troublemakers is nothing compared with that of thousands which a war would bring about. You should rejoice in your action, for I do.”

So I soothed him.

One rebellion will often breed another. This one was particularly depressing because it took place in my own dominions         .         .         .         and in Poitiers of all places, which I had always considered my home.

I suppose it should not have been so unexpected. Their Duchess had become Queen of France and they—a proud people, who had always known independence—were now under the sway of a foreign land, for that was what they considered France to be. They decided they would have none of it. They would throw off the yoke of the foreigner to whom they had been casually handed just because of their Duchess’s marriage to the King of France. They announced that they would rule themselves and set about forming a Poitevin government.

This seemed to me the height of disloyalty. I was very angry. I did not stop to consider how these people might be feeling. They had lived in a free and easy manner under their dukes. There had been the occasional riots but my grandfather and father had known how to settle them with the minimum of fuss. This was different. I was more than their Duchess now; I was the Queen of France, and when they rose in rebellion, it was against France as well as against me.

“They must be punished severely,” I said to Louis. “You must not be so lenient with them as you were in Orlans. You see, because you were not harsh enough, these people believe they can behave with impunity.”

“I did have the leaders executed,” he reminded me.

“It is not enough. You have to show these people that you are their master. Your father always did and people say he was a good king. The people appreciated him even though they did laugh at his fatness. You have to show them, Louis. It is no use being soft.”

That disastrous affair of the Poitiers rebellion, I can see now, looking back, was the beginning of the rift between us. Had I been older and wiser, I should have known that I could not hold him in thrall forever, because there were too many forces working against me. I thought I could because of my victory over Adelaide of Savoy, but she was of small account compared with Suger, that shriveled-up little man of humble origins, who had somehow risen to be the power behind the throne.

Louis rode off with his army. It was as easy a conquest as Orlans had been. The Poitevins had not been expecting him to come in such force. No doubt they had thought there would have been negotiations and some plan worked out. When they saw Louis and his army arriving, they immediately capitulated.

Louis then remembered my words. I knew he was anxious for me to think well of him. He would remember that he could not just meekly accept their submission and ride off again. I had impressed on him that he had to show them that this sort of rebellion was no light matter. Someone had to suffer for it.

He hated bloodshed but he knew he dare not return to me and say that he had forgiven them, merely disbanded their so-called government and declared all was over. He had an idea that he would take as hostages all the young men and women of Poitiers. They should be taken to France as exiles from their native land; and if ever any others felt they might rebel against him, they could remember what happened to those who did.

He named a day when all the young men and women were to assemble in the square prior to their departure for France.

It was not a wise thing to do. He should have executed the leaders of the revolt, but doubtless he remembered how contemptuous I had been of his previous mild action and that was why he had devised this plan.

The Poitevins were loud in their lamentations. To be robbed of their young was more than they could endure. They sent messengers all over the country appealing for help against this cruel sentence.

Suger was at this time at St. Denis, and it was not long before he heard what was happening. He saw at once the folly of this action and realized that it could bring the whole of Aquitaine to revolt against the King of France.