I wanted him to work a miracle for me and I had to discover whether this man could help me to have a child. He had prophesied the death of Louis’s brother, Philip; he had held the Host before my father who had crumpled before him. I had to face the truth. There was some spiritual quality in this man. If I did not think so, I should not be here at this moment.

I felt a certain awe which I tried to suppress. I was not sure whether it was due to the man himself or what I knew of him. I thought I would not speak immediately of my problem but of other matters on which I wanted to consult him.

I said: “My sister and her husband are still under the ban of excommunication. It was promised that if we withdrew from Champagne that ban would be lifted.”

“Your sister has no husband. He who calls himself so is the husband of another.”

“The marriage was annulled.”

“By sinners.”

“Men of the Church.”

“Alas,” he said.

“I would ask you to use your influence. You of all men could do so if you wished. You have the power to subdue those about you. You have been chosen by God.” I could see that he was unimpressed by flattery. A different approach was necessary. I went on: “Our troops have been withdrawn from Champagne.”

“The land must be given back to the Count.”

“It will be when the ban on my sister and the Count of Vermandois is lifted.”

“That cannot be until the Count of Vermandois returns to his lawful wife.”

I looked at his thin, austere face and saw the stubborn purpose there, and I knew in that moment that it was no use pleading for my sister. She must continue to pay for her pleasure; and indeed she was less disturbed about the consequences than I. I was in the presence of an extraordinary man and I was aware of the power which came from him. I had come here to plead my own cause not that of Petronilla. I decided to change my mood. I would try to be a little humble.

“I know that you are favored by the Lord God,” I said. “I would have you know that I have a great respect for you and for all you have done and are doing.”

“I am surprised to hear that.”

“Perhaps I have not appeared as appreciative as you might have thought necessary. The King, my husband, holds you in great regard.”

“The King is a good man but often misguided. He is led by evil influences.” The steely eyes bored through me. I was that evil influence, he implied. He went on: “He has been led into wars. He has offended God. He has taken up arms in evil causes. That must stop. I am sure the King is penitent. It is necessary for others to follow his example.”

I said: “I wish to ask your help. In all the time of my marriage there has been no child.”

“Then it is God’s will that there should be none.”

“I believe you could intercede for me.” I raised my eyes to his face pleadingly.

Bernard was having an effect on me. I could believe there was something holy about this man. There came into my mind a vivid picture of my father, standing before him in the church and then falling to the ground. Yes, there was a certain power about him. I believed he could work miracles.

So great was my faith in him that I was sure he was aware of it. His attitude changed subtly.

“So,” he said, “you wish for a child.”

“It is necessary,” I answered. “France must have an heir.”

“It is in the hands of God,” he said.

“You could help me.”

“It will be God’s will.”

“But if you could intercede for me. Please ... I beg of you.”

He was silent. He stared above my head as though he were in communication with some spirit above me.

“If you were to change your ways,” he said, “if you were to dispense with sinful thoughts, if you listened to the voice of God, there might be a child. It is for you to change your ways.”

“I will do anything,” I said.

He bowed his head and folding his hands began to pray, and I was praying with him.

I said: “If you would speak to my husband ...”

“He also wishes for a child.”

“But,” I replied, “he does little to help us get one.”

“Then let us pray.”

I had never thought to find myself on my knees with this strange man, who was so different from everything I had hitherto admired. Yet I believed in him.

“There would have to be peace with Champagne,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, for I knew it must be so and that our object in attacking Champagne would come to nothing. Petronilla and Raoul would remain under the edict. They must fight their own battles. I had one object in mind. I must have a child.

So there was peace between us and nothing gained from that futile war.

This was unimportant, for Louis, no doubt primed by Bernard, returned to my bed and at last I became pregnant.

Great was my joy. I was ready to accept Bernard as a miracle worker. I had kept my part of the bargain. I had refrained from meddling in state matters. I had spent my days with my women, embroidering, reading good works. This was not as irksome as it might have been, for during the months of pregnancy I was naturally less energetic. I was determined to do nothing that would harm the baby, and I was in a state of exultation because that which I had so much desired was soon to be mine.

And in due course the baby appeared. A girl.

There was disappointment throughout the Court. A boy would have been so much more suitable. Not for me. My child was perfect; and I had never accepted the idea that a boy was more important than a girl.

Motherhood changes women ... for a while. I had my nurses and attendants, but I was eager to be with my child during those first months. I marveled at the miracle which that unsavory old man had been able to perform.

Life was wonderful when such things could happen. I had my baby whom I called Marie.

It was not to be expected that I could become the sort of woman who was content with motherhood alone. I loved my child; I was proud of her; but I was not of the stuff of which doting mothers are made; and although I delighted in her, I needed stimulation, exciting adventure. I felt I was becoming stultified in my husband’s Court.

Now that we had a child, he appeared to assume that he had done his duty and could dispense with the mating process which always left him with a sense of guilt. The prayers grew longer. I was very restive in my cold, unwelcoming bed. He still had nightmares about Vitry. I thought: He will never forget it.

I told myself that a woman of my nature could not be expected to spend her life in a Court which was more like a cloister. Petronilla and her husband were not often at Court. Oddly enough they seemed content with each other, and the fact that they were excommunicated did not seem to bother them very much. They shrugged it aside with such nonchalance that people were beginning to forget about it. Never devout, they did not care that they were banned from the Church. I was a little envious of Petronilla.

Then news from the East set France in a turmoil. The town of Edessa had been captured by the Turks and all the inhabitants, many of them French, had been brutally massacred. All Christians should spring to arms. It was time to take another crusade to the Holy War.

At first I was not very interested. Nor was Louis. War had no charm for him and he was still humiliated by the affair of Toulouse and worse still by Vitry.

But it soon became clear that this was a matter to which we must give some attention. There was a grand assembly at Bourges, where the possibility of getting together men who would be ready to fight for the Holy Cause was discussed. There was another at Vezelai and yet another at Etampes. Louis was beset by doubts. He hated war, so might this not be God talking to him! It was not likely that he could expiate his sin by doing something he wanted to. He became morose; in his prayers he asked for guidance.

One day he said: “A king who led an expedition to the Holy Land would surely wipe away his sins.”

Louis to go on a crusade! I considered it. I should not miss him—that much was certain.

Louis consulted Suger as he always did on important matters, wishing no doubt that he had discussed Champagne with him instead of with me. Suger was not enthusiastic.

“You have your kingdom to govern,” he said. “It would be a great glory to save the Holy Land for Christianity, but that is for others. Your duty lies in France.”

Louis by this time was growing very undecided. He was more obsessed by Vitry than ever, and his one great aim was to expiate that sin; he had to shut out the cries of those people in the burning church who continued to haunt his dreams. And seeing how deeply concerned he was, Suger implored him to take no steps without consulting the Holy See.

There was yet another Pope by this time, Eugenius III, and he believed that people’s indignation should be aroused against the Turks and that it was time to go into battle.

Someone was needed to preach with this purpose, and the Pope’s thoughts went to one who had more influence in France than any other: Bernard of Clairvaux.

The Pope wrote to him asking for his help, and so fired by enthusiasm was Bernard that he replied at once, promising that he would go forth without delay. He was sure he could raise a worthy company of crusaders, who would go off to fight for God. So he came to Vezelai to preach the cause.

If Bernard gave his support to it, it must be right, reasoned Louis. He was growing more and more determined and Suger, who had at first raised his voice against the enterprise, no longer did so as it was supported by the Pope and Bernard.