Louis the Fat had several children besides Philip and Louis. There was Robert who became Count of Dreux, Peter de Courtenay, Henry and Philip and a daughter, Constance. She was later Countess of Toulouse, and the two younger boys became bishops. The second son, Louis, was intended for the Church and was being brought up to this until the pig changed the course of history. Louis was taken from his cloisters to become heir to the throne of France; and that meant that if I were to marry into France, Louis would be my husband.
My father went on: “There is one great concern for me. I hesitate to leave you and Petronilla.”
I stared at him in amazement. “What harm could come to us?”
“What harm indeed! There are those who might well take advantage of my absence. I shall talk to you very seriously. You are not ignorant of the ways of men. You are a very attractive girl. I have seen some of the men’s eyes on you and I have heard their songs. They sing of romantic love, my dear, while they are planning seduction, perhaps even rape.”
“I understand well the nature of men, Father.”
“Then you will understand my concern. If I left you here alone ... you and Petronilla ... some brigand might come along, take possession of the castle and of you. He might even force his attentions on you.”
“Do you think I should submit ... to that?”
“If his physical strength was greater than yours, you would be obliged to. Only recently there was the case of poor Emma of Limoges. You are especially attractive; you have exceptional beauty; but to some, Aquitaine would be even more desirable.”
“I would fight to the death.”
“But I do not want you dead, dear child. No, no, you have had freedom here at Court. You have been surrounded by young men and girls. You have made your verses, sung your songs, indulged in flirtatious conversations with young gallants. You have happily basked in their admiration. You revel in it. Some of these young men have been very handsome, very plausible. Sometimes I have feared ... There must be no dalliance, Eleanor, neither for you nor for Petronilla. You must go to your husband completely pure ... virgins ... nothing else will do.”
I laughed aloud. “You have no need to remind me of that, Father. I saw no reason why I should not be amused by these young men. Light amusement ... that is all it has been.”
“I could not be at peace if I left you and your sister here while I was away. We shall all leave for Bordeaux, and I want you two to remain in the palace there until I return. I have spoken to Archbishop Geoffrey du Lauroux. He is a good man and he is one whom I can trust. He will watch over you and there will be none who dare flout his rule. He is a man of God and much respected.”
“Father, there is no need.”
“Daughter, there is every need, and that is how it shall be.”
I was not displeased. I loved Bordeaux and, in spite of the stern Archbishop, I intended to have a merry time there. I would discuss with Petronilla which members of our entourage we should take with us.
“I shall inform the King of France of my intentions,” said my father.
“Of your intentions to marry?” I asked quickly.
“No ... no ... that is in the future. I shall tell him that I am leaving for a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. He will understand. He knows well what has happened and will realize the necessity for me to make my peace with God.”
“It seems,” I said, “that it is all arranged.”
He nodded. “We will make preparations to leave for Bordeaux without delay. I am eager to begin my pilgrimage and return to you.”
So we left for Bordeaux.
None would have believed that the man at the head of the little group of pilgrims was Duke William of Aquitaine. Dressed in sackcloth, a pilgrim’s hat on his head, he resembled the humblest of his subjects. I thought that he must indeed be a worried man to contemplate such hardships as he would have to face.
But that was the object of the pilgrimage; it was a penance: if it were a pleasant journey, there would be no merit in it.
Petronilla and I stood in the Courtyard to say our farewells. There was a chill wind, and although we were wrapped in our fur-lined cloaks we shivered.
He embraced us with great emotion. “I shall pray to God and all the saints to guard you,” he said.
“And we shall pray to them for you, Father,” I replied. “You will need their help more than we shall.”
“I shall be returned to you ... refreshed.”
But, I could not help thinking ruefully, as a prospective bridegroom.
“We shall eagerly await your return,” I told him.
We watched him leave and afterward Petronilla and I went to the highest point of the ramparts and strained our eyes looking into the distance until we could see him no more.
“I wonder how long it will be before he returns,” said Petronilla.
“I wonder what sort of man he will be when he comes back,” I replied.
She looked at me expectantly but I ignored her. I did not want to explain my thoughts to Petronilla.
“Now,” she said, “you are the ruler of Aquitaine.”
“Yes,” I answered slowly.
“You must be pleased about that. It is what you always wanted.”
I laughed and taking her by the shoulders kissed her.
“Yes,” I agreed, “it is what I always wanted. And it is mine ... for a while. Come. We’ll make the most of it.”
“What shall we do?”
“You’ll see. The Court at Ombrire will be as it was in our grandfather’s day. Do you remember how we used to sit in the hall in the evenings watching the jugglers and listening to the singers? You were too young. But our grandfather used to take me on his knee and sing to me.”
“Tell me about it,” said Petronilla, for she could remember little.
So I told her of the songs they sang glorifying love and telling of the exploits of our grandfather and his knights.
“I remember some of it,” I said, “but I did not understand it all at the time. They were a little risqu. Men were very daring in those days and they have changed little. They will sing songs of love and devotion and how they adore you and set you on a pedestal so that they can worship you, and all the time it is merely to lull your feelings into a sense of security, and when you are sufficiently lulled they will take advantage of you. And once that has happened they will tire of you.”
“Is that really true? Our grandfather did not tire of Dangerosa.”
“That was because she was clever. We have to be clever ... more clever than they are, Petronilla. That is what I learned in the Courts of Love.”
And during those months while we awaited my father’s return I set up my own Court. In the evenings I would have the minstrels play for us; there were the story-tellers and the itinerant troubadours who were constantly arriving. It was becoming more and more like the Court of my grandfather’s day.
I was the Queen of it all. It was in praise of me that they wrote their songs. They would sit at my feet, those handsome knights, and in their songs and in their looks they would proclaim their love for me.
I believe there were some who thought I would succumb. It was not that I should not have liked, on occasion, to do so. I was susceptible to their handsome looks and charming manners. I would pretend to waver. It was exciting to see the hope in their eyes. But I never gave way. I had learned my lessons. Whatever happened, I must be aloof. I must be the one they dreamed about, the one about whom they wove their fancies.
The Archbishop was dismayed. This was not seemly in his eyes. There was too much levity. There should be more time spent in devotions. I pretended to be contrite, but I did not change my ways. This was my Court and because my power might be transient, I was determined to enjoy it while I could.