The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [87]
I was to go to Anjou, for my presence would be needed there more than in Aquitaine, where I could rely on the loyalty of my subjects.
I agreed with all this. I did suggest that it might be better if he tarried until the spring, for if he went now he would arrive in England in the winter. Would that be wise?
He said he would have preferred the spring but must perforce make do with the winter. And that was an end of the matter.
So he went to Normandy and I to the castle of Angers, where I settled down to wait for his return, praying that it would be a triumphant one.
To my joy I found that I was pregnant. I laughed inwardly, thinking of all the barren years with Louis. So it was his fault. I had always suspected that it was; there was bound to be something less than a man about Louis. But a woman does get uneasy feelings when she wants desperately to conceive and cannot; and it is only natural that she begins to wonder whether the lack of fertility is in some way due to herself.
I was happy; this was the best time for pregnancy, with Henry absent, and it brought with it a certain serenity which made life very pleasant.
I filled the castle with troubadours so that it resembled the Court of my grandfather. Petronilla, a widow now, came to join me and we were as close as ever. A mother herself, she had a great deal in common with me; and we both loved those evenings of song. We would sing together and talk of the old days.
I was very interested in one of the troubadours, Bernard de Ventadour, who reminded me so much of the old days. He was a fine poet and had a wonderful singing voice. I was very glad that he had come to the Court—and his coming itself had been quite romantic.
He had been wandering through the country looking for a castle where he might rest for a while and ply his profession of poet and musician. I supposed he had heard that I was in residence, and so, knowing how I cared for poetry and music, he presented himself at the castle. He had a certain arrogance which I found not displeasing. He dared to ask if he might see me.
Always interested in musicians I allowed him to be brought to me. He behaved in a manner to which I had become accustomed in my father’s Court and which I had missed since I married Louis. He prostrated himself and when I bade him rise he gazed at me, his eyes blinking as though he were in a very bright light.
I was amused.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I am dazzled.”
He was implying by my beauty, of course. I smiled. It was so reminiscent of the old days.
“You wish to sing for us here?” I asked.
“It is my great desire to do so.”
“Are you a good musician?”
“I have been told so, my lady.”
“How is it that you have no place to go to?”
“I had, my lady, until I was turned adrift.”
“Did you displease your master?”
He put his hand to his heart. “It was a misunderstanding, my lady.”
“Between you . . . and a lady?”
“Between me and a lady’s husband.”
I could not help smiling at the audacity of the man. “Let me hear you sing,” I said.
His voice was exquisite, and the words of the song were romantic and poetic. I was enchanted.
“Your own words?” I asked.
“My lady, I write my own songs. Then only can I express what I feel.”
He was one of those troubadours who would have been welcomed at my grandfather’s Court, and I made him welcome in mine.
How glad I was. He fulfilled a need in my life. All through those months while I was awaiting the birth of my child I listened to his songs—and they were all written for me. Every word, every gesture expressed his admiration for me. I liked it. It comforted me and in a way compensated for Henry’s absence.
It amazed me how a man of such humble beginnings—he was said to be the result of a liaison between a soldier and a serving maid—could be endowed with the soul of a poet; but Bernard de Ventadour undoubtedly was. There