The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [5]
I think that in the year following the death of my mother and brother I grew up. I was like a plant in a greenhouse where the atmosphere tends to force growth. My father was beginning to treat me like an adult. I do not think I am being unduly conceited when I say that I did have a rather special aptitude for ruling. That was to develop and bring me trouble later, but at the time my father rejoiced in it.
He talked often of the King of France. I would see his eyes on me and there would be an uneasy expression in them. I asked him if anything worried him.
He said frankly: “In a duchy of this size there will always be trouble. It is too big for a ruler to be everywhere at once. It is necessary for that ruler to be loved by his people . . . loved and respected. It is the only way.”
“They do love you and respect you.”
He smiled ruefully. “We do have trouble, you know. There are some who think they can do as they will and because of the distance between us will never be found out. There could be uprisings.”
“You will stop that.”
“If I can.”
“Is it worse now than it used to be?”
“Your grandfather was respected. It is strange. He was a man who defied the Church and who even died excommunicated; but he was loved throughout the Duchy . . . partly for what the Church deplored. That is the strangeness of human nature.”
“Perhaps you should be like him?”
“My child, we can only be like ourselves.”
I knew that he was quick to anger and perhaps acted recklessly. I was learning that it was no easy matter to keep order over a vast territory. And there was more trouble than there had been in my grandfather’s day.
“One needs friends,” he said.
“And you have them?”
He lifted his shoulders. “The King of France is very powerful,” he said.
“We are his vassals.”
“Yes. I think he casts envious eyes on Aquitaine.”
“Do you mean he will try to take it from you?”
He shook his head. “He has sons and I have daughters.”
“You mean . . . marriage?”
“My child, I should like to see you married to the son of the King of France.”
“Marriage! Me!”
“One forgets how young you are. But the years pass quickly, daughter, and one day a husband will be found for you.”
“Perhaps I shall find my own.”
“That would not be easy for you. The Duchess of Aquitaine could not choose from those around her. It would have to be someone worthy. I should like to see you Queen of France.”
“But I am to be Duchess of Aquitaine.”
“Queen of France and Duchess of Aquitaine.”
“Queen of France!”
“Why not? The King of France has a son who will be King when his father dies.”
I was excited. It was impossible in the Courts of Love not to be aware of the relationships between men and women. Looks came my way even now. I had noticed the men’s eyes watching me, assessing me. It excited me to attempt to probe their thoughts.
I knew instinctively that marriage was not something I should shrink from. But Queen of France! I had not thought of that. Duchess of Aquitaine had seemed a glorious enough title. We were all vassals of France, and although we in Aquitaine might be richer, France was the master of us all.
“Tell me about the King of France and his son,” I said.
“Louis VI. Let me see. He must be in his late forties. He is the son of Philip I. Philip’s story is not unlike that of your own grandfather. He married Bertha of Holland and there was a son, Louis, the King’s heir. Philip fell in love with Bertrade de Montfort who was the wife of Fulk of Anjou, who as you know has connections with our own family. As your grandfather did with your grandmother, Dangerosa, he abducted Bertrade.”
“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.