Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude (11 page)

He should have been a monk.

She was weary of him. She wished they had married her to a
man
.

Yet he was the King of France and marriage to him made her a queen. But she was also Eleonore of Aquitaine. She was never going to forget that.

So she listened to him wandering on in his maudlin way and she knew that she would not go on for ever living as she was at this time. Her adventurous spirits were in revolt.

She had made a brilliant marriage; she was a mother. But for her that was not enough. She was reaching for adventure.

The opportunity came from an unexpected quarter.

For many years men had sought to expiate their sins by making pilgrimages to Jerusalem. They had believed that by undertaking an arduous journey, which often resulted in death, they showed their complete acceptance of the Christian faith and their desire for repentance. They believed that in this way they could be forgiven a life of wickedness. There had been many examples of men who had undertaken this pilgrimage. Robert the Magnificent, father of William the Conqueror, had been one. He had died during the journey leaving his son but a child, unprotected from his enemies, but it was believed that he had expiated a lifetime’s sins by this gesture.

But while it was considered a Christian act to make a pilgrimage, how much greater grace could be won by taking part in a Holy War to drive the infidel from Jerusalem.

Ever since the seventh century Jerusalem had been in the possession of the Mussulmans, khalifs of Egypt or Persia. There was conflict between Christianity and Islamism, and at the beginning of the eleventh century the persecution of Christians in the Holy Land was at its most intense. All Christians living in Jerusalem were commanded to wear a wooden cross about their necks. As these weighed five pounds they were a considerable encumbrance. Christians were not allowed to ride on horses; they might only travel on mules and asses. For the smallest disobedience they were put to death often in the cruellest manner. Their leader had suffered crucifixion; therefore that seemed a suitable punishment for those who followed him.

Pilgrims who made the journey to and from Jerusalem came back with stories of the terrible degradation that Christians were being made to suffer. Indignation came to a head when a certain French monk returned from a visit to Jerusalem. He became known as Peter the Hermit. Of small stature and almost fragile frame, his glowing spirit of determination was apparent to all who beheld him. It was his mission, he believed, to bring the Holy City into Christian hands. He travelled all over Europe, barefooted, clad in an old woollen tunic and serge cloak; living on what he could find by the wayside and what was given him; and he roused the indignation of the whole of Europe over the need to free Jerusalem from the infidel.

It happened that in the year 1095 Pope Urban II was at Clermont in Auvergne presiding over a gathering of archbishops, bishops, abbots and other members of the clergy. People from all over Europe had come to hear him speak; Urban had been very impressed by the mission which Peter the Hermit had been carrying out and asked him to come to him. On the steps of the church, in the presence of the Pope, Peter told the assembly of the fate meted out to Christians in the Holy Land by the ruthless infidels who were eager to eliminate Christianity.

Peter, his dedication burning fiercely for now he saw the fulfilment of his dream, talked of the insults heaped on Christians, of the hideous deaths they were made to suffer and that he believed God had inspired him with a mission which was to bring back Jerusalem to Christianity.

The crowd was silent for a few seconds after he had finished speaking and then broke into loud cries of ‘Save Jerusalem. Save the Holy Land.’

Then Pope Urban raised his hand to ask for silence.

‘That royal city,’ he said, ‘which the Redeemer of the human race honoured and made illustrious by his coming and hallowed by his passion, demands deliverance. It looks to you, men of France, men from beyond the mountains, nations chosen and beloved by God, you the heirs of Charlemagne, from you, above all, Jerusalem asks for help. God will give glory to your arms. Take then the road to Jerusalem for the remission of your sins, and depart assured of the imperishable glory which awaits you in the Kingdom of Heaven.’

Again that hushed silence; then from a thousand throats there had risen the cry: ‘God wills it.’

‘Aye,’ the Pope had cried, ‘God wills it. If God was not in your souls you would not have answered as one man thus. Let this be your battle cry as you go forth against the Infidel. “God wills it.”’

The air had been filled with people’s shouting as with one voice: ‘God wills it.’

The Pope had held up his hands for silence.

‘Whosoever has a wish to enter in this pilgrimage, must wear upon his crown or on his chest the cross of the Lord.’

Peter the Hermit watched with glowing eyes. His mission was accomplished. The crusades had begun.

Since that memorable occasion there had been many a battle between Christians and Mussulmans; and it was at this time, when Louis was so troubled by his conscience and could not get the cries from Vitry-the-Burned out of his mind, and the Queen had realised that her vitality was being frustrated, that there was a great revival of anger against the Mussulmans and a desire to win back Jerusalem to Christianity.

Bernard of Clairvaux was deeply concerned by what was happening in Jerusalem. He came to the King and talked with him.

‘Here is a sorry state of affairs,’ he said. ‘God will be both sorrowful and angry. It is many years since the first crusade and we are no nearer to our purpose. Atrocities are being committed on our pilgrims. It is time the Christian world revolted against its enemies.’

Louis was immediately interested. He was burdened with sin; he longed to expiate those sins and to have an opportunity to show his repentance.

Bernard nodded. ‘Vitry-the-Burned hangs heavy on your conscience, my lord. It should never have happened. There should never have been a campaign against Theobald of Champagne.’

‘I know it now.’

‘In the first place,’ said Bernard, who was determined not to let the King escape lightly, ‘you should not have opposed Pierre de la Chatre. You should have recognised the authority of the Pope.’

It was Eleonore who had been the prime mover in this affair as in all other matters. Bernard knew it but he did not mention it. The King was in a penitent mood. Let him take the blame.

‘It was wrong to insist on the Comte de Vermandois’s putting away his wife and marrying the Queen’s sister. It was wrong to take the war into Champagne. For these you have been punished, for you will never be able to forget the burning of the church of Vitry.’

‘It’s true,’ groaned the King.

‘You need to sue for mercy. You need to make one great gesture. Why should you not lead a campaign to the Holy City?’

‘I! What of my kingdom ?’

‘There are those who could care for it while you are away.’

‘Leave my kingdom! Lead a crusade!’

‘Others have done this before you. So they have appeased God and won forgiveness.’

The King stared before him. More war! He hated war. And yet his sins lay heavy on him.

Bernard raised his fanatical eyes to heaven. ‘I, my lord, will not turn my back on my duty. I would I were a young man and I would lead the crusade. God has declined to give me that honour. It is my duty to set before others where their duties lie. I want there to be three great assemblies, one at Bourges, another at Vezelai and another at Estampes. You will be there to give them your support. Think on this matter seriously. Only by pleasing God in this way will he forgive you for what happened at Vitry-the-Burned.’

He did not tell Eleonore immediately. He feared her derision.

He went to his good friend and adviser the Abbe Suger.

The Abbe was appalled. ‘To leave France, leave your kingdom. But your duty lies here!’

‘Not as I see it. I have sinned.’

‘You think of Vitry. You will not be blamed entirely for that. Your soldiers were undisciplined. You tried to make them desist.’

‘And failed in my duty. I was not strong enough to prevent them.’

‘Give your support to the crusade. Help those who wish to go to go. But your duty lies here in governing your kingdom.’

‘Bernard wishes me to go.’

‘Bernard is a fanatic. My lord, a king cannot be that. God would not wish you to fail in your duty.’

As usual Louis was torn between two courses. He knew that his duty lay in France; yet the thought of expiating his sins in this dramatic way appealed to him.

It was not long before Eleonore was aware of the conflict in his mind.

‘You are closeted for long periods with Bernard,’ she said, ‘and with Suger. What are they putting before you?’

He hesitated. Then he blurted out: ‘Bernard wants me to lead a crusade. Suger is against it.’

‘To lead a crusade. You! And what of France?’

‘That is what I tell Bernard. My duty lies here.’

‘Lead a crusade!’ murmured Eleonore. And she was thinking that she would be Regent of France. Or would she? They would set up Bernard or Suger or someone to govern with her. She would be expected to lead a cloistered life during the King’s absence.

But to go on a crusade! To ride to the Holy Land. What adventures she would have! Life would hardly be dull and monotonous then.

Then she knew that this was the answer. This was exactly what she had wanted.

‘You must go,’ she said firmly. ‘You will throw away your burden of guilt. It is the only way if we are ever to have any peace from Vitry. And, Louis, I shall come with you.’

He looked at her in amazement; but she did not see him; she saw herself riding at the head of the women she would select to accompany her.

She could not wait to start.

In the market square of Vezelai Bernard was rallying men to his banner. Beside him were the King and Queen.

‘If you were told,’ he thundered, ‘that an enemy had attacked your castles, your towns and your lands, had ravished your wives and your daughters, profaned your temples, would you not fly to arms? All these evils and evils still greater have come upon your brethren in the family of Christ. Why do you wait to avenge these wrongs, Christian warriors? He who gave His life for you now demands yours.’

Once again a cry rose up from the throats of thousands: ‘God wills it.’

And from none more fervently than that of the Queen of France.

The King then knelt and Bernard put the cross in his hands. Louis kissed it. Then the Queen knelt and did likewise.

She was exultant. The great adventure was about to begin.

Chapter III

THE LOVERS OF ANTIOCH

E
leonore was afire with enthusiasm as she rode back to Paris. This was going to be the greatest adventure of her life. She would ride at the head of the ladies whom she would select to take with her. She would immediately set about designing what costumes they should wear. They would be more than an inspiration to the men; they would be crusaders in very truth.

How exhilarating to be setting out on an enterprise which had the blessing of the Church, and to plan exciting adventures in the knowledge that in carrying them out one would be gaining redemption for one’s past sins. This was the second occasion when she must be grateful to Bernard. He had wrought the miracle of childbirth for her and now he had presented her with this wonderful way of expiating her sins and having an exciting adventure at the same time.

She summoned her ladies to her. They should be mounted on gaily caparisoned horses, she told them; she was arranging that there should be countless pack mules to carry their baggage. Eleonore could not tolerate the idea of travelling without the beautiful gowns and all that which was necessary in order for a lady to lead a gracious life.

The minstrels now sang of war - holy war. Eleonore listened with outward attention but her thoughts were far away in the Holy Land where she saw herself riding at the head of her troupe of ladies. They should be dressed as Amazons for they were going into battle. She started an equestrian school where her ladies were taught to practise marching into war. Trumpets were sounded in their horses’ ears that they might grow accustomed to the noise of battle; they were forced to jump over high barriers.

Eleonore spent excited hours preparing the boxes of dresses, perfumes, unguents and all that was needed for ladies of elegance.

Petronelle joined her and gave way to loud lamentations when she heard she was not included in the plan. At first she had believed she would be with her sister; she had practised her skill on horseback; she had found great pleasure in planning the clothes she would need.

Then it was decided that Raoul, Comte de Vermandois, should act with Abbe Suger whom the Pope had chosen to be Regent of France during the King’s absence. Petronelle was overcome with grief. She wept and implored but was told she must either leave her husband or stay in France.

‘I should not advise you to leave Raoul,’ said Eleonore with a smile. ‘He is a husband who would find it very easy to be unfaithful as you discovered before you married him.’

So Petronelle decided she must stay behind.

‘Well,’ said Eleonore, ‘one cannot have everything. You have an attractive virile husband, sister, and you must needs be content with that.’

So Eleonore went on with her preparations and talked so glowingly of the crusade to all whom she met that many more were gathered to the banner.

With her usual singlemindedness Eleonore despised all those who did not wish to join in. She told her ladies that if any man did not wish to come with them he must be a coward. ‘Some of them are of the opinion that women are useless except for the domestic duties they perform and for submitting to their pleasure and their need to see themselves reproduced in their children, but I have never accepted this view,’ she cried. ‘I believe that my sex is in every sense equal to that of its opposite. And now that we are going into battle, now that we have shown France that women can and will help to carry on this holy war, why should not those men who stay at home weave and spin and look after the children of their households?’

How she laughed to scorn those who made excuses not to join in the crusade.

‘Come,’ she cried, ‘we will send them our distaffs and ask them if they will make good use of them as they do not wish to do what they call men’s work.’

Eleonore was amused when she learned how many of them who had received the distaffs changed their minds and joined the expedition.

The day of departure grew near. It had been arranged that all the French joining in the crusade should meet at Metz where King Louis would be ready to lead them; and the Germans should gather at Ratisbonne where the Emperor Conrad would be waiting to put himself at their head.

Both armies should then make their way to Constantinople where Manuel Comnenus, who was the grandson of Alexis Comnenus, would assist them.

Eleonore said
an revoir
to her little three-year-old daughter and set out at the head of a party of Amazons while Louis led the men. It was a brilliant cavalcade which crossed Europe, the golden lilies flying side by side with the red cross of Christianity.

As they made their way across Europe, men eager to join in the crusade fell in behind the King so that his army numbered one hundred thousand men. Eleonore was in her element. They rested at the castles of noblemen who delighted to receive them and, eager to help any engaged on such an enterprise, entertained the company lavishly. Eleonore and her ladies sang and played; and there were tournaments and entertainments to enliven the company.

Louis was uncertain whether they should have enjoyed so much luxury for, he pointed out, it was not a pleasure jaunt; but Eleonore laughed this to scorn and the more magnificent the spectacle the more delighted she was.

When they reached Constantinople which was ruled by Manuel Comnenus, they found that the Emperor Conrad had arrived before them. The Greeks gave them a great welcome and there was much rejoicing.

Manuel declared that he would give them guides to conduct them into Asia Minor and would do everything in his power to aid them in their campaign against the infidel. He was charmed by Eleonore and her party of ladies and she was in no hurry to leave such a pleasant haven.

At the beginning of October the Emperor Conrad was ready to leave Constantinople, and Manuel, true to his promise, provided guides who would conduct him through the hostile Turkish territory. The French army had not at that time completed its preparations, and as Conrad had been the first to arrive at Constantinople he was the first to leave.

It was an unpleasant shock when news reached Louis and his advisers that Conrad had been set upon by the Turks and completely routed at Iconium. Conrad himself had been wounded; his army was in disorder and it was by no means certain what further action he could take.

There was great consternation among Louis’s advisers, and the King was prevailed upon to hold a secret conference in his apartments. Several of the bishops who were accompanying the party begged the King not to include the Queen in this meeting. She was on great terms of friendship with Manuel and it would be difficult, they said, for them to voice their suspicions in her presence.

Louis, who had begun to feel that Eleonore was displaying a levity which was not always seemly, agreed, and in the quiet of his apartments the Bishop of Langres announced that he did not trust the Greeks.

‘It appears to me,’ went on the Bishop, ‘that Conrad could have been led into an ambush. Who were his guides? The answer is Greeks who had been supplied by Manuel. What if Manuel is in league with the Turks?’

‘They are infidels!’ cried Louis.

‘They are rich. Perhaps they offered Manuel a bribe to betray Conrad.’

‘I cannot believe it. They would have to answer for such a deed in Heaven.’

‘There are some, my lord, who allow treasures on Earth to blind them to those in Heaven.’

‘Yet Manuel has been so gracious to us.’

‘Too gracious!’ retorted the Bishop. ‘Too friendly. Fawning in fact at times. I don’t trust him and now that Conrad’s army has been routed I fear for ours.’

‘What must we do then?’ asked the King. ‘We are pledged to take the road to Jerusalem.’

‘But we should not trust the Greeks. How do we know that they may not be listening to our plans and warning the Turks of them?’

‘I cannot believe that of Christians.’

‘My lord, you judge others by yourself. Alas, they lack your piety and honour. I have every reason to believe that the Greeks, under Manuel, are traitors to our cause.’

‘Then we will regard their advice with suspicion.’

‘That is not enough, my lord. They may have their spies. They may send warning to the Turks. We should take Constantinople. Let the enemy know that we will not suffer traitors.’

‘I would never agree to that!’ cried the King. ‘We did not set out to punish the Greeks, but to expiate our own sins. When we took up the cross, God did not put into our hands the sword of his justice. We have come forth to fight the infidel to restore the Holy City to Christians. I shall not engage in any other war.’

The knights rallied to the King. They were eager to press forward. They wanted to continue with the march to the Holy Land and had no desire or intention to engage in a war against the Greeks.

‘Then beware,’ said the Bishop of Langres.

‘We shall take every care, fear not,’ said Louis. ‘And now we must proceed.’

When Louis and his army left Constantinople and landed in Asia Minor, they caught up with the remains of Conrad’s army. Louis was disturbed to find the German ruler wounded and despondent. The Turks were fierce fighters he told Louis and he was certain that they had been warned of his plans.

He was in no state to march with Louis and had decided he would return to Constantinople and perhaps go by sea to Palestine.

A mood of fierce determination swept over the French army. Each man assured himself that what had happened to the Germans should not happen to the French. They would be prepared and ready for the Turk if he should attempt to ambush them.

And so it happened that when at Phrygia on the River Maeander the armies met, the French achieved a brilliant victory over the Turks. Eleonore and her ladies watched the battle from some distance and when victory was certain they came forward, dressed the wounds of those who had suffered and celebrated the success with songs written for the occasion.

‘Such an army,’ said the Bishop of Langres, ‘could if it had the mind, have taken Constantinople.’

‘It would not have had the heart,’ said Louis. ‘It has been gathered together to fight a holy war and nothing else will satisfy it.’

Now there was high hope among the soldiers. They had succeeded where the Germans had failed. Full of optimism they planned the next march forward.