The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [9]
When he went away, I was sad for a long time.
The conflict between the Popes dominated the country. From what I could gather, we stood apart, for now that the King of France had persuaded Bernard to give his approval to Innocent, it seemed the whole world followed him. Bernard only had to appear with his spare, emaciated figure and his loud condemnation of sin, for people to know that they were in the presence of a saint. They immediately followed him—all except my father.
“I will not be told what to do by this man just because he tortures his body and talks like a fanatic,” declared my father. “I will go my own way.”
I was a little alarmed for him. To my way of thinking it was of little importance to us which Pope ruled. They were all the same, all in search of the same thing: self-aggrandizement, power.
But my father was stubborn. When an invitation came for him to meet Bernard at the Abbey Montierneuf, he refused to go at first. It was only when he was advised that this was a dangerous attitude to take, for the King of France was firmly behind Bernard as was most of Europe, that he finally decided to go.
I wanted to accompany him. I should have loved to see the celebrated Bernard.
Of course I was not allowed to, and when he did come back I was amazed to see how chastened he was.
“There is something about the man,” he admitted. “Something spiritual.”
“Have you promised to withdraw your support from Anacletus?” I asked him.
“I was bemused by him,” he admitted. “One really did feel that one was in the presence of a saint.”
Now, I thought, all will be well. This silly business will be settled. We shall be at peace with our neighbors. Raymond would have said this was the wise thing to do.
My father was a strange man. He had certainly been impressed by Bernard. He had come back subdued, and remained so for a whole week.
One evening, when we were in the great hall, my father sat listening to the singing with a brooding look in his eyes. I was beside him as I often was at this time. The lute-player was singing a love song about a lady who bore a strong resemblance to myself. Petronilla was at my side listening intently.
Then my father spoke. He said quite softly so that only I heard him: “A plague on these reformers. I’ll have my own way. I’ll not be led by them.”
I said: “Do you speak of Bernard?”
He said in a loud voice: “I speak of all who would seek to rule me. This is my land and I am the master of it.”
The next day he rode with a party to Montierneuf and smashed the altar on which Bernard had said Mass, and he declared that all those who supported Innocent should be driven from his kingdom.
I was beginning to learn that my father was not the great ruler I had thought him to be; nor, I supposed, had my grandfather been. Neither of them had had any great success in battle; both were men who followed their own desires to such an extent that they could not see any other point of view. My grandfather had died excommunicated from the Church—and the Church was a force to reckon with. Because of his colorful personality, he had won the affection of his people; my father did not have that.
It is all very well for a ruler to be strong; that he must be. But when the forces against him are so great that they are superior in every way, he should reconsider his position and avoid unnecessary danger. My father was a stubborn man. If he found himself on the wrong path, his pride would not allow him to retrace his steps. He must go on. Only a miracle could change him. Who would have thought that a miracle was possible?
Bernard must have had some spiritual power. I would not have believed it could happen any more than my father did; but both of us were forced in the end to believe what was an actual fact.
It was hardly likely that my father’s intransigence would be allowed to pass.
Bernard of Clairvaux was not accustomed to being flouted. He had preached to my father; he had persuaded him; he had, he believed, led him out of his evil ways—and as soon as Bernard had gone my father reverted to them!