Read The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine Online
Authors: Jean Plaidy
“So I did and he was good to me. But I was just a landless youth . . . son of William of Aquitaine, it is true, but a younger son.”
“Determined to make his way.”
“And the opportunity came with the death of Bohemund I, who was slain by the Turks in ’30. Bohemund was a great fighter. He came out on a crusade as you and Louis have. Antioch was then in the hands of the Mohammedans, and it was necessary to take it from them to make the road to Jerusalem safe for Christians, so Bohemund fought to free it; and when he had done so, instead of continuing with the crusade, he settled in Antioch, made himself its Prince, and kept the city safe from marauding Turks. On his death his son, Bohemund II, became Prince of Antioch.”
“And when he died?”
“There is where I came in. He left only one daughter, Constance, his sole heiress, and an ambitious widow, Alice. She proposed to marry Constance to the son of the Byzantine Emperor, and there was great consternation throughout Christendom, Antioch being a place of great importance on the way to Jerusalem. There was I, at the Court of King Henry, looking for a way to fortune. Why should I not be sent to Antioch to marry the girl? I was unmarried. I was young and strong. They thought I had the qualities of a ruler. It was my great opportunity.”
“And you took it.”
“It was not so easy. There was Alice to be confronted. I guessed I should have trouble there. I came to Antioch. Alice received me. She was very gracious and seemed to have some affection for me.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“But she wanted the Byzantine for Constance.”
“And you for herself?”
“You have guessed.”
“What a difficult position you were in!”
“I had had a long and arduous journey to Antioch. There were many who knew my purpose and were bent on stopping me. I was in disguise most of the time . . . as a pedlar sometimes, at others a pilgrim. Having managed to overcome all those hazards, I was not going to miss that for which I had come—which was marriage to Constance . . . and Antioch.”
“I am sure you were very resourceful.”
“I had to be. My future was at stake. Alice insisted that I marry her, and there was nothing I could do but appear to submit, so preparations for our wedding went ahead. But before the wedding day I quietly married Constance, who was then nine years old. It was not difficult, for it was what the people of Antioch wanted and they helped me in this. They had chosen me as their leader, and the only way I could become that was through marriage with their heiress.”
“And Alice?”
“It was a
fait accompli.
What could she do? The people were for it. They wanted a Prince and they had chosen me.”
“And how wise they were! I knew, when I was a child, that one day you would be one of the great rulers of the world. And you see I was right.”
“You see me thus at this moment, my dear one, but I am most insecure. If the Turks came here to attack me in their hundreds of thousands, I should be lost. I should be unable to stand against them. The occasional raid . . . the general harassment . . . that can be dealt with. The people are loyal to me. They enjoy life here. They would fight with all they have to retain it. But the Turks are a ferocious people. They fight for their religion as we do and there is no greater cause than that.”
“I am surprised to hear you talking thus, Uncle. You seem so content here.”
“I live in the present. I fancy you are like me in this. Indeed, have you ever known anyone who understands you as I do? I share your thoughts, your emotions.”
He had come close to me and was looking intently into my face.
“No,” I said vehemently, “I never have. When I am with you I feel I am right back in my own beautiful country. I have missed it so much . . . ever since I left it.”
He kissed me with passion.
I was delighted and startled. I said: “That was scarcely an avuncular kiss.”
“What are such relationships,” he said, “when people know they are as close as you and I? What matters anything . . . race, creed, blood ties?”
My heart was beating very fast. I said slowly: “I suppose that is so.”
He held me against him. “I have never known this feeling for any other,” he said.
I replied: “Nor have I felt for any other what I feel for you. It is because you and I were brought up in the same country. There we spent those early and important years. Aquitaine will always be home to us. You have made another Aquitaine here. How wonderful it is to be here! After all I have suffered . . . you cannot understand the hardships.”
“I can, my beloved. I have suffered something like them myself. That is why I want to stay here . . . make this my Heaven upon Earth. Could I have a more beautiful setting?”
I agreed vehemently that he could not.
“Out there . . .” He waved his arms to indicate the world outside Antioch. “. . . there is strife . . . everywhere, it seems. In England, where I was helped by King Henry when I was more or less a boy and starting out on my adventures, there has been trouble since his death. Stephen on the throne, Matilda claiming it. Stephen Matilda’s prisoner . . . Matilda reigning. What sort of a country is that to live in?”
“Two claimants to the throne is certain to cause strife. Who is the better ruler?”
“Neither is good, and coming after Henry it is even harder for the people to bear. Matilda wants the throne for her son. It’s natural. After all, she is the granddaughter of the Conqueror and Henry’s direct heir. Stephen only comes through the female line. If he were a strong man it might have worked for I do not think the people want Matilda.”
“Well, all that is far away.”
“And our concerns are here . . . in Antioch.”
“It is so wonderful to be here. Everything is so cultured . . . so gracious. And to hear people speaking our language as we speak it—moves me deeply.”
“I have brought many Poitevins into Antioch.”
“The poets and the musicians . . .”
“I wanted to make it as much like my father’s Court as possible.”
“What an outstanding man he was.”
“He lived his life fully, did he not? He obeyed no rules. Who else but my grandfather could have carried off Dangerosa and lived with her at his Court as he did?”
“She came very willingly.”
“One would expect that with such a man.” He turned to me. “Eleanor,” he went on, “since you have come here I have been so happy.”
“And I . . . Uncle. It is still like a dream to me . . . after all that suffering to come to a place like this . . . and you. It was like dying and then finding oneself in Heaven.”
“Pray do not talk of dying. You have much living to do yet and why should we not create a Heaven here on Earth?”
“That is what you have already done.”
“Now that I have you here, yes. I never want you to go. I want you to stay here . . . with me . . . for as long as we both shall live. You are silent. Does it seem so impossible to you?”
“I fear so, though it enchants me.”
“There has always been a special bond between us.”
“I know.”
“Then we must accept what Fate has given us.”
“You mean . . .”
He held me tighter.
“There should be complete intimacy, complete understanding between us. I love you.”
“But . . . you are my uncle.”
“My dear, what of that? Why should an uncle not be in love with his niece? Who can decide where love shall come? I love you. I need you to make my contentment complete. I am planning now to keep you here. I live in fear that Louis is going to suggest moving on. I am going to do my utmost to prevent that . . . and you will help me.”
“I never want to leave you.”
“Then you feel for me as I do for you?”
“Yes . . . yes . . . I do. I should be the most desolate woman on Earth if we were parted.”
“Then I am happy. I will show you a little arbor in the grounds of the palace. I will see that we are undisturbed. There we shall be alone and we shall discover how much we need each other. Will you come, Eleanor? Will you?”
I did not hesitate for a moment. “Yes,” I said eagerly. “I will come.”
And that very day Raymond and I became lovers.
He was my uncle. He was married to Constance and I to Louis. But I did not care. I was happy. At last I knew what it was to love and be loved by a man. I could see nothing wrong. It was the shameful fumblings of Louis which disgusted me. This glorious emotion, this unbounded happiness which now uplifted me, made me happy beyond guilt.
I had changed. My women noticed. They said I was more beautiful than ever. Raymond continually told me that. We were in each other’s company whenever we could be.
It was impossible to keep a relationship such as ours secret. When he was present I could not keep my eyes from him. Even he, a man of the world and, I have no doubt, hero of many romantic adventures, must betray his feelings. I was aware of the love in his eyes; the ardent desire must be evident to all.
I knew this was what I needed in my life. It was ironic that I should have found it in this oasis in the heart of the most cruel country I had ever known and with my own uncle.
Louis had become quite repulsive to me. I told myself I could never share his bed again. What a mercy that he was the man he was! I was already thinking of how I could escape from him.
“You could ask him for a divorce,” said Raymond.
“And even so we could not marry.”
“Popes are very amenable to a bribe.”
“And Constance?”
“Ah,” he said. “There is Antioch. But you could stay here. Divorce Louis and you will still be Duchess of Aquitaine. You and I could return now and then to our native land.”
I pictured it. Raymond and I together at the Court of Poitiers, lying on cushions, entertained by
jongleurs,
singing our songs to each other.
It was an impossible dream. And those visits to Aquitaine? We should have to make the long journeys across hostile country. The idea of doing that again filled me with horror: And how could I go back with my uncle as my lover . . . and would Constance, the heiress of Antioch, allow us to?
But it was pleasant to dream. Sometimes, when I look back, my stay in Antioch seems like a dream . . . a dream from which I had to wake inevitably in time to harsh reality.
In between our bouts of fierce love-making we talked. Raymond took me completely into his confidence and was as frank as he would have been with his most important ministers. He told me of his concern for Antioch and how he planned to strengthen the city. It was the gateway to Jerusalem. Christendom should remember that.
He said: “I am going to put a proposition to Louis and his advisers. Soon he will be talking of moving on. There is no doubt that the whole company is in better health than it was when it arrived. Those who plan crusades do not always realize the need for safe havens on the road to Jerusalem where crusaders can stay for a respite, to deal with their sick and wounded, to replenish their packhorses. It is nonsense to raise such money—much of which is lost on the way and falls into the hands of the enemy—and to ignore the ports of call. Louis should have taken Constantinople.”
“It was suggested by the Bishop of Langres, but Louis was so eager to proceed with the journey to Jerusalem.”
“As I say, there is a lack of foresight.”
“He would believe the best of Manuel Comnenus. Louis believes the best of everyone until something is proved against them. He would not accept the fact of Manuel’s treachery until he saw Conrad himself bleeding and wounded, and heard what had happened from his lips.”
“He must be made to understand. Even here in Antioch we live in habitual fear. We are surrounded by the enemies of Christianity. It is known that Christians find refuge here. The Saracens have their headquarters at Aleppo. From there they send out their men to harry the Christians. What we need is to take Aleppo and make it a safe haven for Christians. What a missed opportunity not to take Constantinople. The French army was in a good condition then. They could easily have taken it. It would have been a great victory for Christendom.”
“You would like to see Manuel Comnenus defeated?”
“I would indeed. That Greek is as much our enemy as the Saracens themselves. Of course he betrayed the Germans. He would have been delighted if they had all been destroyed. We of Antioch are his vassals. He could take us tomorrow if he were minded to. Why cannot people see that if we are going to hold Jerusalem we must make the route safe? I should like to see a string of cities all along the road to the Holy City . . . all in the hands of the Christians.”
“In France and Europe generally they have no conception of what traveling is like. They think it compares with taking a journey across France . . . and even that can be dangerous. But they have no idea what it is really like.”
“Louis should have. He has experienced it.”
“Are you going to suggest this to Louis?”
“In due course. Perhaps you could prepare him.”
“I think there will be little hope of convincing him. He is determined to go to Jerusalem. He thinks that only when he is in the Holy City, when he kneels at the shrine, will his sins be washed away and he be able to forget Vitry.”
“Nevertheless, speak to him. Make him see that we must make the way safe for Christians.”