The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [26]
I had begun to fret over Suger’s influence over him, but I could see how futile that was. It would not be a simple matter to remove him, and in any case I was not sure that that would be wise. Suger, for all his distrust of the good things in life, was a great minister and I knew he was necessary to the government of France. Moreover, I knew in my heart that Louis would not agree to let him go, and if it came to a conflict between Suger and me, I could not be entirely sure who would be the winner.
I wished that I could become pregnant. I was beginning to be a little worried about my barrenness. I could not believe that I was incapable of bearing children. The fault must lie with Louis. It was not that I had a great many opportunities of conceiving. Oh, how ironical it was that fate should have married a woman like me to a man who was more like a monk.
I was also disturbed by Raoul of Vermandois. He was a farseeing man in matters like this. He had a reputation of being a rake. To me, having been brought up in my grandfather’s Court, where I had known many such men, that was a mild enough failing. But Raoul did seem like a kindred spirit.
There was suggestion in his eyes as he lay at my feet with the others. He had the trick of almost creating a sexual encounter by willing it to take place, a kind of mental seduction. I found it amusing and stimulating; and with a husband like Louis I needed a little stimulation at times.
The months were passing. I took various trips into Aquitaine visiting my subjects. I was always greeted with enthusiasm and they were a success. I very much enjoyed these journeys. They made me feel that I was their ruler in very truth. This was what they wanted. They did not want the French yoke, as they called it. They were Provenal and would remain so.
I used to sit in the castle halls and there would be singing and dancing such as I had known in the Courts of Love. I could see how important these journeys were. They said to the people: “All is as it was. The fact that I am Queen of France makes no difference. I am your ruler. I belong to you as I never can to France.”
There was, of course, a great deal to interest me in Paris. I loved to ride through the cobbled streets where there was so much going on. It was a city of great contrast which struck me forcibly after my sojourns in Aquitaine where people lived a healthier, cleaner life. There they were not huddled together in little dwellings in dark streets where the crowded buildings with their overhanging gables shut out the light. Paris is a muddy city. The Romans called it Lutetia for this reason, the city of mud. But there was such vitality there . . . noise everywhere, stalls, little shops, salesmen and -women shouting their wares.
What struck me most was the number of students who had come there to discuss and listen to the new opinions which were flourishing. One saw them wandering through the streets or along the riverbanks, deep in thought. Theories were thrashed out, opinions circulated.
I could not fail to find it interesting.
There was one who aroused my curiosity more than any other, and that was Peter Abelard, who, some said, was the most shrewd thinking and the boldest theologian of the day. I was first drawn to him because of his romantic history. His story was like one of those renowned in the songs I heard in my childhood. He could have been a gentleman of leisure for he was the eldest son of a noble Breton family, but he chose to be a scholar. His talent was soon discovered; he was a brilliant speaker and as he had new and startling ideas to express, he began to be talked of. He became one of the Realist teachers at the school of Notre Dame. He was all set for a brilliant career.
But how easily one can fall! And since he fell through love, he seemed to me a romantic figure. He became tutor to Hlose, the niece of the Canon Fulbert. She was seventeen and