The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine Read online

  I could not stop looking at him. It was his overwhelming vitality which attracted me. There was an air of restlessness about him, as though he was straining his patience to the limits in order to stand there.

  Now he was aware of me. He stared at me somewhat audaciously. I returned his gaze and for some moments he appeared to be assessing me. Insolent! I thought—and, oddly enough, I liked his insolence. I saw admiration in his eyes. They were warm, almost suggestive. I felt a pleasant excitement. I had heard he was a lusty young fellow and had, at the age of seventeen, already fathered two bastards.

  A mere boy, I thought. I was eleven years older than he. But nevertheless, he interested me.

  Bernard had taken charge of the proceedings. Geoffrey was an old enemy of his whom he disliked intensely and on whom he had already pronounced the ban of excommunication.

  I liked these Plantagenets; there was a recklessness about them; they reminded me of my grandfather.

  Bernard declared his horror to see Berlai in chains and demanded that he be immediately released, to which Geoffrey replied that he would not be told when to release his prisoner and he would decide what his fate would be.

  Bernard then said that if Geoffrey would release Berlai, he would attempt to have the ban of excommunication lifted.

  “I do not regard holding my enemy as a sin,” retorted Geoffrey, “and I have no wish to be absolved on such an issue.”

  Bernard was outraged. He called upon God to witness the blasphemy of this man.

  “God hears you,” he said. “You have offended against Heaven. Your fate is sealed. Very soon you will be called upon to face your Maker, and then you will be forced to repent your sins. You will be dead in a month.”

  There was a hushed silence. Then Geoffrey and his son, taking their prisoner with them, walked out of the room.

  They did not leave Paris immediately and, when the furor had subsided a little, it was agreed that there should be more talks.

  The next day I saw Henry Plantagenet again. There were several people present but he came close to me. His hand touched mine as if by accident. His was rough but in spite of that I felt a certain thrill at the contact. He smiled at me, his eyes seeming to take in every detail, traveling over my throat and beyond.

  “You are very beautiful,” he said almost mockingly. I bowed my head in acceptance of the compliment.

  “So accustomed to praise, I doubt not,” he went on, “and so it should be, for you are worthy of it. I would I could speak with you somewhere . . . alone?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Matters of state should be discussed with Abbot Suger,” I said.

  “I would rather discuss them with you. Come, my lady, you will be safe, I promise you.”

  “It did not occur to me for one moment that I should not be.”

  I should have turned away. I should have said that the insolent boy was not to approach me again. But I hesitated. There was something about him which made me want to tarry.

  I said: “I cannot imagine what you would wish to discuss with me.”

  “Then give me an opportunity to tell you.”

  “Come to my apartment,” I said, “in an hour. One of my women will bring you to me.”

  He bowed.

  I was feeling absurdly excited. There was something unusual about him. He had said I was beautiful, but he had spoken in a matter-of-fact way as though stating an obvious fact. There was no note of wonder in his voice, as I had heard many times before. And what was he suggesting? I could hardly believe I had assessed him correctly. He was the sort of young man who would walk into an inn, take a liking to a serving girl, summon her to his bed as though he were ordering a meal, seduce her and then be off. What games did he think he could play with the Queen of France? It would be amusing to see.

  I was waiting rather impatiently for him.

  “Young Henry Plantagenet,” I had said to my women, “has some request to make. I have promised to see him. When he comes, bring him to me.”

  He stood before me. It was obvious that he paid little attention to his appearance. I saw why they called him “Henry Curtmantel,” for he wore a very short cape quite unlike the usual fashion. He was, I discovered, the kind of man who does not care what he looks like but dresses always for his own comfort.

  “Well, sir,” I said, “what would you have of me?”

  “I think you know,” he replied with a smile.

  “I am quite unaware.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps it is too intimate a matter to be brought up just at this moment.”

  “I do not understand you.”

  “I think we are going to understand each other very well.”

  He was having an extraordinary effect on me. I had to admit to myself that I found him exciting and very attractive. It amazed me that I should, but I was starved of excitement. Ever since I had lost Raymond I had been looking for another to replace him, never hoping to find that perfection which I had enjoyed, but perhaps someone who was slightly less handsome, slightly less charming. And now this young man, so different from Raymond in every way, was arousing in me those emotions which I had shared with my uncle.

  I tried to think of other matters. “Your father must be very uneasy after Bernard’s curse,” I said.

  “He does not care for the old man.”

  “His prophecies have been known to come true. He prophesied the death of my husband’s brother.”

  “He who was killed by the pig?”

  “Yes, the same.”

  “We are of the Devil’s brood, you know. We are immune from curses.”

  “You are bold . . . you and your father.”

  “To be bold is the only way to live. I am sure you will agree with that.”

  “Perhaps I do.”

  He came closer to me and took me by the shoulders. I began to protest but he seized me and held me against him. He laughed and then suddenly he pressed his lips down on mine.

  I made a pretense of protest, but I knew this was what I had wanted from the moment I saw him. He had known it, too. It had been one of those cases of spontaneous attraction.

  He drew away from me, still holding me by the shoulders.

  “You are the most exciting woman I have ever known,” he said.

  “And you are the boldest young man and the most insolent.”

  He drew me to him and kissed me again.

  “Do you realize . . .” I began, in halfhearted protest.

  “I realized from the moment I saw you that you were going to be mine.”

  “That is nonsense.”

  “No, sound good sense. Why not? When I looked across that room I said to myself: ‘There is the woman for me.’”

  “You have forgotten you are talking to the Queen of France.”

  “I never forgot that for a moment.”

  “And you here . . . a vassal of the King.”

  “We don’t take kindly to the term.”

  “I have seen that. You have offended the King . . . and now Bernard.”

  “As long as I please you, I do not care.”

  He took my chin in his hands and I was again aware of their roughness. What was I doing with this uncouth young man? I did not understand myself. I was surprised and delighted and found myself yearning to be closer to him.

  “I want to be with you . . . alone,” he said. “Where can we meet?”

  “For what purpose?”

  “That we may give expression to our feelings.”

  “You must be mad.”

  “Mad with desire for the most beautiful woman on Earth. And you, my lady, what do you think of your ardent suitor?”

  I said: “I think this is a joke.”

  “Your responses belie those words. It is serious. Did you not know it when we looked across that room at each other? Old Bernard thundering away with his curse and poor Louis sitting there looking as though he thought the roof was going to fall in on us . . . and you and I just looked at each other . . . and we knew.”


  “I do not know why I listen to you. You omitted to swear fealty to the King. You come here with one of Louis’s seneschals in chains. You invoke the curses of Bernard. And most brazen of all you make advances to the Queen.”

  “I am not sure that the Queen has not made advances to me.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “When we looked at each other, something passed between us . . . some understanding. I knew that you felt for me what I felt for you, and when two people such as we are agreed on such a matter, there is nothing that can stand in our way. Let us be frank. I believe that you and I could bring great joy to each other.”

  “We do not know each other.”

  “I have heard much of the Queen of France. Doubtless you have heard my name mentioned. So we knew each other before we met.”

  “We have just met face to face.”

  “At last Fate has been kind to us. Tell me when I may come to you. If you don’t tell me, I shall find a way, rest assured.”

  “I need time.”

  “Time? Time passes too quickly. My father and I cannot stay indefinitely in Paris.”

  “What of your prisoner?”

  “What has Berlai to do with us?”

  “I understood you were coming to see me on state matters.”

  “No, on something far more important.” He gave me another of those bewildering kisses.

  “Come,” he said. “We waste time. When can I be with you . . . alone?”

  I hesitated and betrayed myself. I wanted to be with him. I knew what he was suggesting and I felt reckless. The longing for Raymond would not diminish until there was another to take his place. Was it possible that that one could be this brash boy? He was the only one who had aroused these wild emotions in me since Raymond.

  I said I would see him again . . . alone . . . that very day.

  There was no finesse about Henry. I was glad. I was realizing how foolish I had been to try to replace Raymond with a pale shadow of himself. Henry was quite different. Henry was himself, and there was no one like him. He was without grace, frank, not exactly crude because he was, I discovered to my delight, highly educated; but he dismissed with contempt the graceful maneuverings of the courtly lover. I could match his rampant sexuality with my own, and for the first time since I had lost Raymond I was fulfilling my needs.

  We delighted in each other. Two sensual people, each of whom had found the perfect partner.

  When he said he had never enjoyed an adventure more, he meant it. When he said I was more beautiful than any woman he had ever known, he meant that, too. He was not one for pretty speeches. It was very refreshing.

  For a few days I lived in a dream of contentment—not thinking beyond the next encounter. I could not have enough of him, nor he of me. He had no qualms about seducing the wife of the King of France. Perhaps he knew it was not the first time I had been unfaithful to Louis. Such as Henry would have no respect for Louis.

  I was delighted to find that he was not merely the virile lover for whom I had been searching. He had a great respect for learning, and both his parents had wanted the best tutors for him. Master Peter of Saintes had been his first tutor, and when his uncle, Earl Robert of Gloucester, had brought him to England to join his mother, he had made sure that he had been given the best instruction. Soldier-adventurer that he was, Henry had taken to learning. I had known from the start that he was unique.

  After our first wild rapturous encounter I felt alive as I had not since I lost Raymond. I was happy. I felt as though I was going to live again.

  Every moment we could, we spent together. It was not easy for people in our position to escape alone. We had good friends, both of us, and recklessly we took advantage of that. Sometimes I used to marvel at what had happened. I was passionately in love with a man eleven years younger than I, who was not at all handsome, who was bowlegged, whose hands were red and weatherbeaten, who hardly ever uttered a compliment, who did not sing songs in praise of my beauty—in fact, he was entirely different from any man who had interested me before. It was amazing, but all the more exciting for that. I could think of nothing but Henry, and I was dreading the day when he would leave.

  He talked about his childhood, of his overbearing mother, of her tempestuous life with his father.

  “She is a very handsome woman,” he said, “determined to have her own way. She never forgets that she is the daughter of the King of England and the widow of the Emperor of Germany. I think she greatly regretted having to give up the title of Empress and then having to fight for her rights and failing to win them. All her hopes are on me now. I have to go on and win the crown of England.”

  “And there is Stephen’s son, Eustace,” I said.

  “Yes . . . and the King of France would send aid to him.”

  “Louis has no stomach for fighting. It is only because of Vitry. He cannot forget that. He wants to help Stephen’s brother, the Count of Champagne . . . and that means Stephen’s son.”

  “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 swo
re 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.