Jean Plaidy - The Plantagenet Prelude

‘Eleonore, I confess the thought of going to war disturbs me.’

‘That is a feeling you will have to overcome, my King.’

‘Of course I have you always at my side.’

She took his hand and smiled dazzlingly.

‘Always,’ she assured him, ‘to help and comfort you.’

He certainly felt much comforted.

In the gardens were gathered about Eleonore the ladies and gentlemen of the court. There were young girls whose families had sent them to the Queen to be schooled in all the graces and accomplishments they could find nowhere else. Eleonore delighted in these young people. Her love of power was, even in this small way, satisfied. These young people regarded her as their teacher. Under her guidance they made their gowns; they sang, they composed music and songs; and they learned to play chess. Eleonore could not bear the illiterate near her. She herself had been taught to read and write and she believed it to be an important part of every girl’s education - as well as that of boys. She was determined that there should be no discrimination against her sex. Never would she forget that she could have been diverted from a very brilliant future merely because she was female.

These hours when she ruled over her own little court were her relaxation. Anyone who composed a poem or a song would submit it for her approval; she would then have it read aloud or sung as the case might be, and deliver judgement.

She was determined to uphold chivalry and this meant the adoration of the female. A man must be prepared to woo the lady of his choice; he must be grateful for her smiles; he must be prepared to wait for the fulfilment of love. He must fight for his lady and die for her if need be. This was the essence of romantic love.

Eleonore was sensuous in the extreme but her sensuality was tinged with romance. She was as deeply aware of the virile men of her little court as they were of her. Often she allowed herself to imagine taking them as lovers. That would have given her immense satisfaction. How sad that a queen could not indulge in such romantic attachments. The duty of a queen was to provide the heir to the throne and even she - law unto herself that she might be - was aware that there must be no doubt as to the paternity of the heir of France.

There was one man who attracted her very much and this was Louis’s cousin Raoul, the Count of Vermandois. He was not exactly young; but he had a powerful personality and a reputation for his conquests not only in war but in love.

Often he would sit at Eleonore’s feet and woo her with his eyes, his gestures and the longing in his voice. There was no doubt that Raoul was inviting her to throw aside her scruples. He did not actually say so; he was wise enough to know that in Eleonore’s courts of love there must be no crudity. Hints were far more exciting than bald words; and he had made his feelings clear through those.

Eleonore liked him to sit at her feet while his eyes glittered with passion. She liked to imagine herself indulging in love-making with such a partner; how different he would be from Louis! Poor Louis! He was not an imaginative lover; she must always be the leading spirit. All very well at times, but it would be amusing, intriguing and quite thrilling on some occasions to feel herself mastered.

Alas, she must remember that she had to bear the heir of France.

Raoul continued to adore her with his eyes; his low-pitched voice continued to lure her to indiscretion. She resisted. He was a little impatient. He enjoyed wooing the Queen but he was beginning to realise that he would never do so with success … not at least until she was pregnant by Louis and could safely take a lover. Such a matter could not of course be mentioned in the romantic atmosphere of Eleonore’s court; though it was in his mind and perhaps hers, but he could not be sure of that.

Poor Louis, thought Raoul. It may be that he is incapable of begetting children. Perhaps one day she would be willing to let him be supplanted for that reason. Eleonore was a shrewd woman; she had few scruples he was sure, or at least if she had some now they would be eliminated given the appropriate circumstances. But he was an impatient man. Although he continued to worship at Eleonore’s feet his eyes often strayed and thus it was that they alighted on Petronelle, Eleonore’s young sister. What an enchanting creature she was! thought Raoul. Almost as beautiful as Eleonore herself, and he’d swear as desirous. The more he thought of Petronelle the more enchanted he was.

Petronelle might be inexperienced but she was certainly not without knowledge; she knew the meaning of the ardent glances he sent in her direction. As she was not the Queen of France she need not entertain a queen’s scruples; she was very young; she was unmarried, possibly a virgin - he, the connoisseur, believed this might well be so, although it was a state from which the girl was longing to escape. A little dangerous in view of her relationship with the Queen, and the fact of course that she had no husband. He was a bold man; he had been frustrated too long by Petronelle’s sister. He would see how far he could go.

He waylaid Petronelle in the alleyways of the garden.

‘What a delightful surprise,’ he cried as he came towards her.

‘Is it such a surprise, my lord?’ asked Petronelle, her head on one side, gaily provocative.

‘Well I will admit to a little strategy.’

‘It is always wise to admit that which is already known.’

She had no doubt learned her repartee from her sister.

‘What joy to see you alone.’

‘Why? Do I appear different alone than when in the company of others?’

‘Yes. Do I to you?’

‘Naturally I must feel some alarm remembering your reputation.’

‘Ah, reputation! How cruel it can be! How false! How unfair!’

‘Have people been unfair to you, my lord ?’

‘So much would depend on what they said of me.’

‘They say you have known many conquests.’

‘I have committed myself with honour in battle, I believe.’

‘And in the battle of love?’

‘I do not regard love as a battle.’

‘Yet people talk of conquests.’

‘Perhaps I myself am in danger of being conquered?’

‘By your lady wife no doubt. And I believe my sister the Queen to have had some effect on you.’

‘Sometimes it is not as it appears.’

‘I understand you not.’

He took a step nearer to her and grasped her hand. ‘Sometimes one does not look in the direction of the sun. It is too dazzling. One averts the eyes.’

‘Are you looking at the sun now, my lord Count?’

‘Right in its face.’

‘I trust you are blinded by it.’

‘Blinded to indiscretion. Made mad by it.’ He seized her suddenly and kissed her.

Petronelle gave an exclamation of what she meant to sound like dismay, and breaking away from him ran through the alley to a more public place in the gardens.

This was a beginning.

Count Theobald of Champagne had arrived at the court of France. He was a man who had a reputation for governing his province with wisdom; he was a good soldier and Louis had counted on his help for carrying on the campaign against Toulouse.

Eleonore was with the King when he received the Count. She made a point of being present at such meetings for she wanted the world to know that France had a queen as well as a king.

‘Welcome to Paris,’ said Louis. ‘I trust you are in good health.’

‘Never better, Sire.’

‘And in good fettle for the fight.’

‘If you are referring to this matter of Toulouse, Sire, I could not aid you in this. I do not think it would have the blessing of God.’

Eleonore was frowning. ‘Perhaps you will explain,’ she said coldly.