The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [39]
And in due course the baby appeared. A girl.
There was disappointment throughout the Court. A boy would have been so much more suitable. Not for me. My child was perfect; and I had never accepted the idea that a boy was more important than a girl.
Motherhood changes women . . . for a while. I had my nurses and attendants, but I was eager to be with my child during those first months. I marveled at the miracle which that unsavory old man had been able to perform.
Life was wonderful when such things could happen. I had my baby whom I called Marie.
It was not to be expected that I could become the sort of woman who was content with motherhood alone. I loved my child; I was proud of her; but I was not of the stuff of which doting mothers are made; and although I delighted in her, I needed stimulation, exciting adventure. I felt I was becoming stultified in my husband’s Court.
Now that we had a child, he appeared to assume that he had done his duty and could dispense with the mating process which always left him with a sense of guilt. The prayers grew longer. I was very restive in my cold, unwelcoming bed. He still had nightmares about Vitry. I thought: He will never forget it.
I told myself that a woman of my nature could not be expected to spend her life in a Court which was more like a cloister. Petronilla and her husband were not often at Court. Oddly enough they seemed content with each other, and the fact that they were excommunicated did not seem to bother them very much. They shrugged it aside with such nonchalance that people were beginning to forget about it. Never devout, they did not care that they were banned from the Church. I was a little envious of Petronilla.
Then news from the East set France in a turmoil. The town of Edessa had been captured by the Turks and all the inhabitants, many of them French, had been brutally massacred. All Christians should spring to arms. It was time to take another crusade to the Holy War.
At first I was not very interested. Nor was Louis. War had no charm for him and he was still humiliated by the affair of Toulouse and worse still by Vitry.
But it soon became clear that this was a matter to which we must give some attention. There was a grand assembly at Bourges, where the possibility of getting together men who would be ready to fight for the Holy Cause was discussed. There was another at Vezelai and yet another at Etampes. Louis was beset by doubts. He hated war, so might this not be God talking to him! It was not likely that he could expiate his sin by doing something he wanted to. He became morose; in his prayers he asked for guidance.
One day he said: “A king who led an expedition to the Holy Land would surely wipe away his sins.”
Louis to go on a crusade! I considered it. I should not miss him—that much was certain.
Louis consulted Suger as he always did on important matters, wishing no doubt that he had discussed Champagne with him instead of with me. Suger was not enthusiastic.
“You have your kingdom to govern,” he said. “It would be a great glory to save the Holy Land for Christianity, but that is for others. Your duty lies in France.”
Louis by this time was growing very undecided. He was more obsessed by Vitry than ever, and his one great aim was to expiate that sin; he had to shut out the cries of those people in the burning church who continued to haunt his dreams. And seeing how deeply concerned he was, Suger implored him to take no steps without consulting the Holy See.
There was yet another Pope by this time, Eugenius III, and he believed that people’s indignation should be aroused against the Turks and that it was time to go into battle.
Someone was needed to preach with this purpose, and the Pope’s thoughts went to one who had more influence in France than any other: Bernard of Clairvaux.
The Pope wrote to