Jean Plaidy - The Plantagenet Prelude

‘Then you find my charms enough for you, my lord?’

‘Enough indeed.’

‘So that you long for our marriage?’

‘I yearn for the day,’ he told her.

She drew back, laughing at him.

Not bad for my monk, she confided afterwards to Petronelle.

The Abbe Suger, seeing how their relationship was ripening, believed there should be no delaying the marriage. It was true Eleonore was in mourning for her father’s recent death but this was a State marriage and the sooner it was solemnised the better for everyone concerned.

He mentioned this to the Prince and was amazed by the alacrity with which he - once so reluctant - agreed.

‘The Duchess of Aquitaine is an enchantress,’ said the Abbe.

It was July when the wedding took place.

Eleonore’s women dressed her in her glittering wedding gown and she wore her long hair flowing. She sat on her glitteringly caparisoned horse and rode through the streets of Bordeaux to Saint Andrew’s Church where the ceremony was to be performed by the Archbishop of Bordeaux. What a day of triumph for the bride! Only a year ago she had wondered whether she would be robbed of her inheritance by a half-brother. But Fate had intervened. No one could come between her and her ambition now.

She was exultant and only a little sad that she had had to come to her triumph through the death of a father who, in her way, she had loved well enough. But there was no doubt of her success.

Duchess of Aquitaine with none to dispute her claim and soon - she believed very soon and so did everyone else - Queen of France.

Eleonore blossomed. Sensual in the extreme she found marriage to her taste. Poor Louis was a little less ardent - although there was no doubt that he loved her with a deeper emotion than she could muster for him. Eleonore loved love; she had known she would when as a very young girl she had sung of it in the gardens. There, love had been glorified - romantic love. She wanted that, but she wanted physical love as well. She it was who led the way in passion. She might have been experienced in such arts; this was not the case; he was her first lover; but with her there was a natural knowledge and understanding.

They were glorious summer days, spent in watching the celebrations for their wedding and nights spent in making love.

There was music and singing and Eleonore was initiating him into an appreciation for the chansons and poems at which she excelled. It was a delightful existence but of course it could not continue. The contests and tournaments in the castle grounds must come to an end, for the Prince must return to Paris with his bride.

She had through him become the Princess of France; through her he must become the Duke of Aquitaine.

Everywhere they went they were met by rejoicing crowds. Such an alliance all knew could bring nothing but good. The people of Aquitaine could shelter beneath the golden lilies of France and the kingdom of France had gathered a powerful neighbour into its eager embrace.

This could only mean more hopes of peace and as what was more dreaded than anything by the humble people were armies invading their homes and carrying off their goods and women, this was a desirable state of affairs.

They had reached Poitiers and were enjoying a great welcome there, when the Abbe Suger came to their apartment in the castle where they had been given hospitality, and it was clear from his expression that he was the bearer of ill news.

He was not a man to break bad news gently.

He bowed low. ‘Long live the King!’ he said.

And Louis knew that his fears were realised and Eleonore that her ambition was achieved.

Her husband was now the King and she was the Queen of France.

‘So my father has gone,’ said Louis blankly.

‘He passed away in great discomfort of body,’ said the Abbe. ‘But his pains are past. If you would obey his wishes you will rule as he would have wished - that is wisely and well.’

‘That I shall endeavour to do with all my heart and mind,’ replied Louis fervently.

The carefree honeymoon was over though. There were too many warring elements in the country for the young Louis to be accepted without opposition.

It was not that the people of France wished to put up another king in Louis’s place. Louis the Fat had kept them in order but he had not always given them what they considered their due. Now that a young and inexperienced boy was on the throne was the time to demand those rights.

A few days after the news of Louis VI’s death reached the wedding party there was further news. This time of a rising in Orleans.

Abbe Suger told the new King that now was the time to assert his authority. How he acted now was of the utmost importance. He must show his people that while he would be a benevolent ruler he would be a firm one. He must say au revoir to his bride and go with all speed to Orleans and from there to Paris. Eleonore and her court should follow him at a more leisurely pace.

Louis, less disturbed by events than a short while before he would have believed possible, rode with his army to Orleans. He must act in a kingly fashion; he would not wish Eleonore to despise him for he knew that she, who was so strong and forceful herself, would indeed despise weakness. So he must not be weak.

He prayed earnestly for wisdom to make the right decision and the strength to put it into execution.

He would carry a flower Eleonore had given him - a rose from the gardens at Ombriere. She herself had plucked it and pressed it. He must carry it near his heart she had told him; he had been enchanted with the mixture of romanticism and sensuality which made up his wife’s character, and her insistence that the laws of chivalry should be obeyed. She fascinated him, she who was so determined to be treated as a tender woman and at the same time so eager to be obeyed. She would expect him to come through this new ordeal with honour.

So he rode at the head of his troops, and how delighted he was that the citizens of Orleans, seeing him come with his army, quailed before his might, and instead of insisting on their dues craved pardon for their insolence in making demands to their liege lord.

An easy conquest and he had no desire to be harsh; his advisers insisted that one or two leaders of the rebellion were executed but he would not allow others to be punished. He even granted some of the reforms for which they had originally asked.

The people of Orleans cheered him. In the very streets where they had banded together and sought a plot against him they now called: ‘Vive le Roi.’

That matter was settled. Louis rode on to Paris and there he was joined by Eleonore. The reunion was tender; they had missed each other sadly.

‘Now we must think of the coronation,’ declared Eleonore.

By December of that year the celebrations had been planned and the great event took place.

What a long way she had come in one short year! thought Eleonore with gratification.

She was briefly content. She was Queen of France, the leader of the court, adored by the King, worshipped by those whom she gathered together that she might instruct them in the rules of chivalry. She surrounded herself with poets and troubadours. To win favour a man must be possessed of exquisite manners; he must know the rules of the Courts of Love; he must be able to express himself with grace and if he had a good singing voice so much the better.

She was the judge of the literary efforts; she applauded or derided. During the summer days she would sit in the grounds of the castle surrounded by young men and women, and she would impart to them her philosophy of life.

The girls must obey her, admire her and emulate her as best they could so that they were pale shadows of herself, and she might shine the more because of this. The young men must all be in love with her, yearn for her favours and be ready to die for them, and she would be gracious or remote; and never must their passion waver. They must write their verses, sing their songs to her; they must mingle talent with desire. She was determined that the court of France must be the most elegant in the world.

There was Petronelle growing up very quickly like a forced flower in this over-heated atmosphere. Men made verses and sang their songs to her for after all she was almost as beautiful as Eleonore, and was her sister.

How much more exciting it was to live at the court of France than that of Aquitaine, to be a Queen instead of the heiress of a Duke, providing he did not get himself a son.

It had worked out very well.

Petronelle, following Eleonore in all things, was growing more and more impatient of her youth.

‘We should find a husband for Petronelle,’ said Eleonore to the King.

‘Why, she is a child yet,’ said Louis. Poor blind Louis, thought Eleonore, the King who knew so little!

‘Some reach maturity earlier than others. Methinks Petronelle has reached hers.’

‘Think you so then? Mayhap you should talk to her, prepare her. She should be awakened gradually to what taking a husband would mean. It could be a shock for an innocent girl.’

Eleonore smiled but she did not tell him of the conversations she and Petronelle had together, and had had for many years. Petronelle was no innocent. A virgin perhaps but how long would she remain so if they did not get her married?

Louis judged others by himself. His innocence was attractive to her … at this time … though she had begun to wonder whether it would pall. Sometimes her gaze would stray to older men, men experienced, with many an amorous adventure behind them, and she was just a little impatient with the naivety of her husband. But it still amused her to be the leader in their relationship, to lure him to passion of which he would never have believed himself capable.