The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean (книги серия книги читать бесплатно полностью .TXT) 📗

Then the idea came to him which had come to so many before him. He must placate his God and the one way to do this was to go on a pilgrimage to offer homage to the shrines of the saints. The most ardent sinners gained absolution in this way. He, the tenth Duke William of Aquitaine, would follow their example.

‘What I must do,’ he said, ‘is go on a pilgrimage. I will visit the shrine of a saint and there I shall gain forgiveness of my sins. When I have done this I shall come back and marry, and God will grant me the blessing of a son.’

Eleonore narrowed her eyes.

The pilgrimage would not be achieved in a few weeks; then there would have to be the matter of selecting a suitable bride.

It was always best to put off evil for as long as possible.

There was a good deal to be done before her father could marry and beget a son.

Something told Eleonore he never would.

There was the bustle of preparations. Having made his decision Duke William felt serene in his mind. He was to travel to the shrine of Saint James at Compostella and there he would pray for a fruitful marriage. His daughter watched his preparations with a certain cynical satisfaction as though she knew his prayers would remain unanswered.

He felt contrite in a way, for he loved her dearly. He admired her, as did most people who were aware of her dominant personality. If only she had been of the male sex he would have asked nothing more. He wanted her to understand that only in being female had she failed. And not for him; like his father, he had the utmost admiration for her sex, but it was others he must consider.

At the moment she was the heiress of vast possessions.

Rich Aquitaine could be hers and thereby put her in command of as much territory as that possessed by the King of France. It was true that they were the vassals of the King of France but in name only. The kings of France knew that the dukes of Aquitaine wielded as much – perhaps more – power than they did. It was a matter of form that the dukes bowed to the king.

‘It is a hazardous journey to Compostella,’ said the Duke one day to his daughter. ‘It is that which makes it certain that any who reach it, by the very arduous nature of their journey, will have their prayers answered.’

‘You are a fool to undertake such hazards.’

‘I feel it to be a duty.’

‘Duty! Bah! But make the journey if you wish it. And see what comes of it.’

‘Would to God it were not necessary, Eleonore. I think of you constantly. I find it hard to leave you.’

‘’Tis of your choosing,’ she told him coldly.

‘Not mine, but those to whom I owe a duty. I shall take few men with me.’

‘’Twould not be fitting to travel in great state on such an errand,’ she agreed.

‘And I would leave my bravest behind to protect you.’

‘I can protect myself.’

‘There is no harm in having a stalwart guard. And I shall confer with the King of France for he will be eager to come to your aid if I should ask him.’

‘You would trust him?’

‘Yes, if his son were mine also and my daughter his.’

‘You mean a marriage!’

‘Yes. A marriage between you and the son of the King of France.’

She smiled quietly. Well, it was not a bad prospect. If she were going to give up Aquitaine she would be Queen of France.

Louis VI was so large that he was known as Louis the Fat. He could not possibly live much longer. Rumours filtered into Aquitaine that he was confined to his bed and because of his immense size no one could lift him from it.

He had been over-fond of food and this was the result. His son was a boy a year or so older than Eleonore. She liked what she had heard of young Louis. He should be easily governed by a dominating wife. And she must marry soon.

Only she knew how close she had come to submitting to the ardours of some of her admirers. There were members of her sex who were women at the age of fourteen. Eleonore of Aquitaine was one of them. It was a mercy that she was ambitious and proud; this saved her from being carried away by her intense physical desires.

She, more than any, knew that for her marriage should not be long delayed.

‘When I return,’ said her father, ‘I must marry; and then there must be a double wedding. When my bride comes to Aquitaine you must go to the court of France.’

‘But would the King of France wish his son to marry me if I were not your heiress?’

‘The King of France will rejoice in an alliance with rich Aquitaine. He is astute enough to know its worth. And there are no alliances to compare with those forged by marriage bonds.’

She nodded gravely.

It was a bright prospect, but she was unsure. If she could bring Aquitaine to her husband she would be warmly welcomed. But otherwise?

It was a cold January day when the Duke set out for Compostella.

His daughters were in the courtyard wrapped in their sable-lined cloaks, to wish him Godspeed.

‘Farewell,’ said the Duke embracing first Eleonore and then Petronelle. ‘God guard you.’

‘Rather let us ask Him to guard you, Father,’ said Eleonore.

‘He will smile on my mission, rest assured of that,’ replied the Duke, ‘and when I return I shall be free of my burden of siri.’

Eleonore was silent; she had suggested he postpone his journey for it was foolish to set off in winter. She had believed that it was always good to postpone that which one hoped would never take place. But the Duke was assured of the urgency of the undertaking and would not consider delay.

‘He will suffer for his foolishness,’ Eleonore confided to Petronelle, who agreed with her sister. For Petronelle, like many others, adored her dazzling elder sister.

When the cavalcade had clattered out of the courtyard Eleonore and her sister went up to the topmost turret there to watch its progress.

One would never have guessed that it was the Duke of Aquitaine who rode at its head. He was humbly dressed as a pilgrim should be, and he had taken so few of his followers with him.

The castle was well fortified and Eleonore was its mistress. If any dared come against her there would be stalwart knights to protect her. And none would dare for was she not half promised to the son of the King of France?

This was a waiting time, a time when the great fire in the centre of the hall sent its smoke up to the vaulted ceiling and the smell of roasting venison filled the castle. It was too cold to frolic in the beautiful gardens; they must perforce make do with the castle hall ; and there they feasted and danced; they sang their ball ads; they strummed their harps and the sweet notes of the lute were heard throughout the castle.

Over the entertainments reigned the bold and beautiful Eleonore. Many of the gal ants sighed for her favours and she often thought of granting them; but they must for the time content themselves with singing of love.

So while Duke William traversed the icy roads on his way to Compostella, Eleonore reigned supreme surrounded by her troubadours. She might be destined to become the Queen of France but she was the first Queen of the Troubadours.

Duke William quickly realised how unwise he had been to set out in the winter. The rough roads were icy; the wind biting. Valiantly the horses endeavoured to make their way but the going was slow. Yet, said the Duke to his little band of pilgrims, the very fact that we suffer these hardships means that our sins will be the more readily forgiven. What object would there be in traveling in comfort? How could we hope for our sins to be forgiven if we did not suffer for our redemption?