The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (24 page)

It was the first time I was aware of those black rages of his. This was when I knew that there was a great deal to learn about my husband.

We left Limoges and continued our journey. It was not the same.

The news of what had happened spread through the duchy, and I noticed some sullen looks. My people would accept me and all my sins, for they were the sort of peccadilloes which they understood. The burning of the walls of Limoges was quite another matter.

Henry was very shrewd. He quickly assessed the people’s attitude toward me and he was too clever to resent it. I realized that he was planning to leave me in control of Aquitaine while he looked after Anjou and Normandy—and of course his eyes were on England. There was nothing petty about his feelings. Everything about him was larger than life—even his rages.

During those first months of our marriage he endured those evenings when we sat and listened to the minstrels, but I knew he thought it all a waste of time. He was, though, studying those about us, deciding whom he could trust and of whom he would have to be wary. He was assessing the value of my property, considering what would be wanted for its defense if need be; and all the time he was noting the people’s love and loyalty to me.

If I had ever thought of him as a malleable boy, I was rapidly learning my mistake. I might be eleven years older than he and that must give me some advantage, but it also meant that I had the understanding to know this man I had married and how I must act if I wished to keep him. An uneasy thought had occurred to me: that my feelings for him were stronger than his for me. I was as deeply sensual as he was; we were matched in that; but it did occur to me to wonder what happened when he was far away from me. He was hardly the man to put himself under restraint. I learned in those first few months that it was not going to be easy to keep such a man entirely mine. He had always had a reputation for promiscuity before marriage. He was lusty, looking all the time for conquest, no matter in what direction. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy as I emerged from my first flush of passion.

But I was no weak woman. I was sure I would be able to deal with any situation which presented itself to me. In the meantime this wandering life had to come to an end. He was thinking of England.

I knew that he had to go and that I had to let him go. It seemed to be my fate to marry men who were absent from my bed. Louis had stayed away from choice; it was different with Henry. He was lusty, but ambition came first—so I thought then. I had to learn that this husband of mine was the sort of man who did not set great store by love when lust would suffice. For him the parting would not be such a wrench for he would casually indulge in sexual relationships whenever the opportunity arose—and such opportunities were strewn in his path. That had always been a way of life, and his marriage would not alter that. This I had yet to discover, and fury possessed me when I did.

I should have known, of course. I should have been more worldly. He did care for me in a way. He admired me as he did his mother, recognizing that both of us were exceptional women of intelligence and experience. He was not one of those men who thought of women as naturally inferior. Only when they were did he think so. He respected me as he did his mother, but I was to discover that the idea of remaining faithful to me had never occurred to him.

At this time I was still living in a romantic glow, although the affair at Limoges had opened my eyes a little and set warning bells ringing in my mind. I had begun to understand that he was not quite what I had thought him.

He talked to me glowingly of his plans. He could not rest idly anywhere, and there was a task to be completed. He had to wrest his heritage from the supine Stephen and his useless Eustace, as he called them. For this he needed an army, and armies cost money. He needed a great deal of money. I could supply some but not all that was necessary. He had to set about finding it without delay.

He was going to Normandy, from where he would doubtless cross the Channel. His mother would do all she could to help, and she would guard Normandy while he was in England. My task was to keep Anjou, with Aquitaine, safe for him during his absence.

He discussed this at length when I should have preferred to hear his protestations of fidelity and undying love, and his sorrow because of our enforced parting. But Henry would not waste time on such trivialities. The preliminaries to love-making did not appeal to him. They were a waste of time. We both knew what we wanted; there was no need for wooing. He wanted to talk of plans.

I was to go to Anjou, for my presence would be needed there more than in Aquitaine, where I could rely on the loyalty of my subjects.

I agreed with all this. I did suggest that it might be better if he tarried until the spring, for if he went now he would arrive in England in the winter. Would that be wise?

He said he would have preferred the spring but must perforce make do with the winter. And that was an end of the matter.

So he went to Normandy and I to the castle of Angers, where I settled down to wait for his return, praying that it would be a triumphant one.

To my joy I found that I was pregnant. I laughed inwardly, thinking of all the barren years with Louis. So it
was
his fault. I had always suspected that it was; there was bound to be something less than a man about Louis. But a woman does get uneasy feelings when she wants desperately to conceive and cannot; and it is only natural that she begins to wonder whether the lack of fertility is in some way due to herself.

I was happy; this was the best time for pregnancy, with Henry absent, and it brought with it a certain serenity which made life very pleasant.

I filled the castle with troubadours so that it resembled the Court of my grandfather. Petronilla, a widow now, came to join me and we were as close as ever. A mother herself, she had a great deal in common with me; and we both loved those evenings of song. We would sing together and talk of the old days.

I was very interested in one of the troubadours, Bernard de Ventadour, who reminded me so much of the old days. He was a fine poet and had a wonderful singing voice. I was very glad that he had come to the Court—and his coming itself had been quite romantic.

He had been wandering through the country looking for a castle where he might rest for a while and ply his profession of poet and musician. I supposed he had heard that I was in residence, and so, knowing how I cared for poetry and music, he presented himself at the castle. He had a certain arrogance which I found not displeasing. He dared to ask if he might see me.

Always interested in musicians I allowed him to be brought to me. He behaved in a manner to which I had become accustomed in my father’s Court and which I had missed since I married Louis. He prostrated himself and when I bade him rise he gazed at me, his eyes blinking as though he were in a very bright light.

I was amused.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I am dazzled.”

He was implying by my beauty, of course. I smiled. It was so reminiscent of the old days.

“You wish to sing for us here?” I asked.

“It is my great desire to do so.”

“Are you a good musician?”

“I have been told so, my lady.”

“How is it that you have no place to go to?”

“I had, my lady, until I was turned adrift.”

“Did you displease your master?”

He put his hand to his heart. “It was a misunderstanding, my lady.”

“Between you         .         .         .         and a lady?”

“Between me and a lady’s husband.”

I could not help smiling at the audacity of the man. “Let me hear you sing,” I said.

His voice was exquisite, and the words of the song were romantic and poetic. I was enchanted.

“Your own words?” I asked.

“My lady, I write my own songs. Then only can I express what I feel.”

He was one of those troubadours who would have been welcomed at my grandfather’s Court, and I made him welcome in mine.

How glad I was. He fulfilled a need in my life. All through those months while I was awaiting the birth of my child I listened to his songs—and they were all written for me. Every word, every gesture expressed his admiration for me. I liked it. It comforted me and in a way compensated for Henry’s absence.

It amazed me how a man of such humble beginnings—he was said to be the result of a liaison between a soldier and a serving maid—could be endowed with the soul of a poet; but Bernard de Ventadour undoubtedly was. There was an exquisite refinement about his verses which was the very essence of romance. They made me feel precious, cherished, high above all other women.

There was no question of physical love between us. I just luxuriated in his admiration and the beautiful use of words which soothed the longing for Henry; and I thought the perfect existence would be with two men close to me—one to satisfy my physical needs, the other to assuage that inherent longing for romantic and unattainable love. So I dreamed of Henry’s return and listened nightly to the songs of Bernard de Ventadour.

In August my child was born—a son. I was delighted—not that I would denigrate my own sex in any way but I did know that Henry would want a son, and when all was said and done, it did please the people to have a male heir. When I thought of all those wasted years with Louis, and Suger’s eagerness and certainty that if we went on trying we would succeed, and St. Bernard’s grim disapproval, I laughed out loud. And here I was soon after my marriage with Henry producing the longed-for boy. St. Bernard had died a short time ago. It was a pity that neither he nor Suger would know what had happened.

I was devoted to the child, more so than I had been to Louis’s girls. I suppose it was because this one was Henry’s and when Marie was born I was already heartily tired of Louis. I had had no joy in my marriage. But this was different. I longed for the news to reach Henry that he had a son.

There was some news of Henry during that winter. Occasionally someone would arrive at the castle who had a little to tell. I knew he was in England. I heard of some success, but there was nothing definite.

It was spring before I saw him. Little William was then eight months old, not as sturdy as I should have liked him to be, but I was assured that children were often frail for the first months of their lives.

Henry went first to Normandy and then came on to Anjou.

It was wonderful to see him. We embraced fiercely and gave way to all the longing of the past months. Our desire for each other had not abated; rather had it intensified after our absence.

He was delighted with little William. Here was another side to his nature. I was amazed to see how tenderly he picked up the child and lifted him high in the air         .         .         .         laughing happily. It was wonderful to see him thus.

He was very eager to tell me what was happening. That was really what was uppermost in his mind.

He had had the most amazing good fortune. It really did seem as though God were on his side.

“I landed at Wareham,” he said, “which is on the coast of England, with 140 men-at-arms and 3,000 infantry. I went straight to Bristol. Farsighted men have seen that Stephen is not good for the country. He is affable and charming, but affability and charm do not necessarily make good rule. A king has to be strong         .         .         .         and it is being seen what is happening to the country over the years of this man’s rule.”

“There must have been a great deal of disruption when your mother was at war with Stephen,” I said.

“It is not good for the country. In my grandfather’s day, England prospered. The English are seeing what a difference a strong ruler makes. My great-grandfather, the Conqueror, and my grandfather, King Henry, were strong; they introduced good laws which the people obeyed. There is anarchy throughout the country now because of Stephen’s soft rule. And there are those who believe in me. They know that I am made of the same stuff as the Conqueror and King Henry, and they are right, by God. So they acclaimed me at Bristol. They were for ousting Stephen and making me their King.”

“This is most heartening.”

“You have not heard all. We marched to Malmesbury and laid siege to the castle. We took the outer fortifications with speed, but the keep was too strong so we had to fall back on the siege. Stephen was by this time alerted and he came with his army to the relief of Malmesbury Castle. Now listen to this. This is like Divine Providence. There is a little river there, the Avon. It became so swollen that Stephen could not cross it. The rain started to fall in torrents; the wind was strong and it drove the rain right into the faces of Stephen’s men while we had it on our backs. They simply could not march forward or even stay where they were. Stephen is not the most resourceful of commanders. To him there was only one thing to do. He turned his army around and marched back to London. So the castle fell into our hands.”

“What great good fortune.”

“It was a sign.”

“I did not know you believed in such things.”

“I do when they are in my favor.”

I laughed with him. It was so good to have him back.

“What then?” I asked.

“We had to go to Wallingford. That was one of the main purposes of our visit to England. Brian FitzCount of Wallingford has been a loyal supporter of mine for years. He was my mother’s, and when she retired and left the field to Stephen and there was comparative peace in the country, he carried on the war         .         .         .         he and a few others. He has been doing good work for me, and Stephen’s men had reached the stage when they were besieging him in his castle. He sent word to me that he needed help; I had to go to his aid. So after our success at Malmesbury we marched to Wallingford.”

“Looking for further help from Heaven?”

“If we needed it, yes. I knew that on equal terms we were a good match for Stephen. He might have an army but an army needs a commander, and I did not think Stephen had much heart for the battle.”

“He sounds like Louis.”

“Not quite like that, but nevertheless he is not a man designed for war. The two armies faced each other. Our men were ready for the fight. But to my amazement word was brought to my camp that Stephen wished to parley with me. So we met face to face. He had his advisers with him and I had mine. There was a strong feeling that a battle when we might be killed and our armies decimated could do no good to the country. We were both being rash. It might well be that some compromise could be worked out. Why did we not agree to a truce while we both considered our rival claims, and perhaps some solution could be found? To tell the truth, I was not averse to a little respite, and I certainly got the best of the bargain, for Stephen agreed to withdraw his garrison from Wallingford and raise the siege. So I had achieved what I wanted without a battle.