The Plantagenet Prelude

At this time Stephen of Blois had taken the crown of England, and it seemed very likely that he would hold it although England was not in a very happy state. Matilda, whom many believed was the true heiress, for she was the daughter of the late King Henry I, whereas Stephen was merely his nephew, would never cease to urge her husband and son to bestir themselves to get back their dues.

Suffice it then that Eleonore and Louis leave Normandy out of their calculations. But what of Toulouse? The fact that the Counts of Toulouse asserted that they were the true rulers of that province had always rankled with Eleonore.

Her grandfather had married Philippa of Toulouse, and Eleonore maintained that through this marriage Toulouse had passed to Aquitaine.

Eleonore discussed this with Louis. He saw the point.

‘Mind you,’ he temporised, ‘I doubt whether the Count would agree with us.’

‘It is not a matter for him to agree or disagree about. The fact is I have a right to Toulouse through my grandfather’s marriage and I see no reason why I should waive it.’

‘Why did your grandfather and father never take it?’ asked Louis.

Eleonore shrugged impatiently. She did not wish to recall that neither her father nor her grandfather had been noted for their success in battle. Her father had been somewhat inept politically and her grandfather had been more interested in the conquest of women than territory.

She however was more ambitious. Within her there still burned the resentment engendered by her father’s desire to displace a forceful young woman, possessed of all the attributes a ruler should have, for the sake of an unborn child merely because he might be a boy.

‘The fact that they allowed others to take that which was theirs does not mean that we should.’

Louis was uneasy. She could have shaken him.

‘But Toulouse has been independent for many years.’

‘I know, I know! When my grandfather went crusading he put it into the care of Raymond Saint-Gilles. It was to be a temporary measure.’

‘But it has remained in his family ever since.’

How impatient he made her! She frowned and then allowed her smile to become tenderly exasperating. ‘My dear, dear Louis, you are so gentle, always ready to defend your enemies. I love you for it, of course, but it is no way to rule.’

He could not endure her disappointment in him. She had ensnared him completely. Sometimes he wondered whether she had given him one of those potions she had once mentioned. He could not bear that she should not admire him. It was true that he needed to be war-like. His father had warned him that he must be strong and that it might be doubly hard for him, brought up as he had been to be a priest.

‘What do you suggest we do, Eleonore?’

Her smile was radiant. ‘First you will summon all your vassals to court. There you will tell them that you intend to wage war on Toulouse for what belongs to the Crown through your marriage shall be brought to it. You will tell them that you expect – nay demand – their support. It is your due and their duty. Are they not your vassals?’

‘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 ill iterate 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 begi

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 co