Виктория Холт - The Courts of Love - The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine

Petronilla would stand beside me. “He must soon come back,” she said. “He has been gone so long.”

“It is a long way to go.”

“Then when he comes back he will take a wife, our stepmother, Eleanor. I think we shall hate her. She will have children, and if they are boys they will be more important than we are.”

“She may be barren.”

“I hope she is. No one but you should be ruler of Aquitaine.”

“If I marry the son of the King of France I shall have to go away.”

“I shall come with you.” I was silent and she went on: “Please say I may. I should hate to be parted from you. I wouldn’t. I should run away to where you were.”

I smiled, pleased by her devotion. “You are always impulsive, Petronilla,” I said. “You are a little like our father. You act without thinking what effect your actions will have.”

“Some say that of you.”

“Then we are a pair.”

“Promise I shall come with you when you marry and go away.”

“I promise.”

As we stood there one day, we saw a lonely figure riding along the road.

“He brings news,” I said. “Let us go down and see what he has to tell us. It may be that he comes from our father.”

We were not the only ones who had noticed the arrival and when we went down a little crowd had gathered there.

A groom took the rider’s horse. He was clearly exhausted and must have ridden a long way. He came to me and kneeling before me lifted woeful eyes to my face.

“I bring sad news, my lady.”

“You come from my father?”

“The Duke is dead, my lady.”

“Dead! No, that cannot be.”

“Alas, it is so, my lady. There were many hardships on the journey. The Duke developed a cough. It settled on his lungs. His legs became stiff. There were nights when there was no shelter. We could not travel fast.”

“He should never have gone,” I said. “He should have stayed with us. There are other ways of expiating sins.”

“He became too ill to ride, my lady. We had to make a litter for him. It impeded our progress. It became clear to us all that he could not make the journey to Compostela.”

“Why did you not bring him back?”

“He would never have made that journey either; and he wished to go on.”

“And he did not reach the shrine.”

“He passed away when we were within a mile or so of it. We could see it in the distance. But he died contented. He knew that, although God had denied him the satisfaction of reaching the shrine, his sins would be forgiven and he would be received into Heaven. He talked of Moses, who did not reach the Promised Land. He wished to be buried at the shrine, my lady; and this was done.”

I felt dazed. I said: “You are exhausted. You must rest. You should take some food. Come into the palace.”

This was a possibility which had not occurred to me. I had thought my father might return debilitated, for I knew his health was not such that he could endure hardship, but I had not thought of death. Never to see him again. Then one thought overwhelmed all others: Aquitaine was mine. No one could replace me now.

The Court was still in mourning for its Duke. Attitudes had changed. I had been admired by the courtiers as a beautiful girl; now I was their Duchess. They regarded me with a new respect.

I missed my father. When people have gone forever, one remembers so much that one wished one had done. I wished that I had let him know how much I had cared for him, that I had known, even when he planned to displace me, that his great concern had been for me. He did not want me to have to face difficulties such as those which had confronted him and given him great anxiety. I could have told him that I was different from him. I believed I would not have made the mistakes that he did. This was not so much conceit as conviction. I know now how wrong I was when I look back over a lifetime of mistakes; perhaps as great as any he made. But I wanted him back; I wanted to talk to him; I comforted myself with the thought that God had accepted his final sacrifice and given him absolution in return for his life, that he would be in Heaven and from there perhaps be able to look down on me and know that his fears for me were groundless.

I learned more from the messenger, of the hardships they had endured, and how when he became so ill he had sent a messenger to the King of France offering him my hand in marriage with the King’s eldest living son. He had received assurances from Louis before he died, and I was told that because of this he died content.

That Louis intended to keep his promise was evident. Almost immediately emissaries from the Court of France arrived at Bordeaux.

The King’s son, Louis, was on his way to visit Aquitaine, and I knew that he was coming to ask my hand in marriage. It was a courtly gesture—and typical of the French—for it was a foregone conclusion that I should accept him, since the marriage had been a possibility for some time. There was no fear now that any son of my father could claim Aquitaine from me. I was the best match in France for him; and as he would one day be King of France, he was the best for me.

Petronilla and I talked constantly of what would happen next. Perhaps it was rather soon after the death of my father for there to be all this excitement about a wedding, but the circumstances were unusual. I was a girl of fifteen and therefore in need of protection, and the King of France had decided to waive convention and act as good sense commanded him.

We were often at the tower from which we had a good view of the road. We expected to see signs of the French cavalcade at any moment. When I was Queen of France, Petronilla reminded me, she would be with me. I assured her that was a promise I intended to keep. She was too young as yet to be married and it was only to be expected that I should want to keep her with me and choose her husband for her.

So we talked as we watched and waited, and one day our patience was rewarded, for we saw in the distance a glittering company approaching. Pennants waved in the wind and from far off came the strains of music.

As we watched, a messenger came riding up. It was the Archbishop Geoffrey du Lauroux, whom my father had made my guardian while he was away. I went down to greet him, Petronilla beside me as usual.

“The French are approaching, my lady,” he told me. “We must welcome them. The Prince is with them and I think I should bring him to my palace. A meeting between you must be arranged without delay.”

I agreed that this should be and he went off immediately.

Petronilla and I could not contain our excitement. Soon I should see my prospective husband. We went up to the top of the tower from where we could see the French camped close by. Their tents and pavilions made a colorful show with the banners displaying the fleurs-de-lys. It was as though an army was encamped there.

It is a never-to-be-forgotten moment when one is presented to a man never seen before and who is to be one’s husband.

Poor Louis; knowing him so well now, I realize he was far more nervous than I. I try now to analyze what I felt then. Was I disappointed? In a way. He was no bold knight like those of whom I had heard so frequently in the songs of the Courts of Love, and scarcely a romantic figure. There was something rather timid about him. While that irked me in a way, for perhaps I had dreamed of a masterful lover, in another way it pleased me for I knew at once that I should be able to lead him the way I wanted him to go.

He was tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed, with rather pale skin, and there was little animation in his face. I suppose he was about as different from me as any person could be from another.

I had discarded my wimple and wore my abundant dark hair loose about my shoulders; it was too beautiful to be hidden. I had dressed with care in a blue gown with long, wide, hanging sleeves, a little demure yet seductive. The color suited my dark eyes and olive skin.