The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (16 page)

“What do you propose? That you join forces with him and march against Aleppo?”

He nodded. “It is essential that we destroy the Saracen stronghold. You have some wise men among you. The Bishop of Langres, for instance. He saw the need to capture Constantinople.”

“If you were successful in capturing Aleppo, he would want to march on to Jerusalem. What then of us?”

“You could stay behind.”

“If only that could be!”

“My dearest love, one does not say ‘If’: one knows what one wants and says ‘I will.’”

I could believe that with my powerful lover. I was sure he was capable of achieving anything. The only thing I could not bear to contemplate was parting from him.

I sought out Louis.

“What are your plans?” I said.

He replied that we were to leave Antioch in the very near future.

“Did you know that at Aleppo, not very far from here, the Saracens have their stronghold? It is from there that parties are sent out to attack Christians. When we leave Antioch, we shall have to endure what we did before.”

“We knew the road was not easy. You should not have come. It is no place for women.”

“From what I have seen it is no place for men either. The way should be made safe for Christians.”

“Life is not meant to be easy.”

“What nonsense. Life is meant to be enjoyed, and if the way to Jerusalem can be made easier, it is folly not to make it so. There should be more places where pilgrims and crusaders could be sure of a haven. It should be our aim to make it so.”

“My aim is to go to Jerusalem and kneel at the shrine         .         .         .         to confess my sins and ask for absolution.”

“I am sure it would please God more if you helped to make the way safe for those who go to worship Him. There should be more places like Antioch on the way.”

A look of derision curved Louis’s lips. “Places like Antioch!” he cried. “What is this place? It is given over to pleasure. Life is soft and easy here. That is not the good life.”

“Why then did God make such a place where living is easy and comfortable and the fruits of the Earth grow in abundance?”

“You are bemused by this place.”

“Who would not delight in it after all we have suffered? It seems sensible to me to make the way easier for those who come after us. We should have taken Constantinople.”

“It was not what we came for.”

“We allowed the treacherous Greek Manuel Comnenus to destroy Conrad’s army. If we had gone first, it might have been ours.”

“Our plan was to go to Jerusalem.”

“But for the hospitality of my uncle we should all be dead by now.”

“We should have died in a holy endeavor.”

I sighed impatiently. “Can’t you see that God is showing us what to do?”

“I doubt God would show you.”

“He showed the Bishop. Remember how he urged you to take Constantinople?”

I noticed Thierry Galeran in the room. He sat so quietly that one was hardly aware of him. I was irritable suddenly. “Can I never be alone with you, Louis?” I said.

“You are alone.”

“What of that         .         .         .         er         .         .         .         person?”

“Galeran is always here.”

Galeran rose and bowed. I could see the dislike in his eyes. “My lady, it is my duty to protect the King on every occasion.”

“What do you think he has to fear from me?”

He lowered his eyes as though he were afraid to meet mine.

“You may leave me with the Queen,” said Louis. “Wait outside the door.”

Galeran bowed once more and left.

“That creature         .         .         .         one can hardly call him a man         .         .         .         annoys me.”

“He is a good and faithful servant.”

“You take too much notice of him.”

“Not only is he noted for his strength but his intellect.”

“To make up for his lack of manhood, I dare swear. I do not trust such. Louis, do think about what I have said. Consult with your advisers. I am sure they will agree that the way to Jerusalem must be made safe.”

“Has your uncle been talking to you?” I remained silent. “I know,” went on Louis, “that you are frequently in his company. The whole Court knows that.”

“He is my uncle, Louis. It was years since we had seen each other. Has he not treated us with lavish hospitality?”

“Lavish indeed. We do not need singing and dancing to beguile our evenings.”

“Perhaps you do not, but others might. All of us do not want to spend our evenings on our knees.”

“We are on a sacred journey.”

“Which we could not have continued without my uncle’s hospitality.”

“He owes that to God.”

I was exasperated but I knew it would be no use talking to Louis.

On the way out I saw Galeran. He was standing close to the door. I was certain that he had listened to everything Louis and I had said.

In the arbor, when I told Raymond about Louis’s responses, he said he might be able to arouse in Louis’s advisers an understanding of the need to protect the route and he would appeal to their logic.

“Louis is after all the King,” I reminded him. “If he did not agree that it was wise, they would doubtless do what he ordered.”

“He is stubborn indeed.”

“It is true that he relishes suffering. He has never complained. He even wanted to march overland to Antioch because his men had to. It took some persuading before he joined the ship. Raymond, I don’t know how I shall endure living with him         .         .         .         after this.”

“You need not. You must ask for a divorce.”

“On what grounds?”

“Consanguinity. After all, there is a close relationship. That can usually be found even if one does have to go back some way.”

“I must speak to him, Raymond. I will not be dragged away from you.”

“That is something we must avoid at all costs,” he replied.

We always left the arbor separately. Sometimes I went first, sometimes Raymond. Although the whole Court knew that there was a very special relationship between us, we had to observe certain proprieties. Lovers are generally so bemused by their love for each other that they have little thought for the impression they may be giving to others. They hide their faces and think they cannot be seen. Perhaps we deluded ourselves into thinking that the outstanding tenderness and love we obviously had for each other was that which naturally existed between an uncle and his favorite niece.

On that day I left after Raymond, and as I did so I thought I heard a movement in the shrubbery close by. I stood listening. Not a sound. I thought I had been mistaken. Few people ever came this way, and certainly not at this hour.

It was fancy. So I thought then. But of course I was lulled into that sense of security which is often found in lovers.

Raymond called a conference with his advisers and Louis’s. I was present.

Raymond stated his case with clarity. He was a vassal of the traitor Manuel Comnenus. They knew that the Emperor Conrad, as fervent an upholder of the Christian Faith as they themselves, had suffered at the traitor’s hand, his forces annihilated, his mission ended. And why? Because he was yet another of those Christians betrayed en route
.
It had happened in the First Crusade. Would they help him prevent its happening again? Logical reasoning would show such intelligent men that there was need for action.

I watched earnestly, willing them to agree with him.

Some of them—certainly the Bishop of Langres—saw the point. He said: “If we could have these safe places at intervals along the route, Christians would be able to fight off the marauders with confidence, knowing they were on their way to a respite. I would agree with the Prince.”

Louis spoke and I hated him at that moment. “We have not come to fight wars,” he said. “We have come to worship at the shrine of Jerusalem. I shall never allow myself to be led in another direction.”

“This is a fight for Christianity,” insisted Raymond.

“Christianity is for peace,” replied Louis softly.

I could see the fanatical look in his eyes. He was seeing Vitry burning; he was hearing the agonized cries of the victims. I knew that Raymond was pleading a lost cause.

We met later in the arbor.

“Louis is a fool,” cried Raymond.

“A fool and a monk.”

“How could they have married you to such a man?”

“That is what I ask myself.”

“You will not stay with him.”

“I feel that I cannot.”

We made frantic love. We were both disturbed and afraid, although Raymond did not admit it. We knew we were approaching a climax and were unsure what would happen next. It was easy to talk of leaving Louis, of spending the rest of my days in Antioch and Aquitaine—but how possible was that!

I left first on that occasion. And as I passed the shrubbery, I was aware of a shadow there.

I halted and cried out: “Who is there?”

To my horror Thierry Galeran emerged.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I saw you go into the arbor, my lady. I knew you would tarry there some time. I came to protect you on your way back to the palace.”

I felt the hot color flooding my face.

“Are you         .         .         .         spying on me?”

“My duty is to serve the King.”

“And how can you do that prowling about the grounds?”

“I thought it my duty, my lady.”

He was insolent. There was one thought hammering in my mind: He knows.

Perhaps I should have been aware that the whole Court knew. Neither of us, I thought on reflection, had been exactly reticent.

“You alarmed me,” I said. I wanted to humiliate him. My women said that he was very sensitive about his condition. I had never heard why he had been castrated. I wondered if some enemy had done this to him. “At first,” I went on, “I thought you were going to assault me. Well, never mind         .         .         .         That is something you could not understand.”

It was his turn to flinch.

I held my head high and walked ahead of him toward the palace. I was very disturbed. Had Louis set him to spy on me? Hardly. It was not Louis’s way. No. Thierry Galeran had taken it upon himself to do so; but I was certain that what he had discovered would be reported to Louis.

I decided that I would confront Louis before Thierry Galeran could do so.

I went to him. He looked rather embarrassed to see me. So perhaps he knew. He would have been aware of my fondness for Raymond but it would never have occurred to him that we could be lovers.

I had changed. Love had changed me. I knew now what I wanted. Before, I had been vaguely dissatisfied. Now I was entirely so. I would not stay with Louis.

I found him at his devotions which irritated me further.

“Louis,” I said. “I must speak to you         .         .         .         alone.”

He nodded and signed to those about him to leave him.

Before I could speak he said: “We shall be leaving Antioch in a few days’ time. I have been discussing this with those concerned and they believe we can make the necessary preparation, and in, say, three days resume our journey.”

“It is folly,” I cried. “It is going to begin all over again         .         .         .         all the hardship and misery         .         .         .”

“We all know that our goal is Jerusalem. There has never been any doubt of that, and however hard the road is we must take it.”

“Louis,” I insisted, “you have already lost the bulk of your army. Do you intend to lose the rest?”

“We came for a purpose. God will look after us.”

“He has been a little remiss in that direction so far,” I said wearily.

“We are here now. We have come through so far.”

“And what of those who have not? What of those who have died either from the sabers and arrows of the Turks or from very revolting illnesses? Do you call that looking after?”

“Eleanor, you frighten me sometimes. I fear that God will take some terrible revenge on you. You talk blasphemy.”

“Perhaps He might like those of us who speak the truth. After all, what is in my mind has been put there by Him. But enough of this theology. If you are foolish enough to leave, I shall not come with you.”

“You cannot mean that!”

“I do, Louis. I am not leaving Antioch.”

“How can you stay behind?”

“Perfectly easily         .         .         .         as my uncle’s guest.”

“Your place is with your husband and the French army. Have you forgotten that you are the Queen of France?”

“That is a matter about which I want to speak to you.” He looked puzzled.

“Louis,” I said, “let us be frank. You and I are not suited, are we? I believe there are times when you regret our marriage. As for myself, I regret it all the time. We cannot go on. I want a divorce.”

“Divorce! How can you suggest that? You are the Queen of France.”

“Queens have been divorced before. I shall not be the first.”

“But         .         .         .         why? It is impossible.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because you are not meant to be a husband. You know it is the Church to which you give your devotion. I might want to marry again. I want a divorce.”

“You would renounce the crown of France!”

“Yes, I would. I should no longer be Queen of France and you Duke of Aquitaine. But it would be better for us, Louis. We should be so much happier without each other.”

His face puckered as he looked at me. He was bewildered and unhappy. I was amazed. In spite of everything, he loved me in his way. It was not a passionate desire such as I had for Raymond, but it was a steady affection, an admiration for my beauty, I supposed, though it was difficult to believe that Louis was susceptible to that. He had really been very patient with me. He found a wife embarrassing. He was continually trying to avoid physical contact; and yet, all the time, in his way, he loved me.

I felt a little touched, but it did not prevent my determination to get away.

“I believe you have not given this matter enough thought,” said Louis. “My poor Eleanor, you have suffered a great deal on this journey, and here you live in luxury provided by your uncle. You have always been too fond of pleasure and you should pray for help to conquer that. I think perhaps you are a little overwrought.”