The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean. Страница 8

He was not a man to break bad news gently.

He bowed low. ‘Long live the King!’ he said.

And Louis knew that his fears were realised and Eleonore that her ambition was achieved.

Her husband was now the King and she was the Queen of France.

‘So my father has gone,’ said Louis blankly.

‘He passed away in great discomfort of body,’ said the Abbe. ‘But his pains are past. If you would obey his wishes you will rule as he would have wished – that is wisely and well.’

‘That I shall endeavour to do with all my heart and mind,’

replied Louis fervently.

The carefree honeymoon was over though. There were too many warring elements in the country for the young Louis to be accepted without opposition.

It was not that the people of France wished to put up another king in Louis’s place. Louis the Fat had kept them in order but he had not always given them what they considered their due. Now that a young and inexperienced boy was on the throne was the time to demand those rights.

A few days after the news of Louis VI’s death reached the wedding party there was further news. This time of a rising in Orleans.

Abbe Suger told the new King that now was the time to assert his authority. How he acted now was of the utmost importance. He must show his people that while he would be a benevolent ruler he would be a firm one. He must say au revoir to his bride and go with all speed to Orleans and from there to Paris. Eleonore and her court should follow him at a more leisurely pace.

Louis, less disturbed by events than a short while before he would have believed possible, rode with his army to Orleans. He must act in a kingly fashion; he would not wish Eleonore to despise him for he knew that she, who was so strong and forceful herself, would indeed despise weakness. So he must not be weak.

He prayed earnestly for wisdom to make the right decision and the strength to put it into execution.

He would carry a flower Eleonore had given him – a rose from the gardens at Ombriere. She herself had plucked it and pressed it. He must carry it near his heart she had told him; he had been enchanted with the mixture of romanticism and sensuality which made up his wife’s character, and her insistence that the laws of chivalry should be obeyed. She fascinated him, she who was so determined to be treated as a tender woman and at the same time so eager to be obeyed. She would expect him to come through this new ordeal with honour.

So he rode at the head of his troops, and how delighted he was that the citizens of Orleans, seeing him come with his army, quailed before his might, and instead of insisting on their dues craved pardon for their insolence in making demands to their liege lord.

An easy conquest and he had no desire to be harsh; his advisers insisted that one or two leaders of the rebel ion were executed but he would not allow others to be punished. He even granted some of the reforms for which they had originally asked.

The people of Orleans cheered him. In the very streets where they had banded together and sought a plot against him they now called: ‘ Vive le Roi.’

That matter was settled. Louis rode on to Paris and there he was joined by Eleonore. The reunion was tender; they had missed each other sadly.

‘Now we must think of the coronation,’ declared Eleonore.

By December of that year the celebrations had been planned and the great event took place.

What a long way she had come in one short year! thought Eleonore with gratification.

Chapter II

PETRONELLE AND THE COUNT

She was briefly content. She was Queen of France, the leader of the court, adored by the King, worshipped by those whom she gathered together that she might instruct them in the rules of chivalry. She surrounded herself with poets and troubadours. To win favour a man must be possessed of exquisite manners; he must know the rules of the Courts of Love; he must be able to express himself with grace and if he had a good singing voice so much the better.

She was the judge of the literary efforts; she applauded or derided. During the summer days she would sit in the grounds of the castle surrounded by young men and women, and she would impart to them her philosophy of life.

The girls must obey her, admire her and emulate her as best they could so that they were pale shadows of herself, and she might shine the more because of this. The young men must all be in love with her, yearn for her favours and be ready to die for them, and she would be gracious or remote; and never must their passion waver. They must write their verses, sing their songs to her; they must mingle talent with desire. She was determined that the court of France must be the most elegant in the world.

There was Petronelle growing up very quickly like a forced flower in this over-heated atmosphere. Men made verses and sang their songs to her for after all she was almost as beautiful as Eleonore, and was her sister.

How much more exciting it was to live at the court of France than that of Aquitaine, to be a Queen instead of the heiress of a Duke, providing he did not get himself a son.

It had worked out very well.

Petronelle, following Eleonore in all things, was growing more and more impatient of her youth.

‘We should find a husband for Petronelle,’ said Eleonore to the King.

‘Why, she is a child yet,’ said Louis. Poor blind Louis, thought Eleonore, the King who knew so little!

‘Some reach maturity earlier than others. Methinks Petronelle has reached hers.’

‘Think you so then? Mayhap you should talk to her, prepare her. She should be awakened gradually to what taking a husband would mean. It could be a shock for an innocent girl.’

Eleonore smiled but she did not tell him of the conversations she and Petronelle had together, and had had for many years. Petronelle was no innocent. A virgin perhaps but how long would she remain so if they did not get her married?

Louis judged others by himself. His innocence was attractive to her...at this time...though she had begun to wonder whether it would pal. Sometimes her gaze would stray to older men, men experienced, with many an amorous adventure behind them, and she was just a little impatient with the naivete of her husband. But it still amused her to be the leader in their relationship, to lure him to passion of which he would never have believed himself capable.

So she did not enlighten him about Petronelle. At the same time she believed it was time to find a husband for her sister.

Petronelle was not of a nature to wait for others to arrange her affairs.

Like her sister she loved the sensuous strumming of the musical instruments and the languorous words hinting at love.

To be young was frustrating. It always had been. And having a fascinating sister such as Eleonore did not help her to bear her lot more easily.

Eleonore had promised her that she would find a husband for her, but the King thought she was too young as yet.

‘Too young,’ groaned Petronelle. ‘The King believes everyone to be as cold-blooded as himself.’

‘Have patience, little sister,’ cautioned Eleonore. ‘I am not of that opinion. I know that if we do not give you a husband soon you will take a lover. But have a care. It is always wiser to have a husband first. That would seem to entitle you to lovers. But a lover first...I believe that might be a little shocking.’

‘You are always singing of love,’ cried Petronelle. ‘What is the use of that?’

Eleonore could only repeat her caution, adding: ‘Have patience.’

She herself had little of that useful virtue. She wanted excitement. Was she growing tired of holding court, of spending her nights with her serious young husband?

While she was pondering on how soon she could find a suitable husband for Petronelle and get the girl safely married, there were signs of unrest in the country. She had always been interested in increasing her power and the elevation from Duchess to Queen had enthralled her. It had been the dream of many a King of France to extend his territory throughout the entire country. Normandy, of course, was firmly in the hands of the King of England – well, perhaps not firmly, for the Count of Anjou would never accept the fact that it did not belong to his wife, Matilda, and as they had a son, naturally they would wish to restore it to him.