“It is indeed the same story,” I cried.
“Love stories often resemble each other, and when you have two powerful men who act according to their whims and desires, similar results often come about. The Holy See rose in protest and Philip was obliged to promise to give up Bertrade, which he failed to do and consequently was excommunicated.”
“Just like my grandfather.”
He nodded. “The trouble is that when a leader is excommunicated, the edict can fall on the entire community. This is what happened. Churches were closed and people were in revolt against that, so Philip eventually had to make a show of giving up Bertrade, and when he died he was reconciled to the Church. Bertrade was an ambitious mother and wanted her son by the King to be heir to the throne. When Philip was alive she made an attempt to poison his son Louis—her stepson—but that attempt fortunately failed and on his father’s death Louis came to the throne.”
“And he is the father of the man I shall marry?”
“The man I should like you to marry. This is between ourselves at the moment. There will be many to seek alliance with France, my dear, but we have much to offer. We have the rich duchy of Aquitaine and with it one who must be the most beautiful girl in the whole of France.”
I smiled complacently. I had no doubt of my ability to capture the son of the King of France.
“Louis VI has two sons—Philip and Louis.”
“It will be Philip for me,” I said.
“The elder, no less.”
“Does he ... know?”
My father shook his head. “Though Louis will be looking out for his son’s best interests.”
“Tell me about the Court of France. Is it like ours?”
“Oh, no, no. I doubt there is another Court in the world like ours. Your grandfather founded it, and although he is no longer with us, it does not change greatly. There will be differences. They call the King of France Louis the Fat ... for obvious reasons. He is a great eater ... a great drinker ... and it is difficult for him to move about, so large is he. He is a very religious man which is why France is called ‘the Elder Daughter of the Church.’”
“It would not be very merry at his Court.”
“If you were Queen of France, you would see that your Court was how you wanted it to be.”
“That is true,” I said. “But the King of France has said nothing as yet regarding his son’s marriage.”
“Not as yet, but I am his most powerful vassal, and Aquitaine covers about a quarter of France. He would be hard put to it to find a more worthy bride for his son.”
“So you think it will come to pass.”
“I am as sure as a man can be of anything.”
After that I thought a good deal about France and tried to learn all I could from the travelers who came to our Court.
It was at Ombrire that I first saw Raymond.
I was in the gardens with a group of girls who were being brought up at Court with us, and Petronilla was beside me. Some of them were embroidering altar cloths, while others took it in turn to recite verses and sing to us.
It was a pleasant summer’s day—not too hot for the shade under the trees was pleasant.
I saw him walking through the gardens with my father, and I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He was very tall and upright, with blond hair, blue eyes and a merry expression. Since my talk with my father about marriage. I was paying more attention to young men. I had always been aware of them and liked to see what effect I had on them, and I was accustomed to receiving ardent looks which delighted me. I liked to think of myself as one of those sought-after maidens who kept themselves aloof because they were far too precious to fall into the hands of lesser men and must wait for the perfect knight.
I left the group of girls, Petronilla at my heels; she followed me everywhere.
My father saw us and smiled. “Oh, Raymond,” he said, “here are my daughters Eleanor and Petronilla. Daughters, your uncle Raymond.”
We curtsied. Uncle! I was thinking. There must be some mistake. He gazed at me and murmured my name.
“And Petronilla,” said my father.
Petronilla gave him a dazzling smile but I was delighted to notice that it was I who held his attention.
“I did not know that I had such enchanting nieces,” he said.
“You should have come before,” my father told him. “It is not good for there to be rifts in families.”
We went into the palace with him. I think he was rather surprised by the easy manners between us. We were doubtless expected to be in awe of our father instead of making light conversation with him ... at least I did. Petronilla said little, but I could see that she was as enchanted by this new uncle as I was.
He proved to be about eight years older than I, and he was Philippa’s youngest son, born just after she had left the castle on the arrival of Dangerosa.
Alas, his visit was brief, but I was with him a great deal during the ten days he stayed in the palace for he was as attracted by me as I was by him. Each morning I awoke with the joyous thought: Raymond is here. We would ride together. I would sing for him. Petronilla was often with us and so was my father but I liked best the times when we were alone.
He told me that I was the most enchanting little girl he had ever met. There was a certain regret in his eyes and in his voice, and being precocious I knew what he meant by that. This was love, of which the troubadours sang, but he was a man, and for all my sophistication I was but a child, and he was my uncle, so there was too strong a blood tie between us for us to be lovers. But all our looks and gestures spoke of love; and I shall always remember Raymond as my first love.
He talked to me of serious things. I had an idea that he believed that by pretending I was not a child I should miraculously become a woman and then we could both give expression to what we felt.
He reminded me of my grandfather although I had only known him as an old man and this was a radiant young one. He was after all my grandfather’s youngest son but he had never known him because he had been born after Philippa had left.
He told me that he was without fortune which was why he was setting out to make it. He was starting first in England, for he had met Henry, the King, who had promised him a welcome. I was sure he would make a name for himself, for he was meant for greatness ... even though at this stage it was difficult to see how he would do this.
He was a great talker and I loved to listen.
He told me much of what was happening around me and of which I had been ignorant before. I had thought that my father was all-powerful; it was a revelation to learn that this was not the case and that he had dangerous enemies.
The greatest of these was the Church.
I began to see my father through new eyes. Not that Raymond ever spoke against him. But when he told me of affairs in Europe I realized that my father had only a very small part in them.
Raymond was interested in Bernard of Clairvaux, who was at this time in conflict with my father.
“He is a very powerful man,” Raymond told me, “and it is unwise to cross swords with him.”
“And that is what my father is doing ... crossing swords?”
“I should not be talking to you thus, dear child. Let us sing a beautiful song together. That is more suitable to the occasion, I am sure.”
“Let us sing certainly ... but first I would hear of this Bernard of Clairvaux.”
“If you have not heard of him, assuredly you soon will. He is a monk and he is renowned for his power with words. He draws the most hardened sinners to the monastic life. It is said that mothers hide their sons, wives their husbands and friends their companions for fear that he will lure them away from them. As a young man he went to the monastery of Cteaux because it was noted for its austerity, and that was the life he chose.”