The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (21 page)

“He will not succeed. I tell you this: I am going to be King of England one day.”

“I know you are. England and Aquitaine         .         .         .         they could be ours if we married.”

He was slightly taken aback and was silent for a few moments contemplating this glittering project.

I was the richest heiress in France. He was the Duke of Normandy, and his sights were set on the crown of England. Matilda had failed to grasp that crown, but he could succeed. How could weaklings like Stephen and his son Eustace hope to defeat such as Henry Plantagenet?

“What a prospect!” he said slowly. “England and Aquitaine and nights like this together in holy wedlock. Alas, my Queen, you have a husband.”

“I have long been wanting a divorce.”

“And failed to get it.”

“I shall, though. I am determined.”

“On what grounds?”

“Consanguinity.”

He burst out laughing. “And you and I? I doubt not we are as closely related.”

“We will forget that.”

“Yes, let us forget it. All the noble families are connected by blood. It is a good thing. It makes a divorce that much easier when it is wanted. Of course, the marriage could be annulled because of me.”

“We do not wish for that.”

“No, no.” He laughed again. “Consanguinity is best. And do you think it possible?”

“Suger is against it. I know that is because he does not want Aquitaine to slip out of France’s hands.”

“He’s a clever old man.”

“Louis takes his advice on everything, but Bernard hates me. I think he would like to see me leave Louis.”

“He is more formidable.”

“Yes, but Suger is strong and constantly beside Louis. I have been trying for years and I cannot bring him to the point. But I do believe he is beginning to relent. He is a monk at heart and has no feeling for love.”

“Poor fellow! What he misses!”

“He does not think so. He prefers to spend his nights on his knees.”

“But this divorce         .         .         .         You and I. I like it. England and Aquitaine         .         .         .         together with the most exciting woman in the world. What more could a man ask?”

“Do you think it possible?”

“Of course it is possible.”

“And if I were divorced?”

“You and I would be together. No longer would you be Queen of France. Shall you mind that?”

“I shall rejoice in it.”

“‘Duchess of Normandy’ is not such a bad title. What think you of ‘Queen of England’?”

“That would make me the happiest woman in the world.”

And so we plighted our troth.

Negotiations continued and to the surprise of all Geoffrey of Anjou released Gerald Berlai. He said he had intended to do so from the beginning and that was why he had brought him to the Court of France; but when Bernard had made threats against him, he had become incensed and acted as he did.

Moreover, Henry swore fealty to Louis for the fief of Normandy and was acknowledged as Duke; so what had begun in such a stormy fashion ended in peace.

Louis was very satisfied with the proceedings. He believed that Bernard’s threats of the dire consequences had subdued Geoffrey but I knew differently. The Plantagenets had what they wished for, and that was a truce with Louis which would prevent his taking up arms on Stephen’s behalf.

Meanwhile Henry and I were spending each night together. So deeply was I immersed in our relationship that I did not care if I did betray my secret to those about me. They would discover in any case. It was impossible to keep secrets from one’s ladies. But they would not dare to tattle even among themselves for fear of my wrath, so at night Henry would come to my bedchamber, and there we would indulge in that which had become of the utmost importance to us both.

We were the more desperate because we knew that we should soon have to part. But it would not be for long, I assured him. I was more determined than ever now to have my divorce and I would. Louis would be more intolerable to me after this interlude.

I wanted to be with Henry; I needed him. I was passionately in love with him and he with me. Perhaps he was also a little in love with Aquitaine, and perhaps I did cast covetous eyes on another crown, this time to be shared with the man of my choice. The crown of France—the crown of England. What did it matter? It was the man who was important to me.

It may have been that we each liked what the other had to bring, but that was no deterrent to our passion; and I think that perhaps my nights with Henry were even more exciting than those I had spent with Raymond, for with Henry there was hope of a lasting relationship which there could never have been with Raymond. Henry had brought me to a new life; he had taken me away from the nostalgic past; and I was deeply in love with him. I
must
get my divorce.

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.

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.