The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [15]
“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.
I feared that, if my father came back a rejuvenated man with his sins washed away, he would marry, and if he had a son, that would be the end of my hopes. I threw myself into the enjoyment of those days when I was in truth Queen of my Court, the ruler of Aquitaine, and the days passed all too quickly.
There was no news.
Sometimes I went to the topmost tower and looked around. One day I must see the returning party. Surely he must come home soon, and this pleasant existence at Court must end.
Petronilla would stand beside me. “He must soon come back,” she said. “He has been gone so long.”
“It is a long way to go.”
“Then when he comes back he will take a wife, our stepmother, Eleanor. I think we shall hate her. She will have children, and if they are boys they will be more important than we are.”
“She may be barren.”
“I hope she is. No one but you should be ruler of Aquitaine.”
“If I marry the son of the King of France I shall have to go away.”
“I shall come with you.” I was silent and she went on: “Please say I may. I should hate to be parted from you. I wouldn’t. I should run away to where you were.”
I smiled, pleased by her devotion. “You are always impulsive, Petronilla,” I said. “You are a little like our father. You act without thinking what effect your actions will have.”
“Some say that of you.”
“Then we are a pair.”
“Promise I shall come with you when you marry and go away.”
“I promise.”
As we stood there one day, we saw a lonely figure riding along the road.
“He brings news,” I said. “Let us go down and see what he has to tell us. It may be that he comes from our father.”
We were not the only ones who had noticed the arrival and when we went down a little crowd had gathered there.
A groom took the rider’s horse. He was clearly exhausted and must have ridden a long way. He came to me and kneeling before me lifted woeful eyes to my face.
“I bring sad news, my lady.”
“You come from my father?”
“The Duke is dead, my lady.”
“Dead! No, that cannot be.”
“Alas, it is so, my lady. There were many hardships on the journey. The Duke developed a cough. It settled on his lungs. His legs became stiff. There were nights when there was no shelter. We could not travel fast.”
“He should never have gone,” I said. “He should have stayed with us. There are other ways of expiating sins.”
“He became too ill to ride, my lady. We had to make a litter for him. It impeded our progress. It became clear to us all that he could not make the journey to Compostela.”
“Why did you not bring him back?”
“He would never have made that journey either; and he wished to go on.”
“And he did not reach