Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Chapter II

PETRONELLE AND THE COUNT

She was briefly content. She was Queen of France, the leader of the court, adored by the King, worshipped by those whom she gathered together that she might instruct them in the rules of chivalry. She surrounded herself with poets and troubadours. To win favour a man must be possessed of exquisite manners; he must know the rules of the Courts of Love; he must be able to express himself with grace and if he had a good singing voice so much the better.

She was the judge of the literary efforts; she applauded or derided. During the summer days she would sit in the grounds of the castle surrounded by young men and women, and she would impart to them her philosophy of life.

The girls must obey her, admire her and emulate her as best they could so that they were pale shadows of herself, and she might shine the more because of this. The young men must all be in love with her, yearn for her favours and be ready to die for them, and she would be gracious or remote; and never must their passion waver. They must write their verses, sing their songs to her; they must mingle talent with desire. She was determined that the court of France must be the most elegant in the world.

There was Petronelle growing up very quickly like a forced flower in this over-heated atmosphere. Men made verses and sang their songs to her for after all she was almost as beautiful as Eleonore, and was her sister.

How much more exciting it was to live at the court of France than that of Aquitaine, to be a Queen instead of the heiress of a Duke, providing he did not get himself a son.

It had worked out very well.

Petronelle, following Eleonore in all things, was growing more and more impatient of her youth.

‘We should find a husband for Petronelle,’ said Eleonore to the King.

‘Why, she is a child yet,’ said Louis. Poor blind Louis, thought Eleonore, the King who knew so little!

‘Some reach maturity earlier than others. Methinks Petronelle has reached hers.’

‘Think you so then? Mayhap you should talk to her, prepare her. She should be awakened gradually to what taking a husband would mean. It could be a shock for an innocent girl.’

Eleonore smiled but she did not tell him of the conversations she and Petronelle had together, and had had for many years. Petronelle was no innocent. A virgin perhaps but how long would she remain so if they did not get her married?

Louis judged others by himself. His innocence was attractive to her...at this time...though she had begun to wonder whether it would pal. Sometimes her gaze would stray to older men, men experienced, with many an amorous adventure behind them, and she was just a little impatient with the naïveté of her husband. But it still amused her to be the leader in their relationship, to lure him to passion of which he would never have believed himself capable.

So she did not enlighten him about Petronelle. At the same time she believed it was time to find a husband for her sister.

Petronelle was not of a nature to wait for others to arrange her affairs.

Like her sister she loved the sensuous strumming of the musical instruments and the languorous words hinting at love.

To be young was frustrating. It always had been. And having a fascinating sister such as Eleonore did not help her to bear her lot more easily.

Eleonore had promised her that she would find a husband for her, but the King thought she was too young as yet.

‘Too young,’ groaned Petronelle. ‘The King believes everyone to be as cold-blooded as himself.’

‘Have patience, little sister,’ cautioned Eleonore. ‘I am not of that opinion. I know that if we do not give you a husband soon you will take a lover. But have a care. It is always wiser to have a husband first. That would seem to entitle you to lovers. But a lover first...I believe that might be a little shocking.’

‘You are always singing of love,’ cried Petronelle. ‘What is the use of that?’

Eleonore could only repeat her caution, adding: ‘Have patience.’

She herself had little of that useful virtue. She wanted excitement. Was she growing tired of holding court, of spending her nights with her serious young husband?

While she was pondering on how soon she could find a suitable husband for Petronelle and get the girl safely married, there were signs of unrest in the country. She had always been interested in increasing her power and the elevation from Duchess to Queen had enthralled her. It had been the dream of many a King of France to extend his territory throughout the entire country. Normandy, of course, was firmly in the hands of the King of England – well, perhaps not firmly, for the Count of Anjou would never accept the fact that it did not belong to his wife, Matilda, and as they had a son, naturally they would wish to restore it to him.

At this time Stephen of Blois had taken the crown of England, and it seemed very likely that he would hold it although England was not in a very happy state. Matilda, whom many believed was the true heiress, for she was the daughter of the late King Henry I, whereas Stephen was merely his nephew, would never cease to urge her husband and son to bestir themselves to get back their dues.

Suffice it then that Eleonore and Louis leave Normandy out of their calculations. But what of Toulouse? The fact that the Counts of Toulouse asserted that they were the true rulers of that province had always rankled with Eleonore.

Her grandfather had married Philippa of Toulouse, and Eleonore maintained that through this marriage Toulouse had passed to Aquitaine.

Eleonore discussed this with Louis. He saw the point.

‘Mind you,’ he temporised, ‘I doubt whether the Count would agree with us.’

‘It is not a matter for him to agree or disagree about. The fact is I have a right to Toulouse through my grandfather’s marriage and I see no reason why I should waive it.’

‘Why did your grandfather and father never take it?’ asked Louis.

Eleonore shrugged impatiently. She did not wish to recall that neither her father nor her grandfather had been noted for their success in battle. Her father had been somewhat inept politically and her grandfather had been more interested in the conquest of women than territory.

She however was more ambitious. Within her there still burned the resentment engendered by her father’s desire to displace a forceful young woman, possessed of all the attributes a ruler should have, for the sake of an unborn child merely because he might be a boy.

‘The fact that they allowed others to take that which was theirs does not mean that we should.’

Louis was uneasy. She could have shaken him.

‘But Toulouse has been independent for many years.’

‘I know, I know! When my grandfather went crusading he put it into the care of Raymond Saint-Gilles. It was to be a temporary measure.’

‘But it has remained in his family ever since.’

How impatient he made her! She frowned and then allowed her smile to become tenderly exasperating. ‘My dear, dear Louis, you are so gentle, always ready to defend your enemies. I love you for it, of course, but it is no way to rule.’

He could not endure her disappointment in him. She had ensnared him completely. Sometimes he wondered whether she had given him one of those potions she had once mentioned. He could not bear that she should not admire him. It was true that he needed to be war-like. His father had warned him that he must be strong and that it might be doubly hard for him, brought up as he had been to be a priest.

‘What do you suggest we do, Eleonore?’

Her smile was radiant. ‘First you will summon all your vassals to court. There you will tell them that you intend to wage war on Toulouse for what belongs to the Crown through your marriage shall be brought to it. You will tell them that you expect – nay demand – their support. It is your due and their duty. Are they not your vassals?’

‘Eleonore, I confess the thought of going to war disturbs me.’

‘That is a feeling you will have to overcome, my King.’

‘Of course I have you always at my side.’

She took his hand and smiled dazzlingly.

‘Always,’ she assured him, ‘to help and comfort you.’

He certainly felt much comforted.

In the gardens were gathered about Eleonore the ladies and gentlemen of the court. There were young girls whose families had sent them to the Queen to be schooled in all the graces and accomplishments they could find nowhere else. Eleonore delighted in these young people. Her love of power was, even in this small way, satisfied. These young people regarded her as their teacher. Under her guidance they made their gowns; they sang, they composed music and songs; and they learned to play chess. Eleonore could not bear the ill iterate near her. She herself had been taught to read and write and she believed it to be an important part of every girl’s education – as well as that of boys. She was determined that there should be no discrimination against her sex. Never would she forget that she could have been diverted from a very brilliant future merely because she was female.

These hours when she ruled over her own little court were her relaxation. Anyone who composed a poem or a song would submit it for her approval; she would then have it read aloud or sung as the case might be, and deliver judgement.

She was determined to uphold chivalry and this meant the adoration of the female. A man must be prepared to woo the lady of his choice; he must be grateful for her smiles; he must be prepared to wait for the fulfilment of love. He must fight for his lady and die for her if need be.

This was the essence of romantic love.

Eleonore was sensuous in the extreme but her sensuality was tinged with romance. She was as deeply aware of the virile men of her little court as they were of her. Often she allowed herself to imagine taking them as lovers. That would have given her immense satisfaction. How sad that a queen could not indulge in such romantic attachments. The duty of a queen was to provide the heir to the throne and even she – law unto herself that she might be – was aware that there must be no doubt as to the paternity of the heir of France.

There was one man who attracted her very much and this was Louis’s cousin Raoul, the Count of Vermandois. He was not exactly young; but he had a powerful personality and a reputation for his conquests not only in war but in love.

Often he would sit at Eleonore’s feet and woo her with his eyes, his gestures and the longing in his voice. There was no doubt that Raoul was inviting her to throw aside her scruples. He did not actually say so; he was wise enough to know that in Eleonore’s courts of love there must be no crudity. Hints were far more exciting than bald words; and he had made his feelings clear through those.

Eleonore liked him to sit at her feet while his eyes glittered with passion. She liked to imagine herself indulging in love-making with such a partner; how different he would be from Louis! Poor Louis! He was not an imaginative lover; she must always be the leading spirit. All very well at times, but it would be amusing, intriguing and quite thrilling on some occasions to feel herself mastered.

Alas, she must remember that she had to bear the heir of France.

Raoul continued to adore her with his eyes; his low-pitched voice continued to lure her to indiscretion. She resisted. He was a little impatient. He enjoyed wooing the Queen but he was beginning to realise that he would never do so with success...not at least until she was pregnant by Louis and could safely take a lover. Such a matter could not of course be mentioned in the romantic atmosphere of Eleonore’s court; though it was in his mind and perhaps hers, but he could not be sure of that.

Poor Louis, thought Raoul. It may be that he is incapable of begetting children. Perhaps one day she would be willing to let him be supplanted for that reason. Eleonore was a shrewd woman; she had few scruples he was sure, or at least if she had some now they would be eliminated given the appropriate circumstances. But he was an impatient man. Although he continued to worship at Eleonore’s feet his eyes often strayed and thus it was that they alighted on Petronelle, Eleonore’s young sister. What an enchanting creature she was! thought Raoul. Almost as beautiful as Eleonore herself, and he’d swear as desirous. The more he thought of Petronelle the more enchanted he was.

Petronelle might be inexperienced but she was certainly not without knowledge; she knew the meaning of the ardent glances he sent in her direction. As she was not the Queen of France she need not entertain a queen’s scruples; she was very young; she was unmarried, possibly a virgin – he, the connoisseur, believed this might well be so, although it was a state from which the girl was longing to escape. A little dangerous in view of her relationship with the Queen, and the fact of course that she had no husband. He was a bold man; he had been frustrated too long by Petronelle’s sister. He would see how far he could go.

He waylaid Petronelle in the alleyways of the garden.

‘What a delightful surprise,’ he cried as he came towards her.

‘Is it such a surprise, my lord?’ asked Petronelle, her head on one side, gaily provocative.

‘Well I will admit to a little strategy.’

‘It is always wise to admit that which is already known.’

She had no doubt learned her repartee from her sister.

‘What joy to see you alone.’

‘Why? Do I appear different alone than when in the company of others?’

‘Yes. Do I to you?’

‘Naturally I must feel some alarm remembering your reputation.’

‘Ah, reputation! How cruel it can be! How false! How unfair!’

‘Have people been unfair to you, my lord?’

‘So much would depend on what they said of me.’

‘They say you have known many conquests.’

‘I have committed myself with honour in battle, I believe.’

‘And in the battle of love?’

‘I do not regard love as a battle.’

‘Yet people talk of conquests.’

‘Perhaps I myself am in danger of being conquered?’

‘By your lady wife no doubt. And I believe my sister the Queen to have had some effect on you.’

‘Sometimes it is not as it appears.’

‘I understand you not.’

He took a step nearer to her and grasped her hand.

‘Sometimes one does not look in the direction of the sun. It is too dazzling. One averts the eyes.’

‘Are you looking at the sun now, my lord Count?’

‘Right in its face.’

‘I trust you are blinded by it.’

‘Blinded to indiscretion. Made mad by it.’ He seized her suddenly and kissed her.

Petronelle gave an exclamation of what she meant to sound like dismay, and breaking away from him ran through the alley to a more public place in the gardens.

This was a beginning.

Count Theobald of Champagne had arrived at the court of France. He was a man who had a reputation for governing his province with wisdom; he was a good soldier and Louis had counted on his help for carrying on the campaign against Toulouse.

Eleonore was with the King when he received the Count.

She made a point of being present at such meetings for she wanted the world to know that France had a queen as well as a king.

‘Welcome to Paris,’ said Louis. ‘I trust you are in good health.’

‘Never better, Sire.’

‘And in good fettle for the fight.’

‘If you are referring to this matter of Toulouse, Sire, I could not aid you in this. I do not think it would have the blessing of God.’

Eleonore was frowning. ‘Perhaps you will explain,’ she said coldly.

The Count bowed. ‘Indeed, Madame. I would not ally myself with it because I would consider it unjust to the Count of Toulouse.’

‘Unjust to wrest from a man that to which he clings when he has no right to do so!’

‘It would seem that he has the rights of ownership, my lady.’

‘Do you know that Toulouse came to my grandfather through marriage and that he set up Saint-Gilles as a custodian during his absence on a crusade?’

‘If that were so I cannot understand why it was not reclaimed ere this, my lady.’

‘Because the matter has not been resolved until now, but that is no reason why it never should be.’

‘I see many reasons, my lady.’

‘You forget that you risk the displeasure of your King and Queen.’

The Count bowed and begged leave to retire.

When he had gone Eleonore burst out in fury: ‘The insolent dog! How dare he tell us what our duty is!’

‘He has a right to express an opinion,’ Louis mildly told her.

‘Are you a king? Am I a queen? Shall we be insulted in our own castle? I tell you, my lord Count of Champagne will be sorry for this.’

Louis tried to soothe her, but she would not be placated.

Theobald went to his sister’s apartments. She was the wife of Raoul, the Count of Vermandois, and he found her melancholy.

Theobald felt equally so. He had not liked the tone of the Queen’s voice when she had expressed her disappointment in his refusal to support the campaign against Toulouse.

‘Well, Eleonore,’ he said, for his sister bore the same name as the Queen, ‘you look a little sad. Is Raoul unfaithful again?’

His sister Eleonore shrugged her shoulders. ‘It is not an unusual occurrence.’

‘I regret that marriage,’ said the Count, ‘even though he is Louis’s cousin. Who is Raoul’s latest inamorata?’

‘I don’t know. I have not tried to find out. Sometimes I think it better to remain in ignorance.’

‘He should not treat you so.’

‘Of course he should not, but that does not prevent him. I know that he is indulging in a love affair which gives him great pleasure. It is conducted in secrecy of course. Some woman who is deceiving her husband I doubt not, as Raoul is deceiving me.’

‘You will never change his nature, Eleonore.’

‘I fear not. He will chase women as long as he has legs to carry him.’

‘I will have a word with him.’

She shook her head. ‘Better not. Perhaps it is the fate of people such as we are to have unfaithful husbands.

Sometimes I think it would be better if we were more humbly born. Think how our family is scattered. Childhood seems so short and if one is the youngest of a big family the older ones have left home before one is aware of them. I often think of Stephen.’

‘Ah, the King of England,’ said Theobald. ‘Yes, think of him often and pray for him. As King of England he needs your prayers.’

‘I remember the rejoicing there was within the family when he took the crown.’

‘Yes,’ mused Theobald. ‘And the lamenting when it seemed that Matilda would snatch it from him.’

‘I would we could see more of him. It is only when he visits Normandy that I have that opportunity.’

‘Poor Stephen, perhaps a crown is a mixed blessing.’

‘You thought that, Theobald. You had more right to the crown of England than Stephen. You were the elder son of our mother and the Conqueror was your grandfather just as much as he was Stephen’s.’

‘Stephen had been brought up in England. There was clearly a time when King Henry thought of making him his heir.’

‘There would not have been those distressing wars in England if Matilda’s husband had not died and she had remained in Germany.’

‘Yet she was the King’s daughter and many would say the true heir. Stephen is our brother and I would support him with all I have, but Matilda was in fact the King’s daughter and in direct line of succession. One cannot get away from that.’

‘Poor Stephen. I hope he is happy. What burdens he has to bear!’

‘He has a good wife. No man could have a better.’

‘Yet he is not faithful to her. Are any men faithful?’

Theobald pressed her hand. ‘Do not take Raoul’s infidelity too much to heart. That is his way. Stephen’s queen must perforce accept this. Try to forget it.’

‘It is something which is always with me, Theobald, but I like not that you should have displeased the Queen.’

‘The King too, I fear.’

‘Oh, it is the Queen who counts. She rules the court; she wishes to enlarge the kingdom of France that she may become more and more powerful. I think she might be a revengeful woman.’

‘I shall know how to protect myself and my lands Eleonore. The King is young and inexperienced. It is a pity they married him to such a forceful woman. Abbé Suger is a wise man and Louis the Fat left his son in good hands...apart from those of his wife. But who would have expected a girl in her teens to take so much interest in affairs.’

‘The Queen is a woman who intends to rule. Shall you go back to Champagne now?’

‘Yes. I felt I must come and put my case before the King. It is always wise when one disagrees to state one’s reasons in person.’

‘Then I will wish you farewell, brother. It has done me good to see you. I would I could see Stephen.’

‘Do not wish that. It would mean trouble doubtless in Normandy if he were here.’

‘There is constant trouble in Normandy.’

‘And will be for years to come, I fear. Anjou is quiet at the moment, but his son is growing up. They say young Henry Plantagenet is quite a warrior already and that he will not only want Normandy, but England as well.’

‘More wars...more troubles!’

‘So must it be when there are too many claimants to a throne. Look at this trouble now...with Toulouse. But never fear, Eleonore. The King, I am convinced, has little stomach for war. Doubtless this affair of Toulouse will blow over. I do not think I shall be the only one who does not wish to follow him to war.’

The brother and sister took farewell of each other. The Queen watched the Count of Champagne ride off at the head of his cavalcade.

‘Curse him,’ said Eleonore. ‘How dare he flout the Queen. He shall suffer for this.’

Darkness had fallen over the castle. Petronelle wrapped a cloak round her and slipped out into the fresh night air. No one would recognise her if they saw her. They would think she was some lady of the house bent on an assignation, which would be the truth, but they would never suspect she was the Queen’s young sister.

Petronelle knew she was being bold and wayward; she was inviting dishonour. But what could she do? When Raoul embraced her she was weak and yielding; she had already half promised and drawn back. She had cried: ‘I cannot and I dare not.’

And he had tenderly bitten her ear and whispered into it: ‘But you can and you dare.’

She had known that there would be eventual surrender.

Was that not what the songs were about? They were about wooing and romance and knights who died for their ladies, but it was so much more inviting to love than to die. Death was horrible with its blood and pain. Love was beautiful; there was desire and passion and the intense satisfaction of fulfilment which she had yet to experience.

And she would experience that before long. They would marry her soon. Suppose they married her to some impotent old man just because it would be good for State reasons. They had married Eleonore to Louis. True he was the King but he was not really very attractive. He was what they called a laggard in all that mattered. Eleonore had as much as said so. If they married her to someone she did not fancy she would have lovers. She would select someone like Raoul...

Raoul! She was going to meet him now, and this time there would be no holding back. He would not allow that. He had said half angrily last time: ‘I have waited too long.’ And she had thrilled to that angry note in his voice. This time there would be no holding back.

He was waiting for her in the shrubbery. His arms were round her, holding her firmly.

‘Raoul, I dare not ‘I know the place. Come.’

‘I must go back.’

But he was laughing at her.

She said: ‘My sister will be furious. Do you not care for the Queen’s anger?’

‘Tonight I care for nothing but this,’ he answered.

She pretended to pull back but she knew and he knew that it was mere pretence.

They found a secluded part of the shrubbery.

‘Others may come here,’ she protested.

‘Nay, we shall be undisturbed.’

‘I must go back.’

‘You must stay here.’

He was drawing her down to the earth.

She said: ‘I have no help but to submit.’

Eleonore was quickly aware of the change in her sister and guessed the cause.

She summoned her to her bedchamber, and making sure that they were alone she said, ‘You had better tell me.’

Petronelle opened her eyes very wide, assuming innocence.

Eleonore took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Do not feign innocence with me, my child. Who is the man?’

‘Eleonore, I...’

‘And I know,’ said Eleonore. ‘You could not hide it from me. It is clear. If you shouted from the turret, I have a lover, you could not say it more clearly.’

‘I don’t see why...’

‘No, you are a child. You are also foolish. You should have waited for marriage.’

‘As you did...’

‘As I did. You know I was a virgin when I married Louis. It was necessary that I should be. Now we shall have to find a husband for you. Who is your lover? Perhaps we can marry you to him without delay. I will speak to the King.’

Petronelle stammered: ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Why so?’

‘He...he is married already.’

‘You little fool!’

‘I couldn’t help it, Eleonore. I didn’t mean to. At first it was only a kind of play-acting...like singing the songs and talking of love...and then...’

‘I know. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about such matters. You should have consulted me about it. You should have told me that he was making advances. Who is he?’

‘Raoul...’

‘The Count of Vermandois!’

Petronelle nodded.

Eleonore felt a wave of fury. Raoul who had pretended to admire her, who had implied that only she could satisfy him, that all other women were of no moment to him! And all the time he was making love to her sister!

‘I don’t believe it. Why, he is old...’

‘He is ten years older than you are. That is not much in a man.’

‘And you submitted to him.’

Petronelle held her head high. ‘I did and I don’t care. I’d do it again. So would you if you weren’t married to the King.’

Eleonore shook her sister angrily. ‘Don’t forget you are talking to the Queen. I am mindful of my duty. You have behaved like a slut of a serving-girl.’

‘Then many ladies of the court do the same. They sit with you and talk in a high-minded way about love, and then by night they are with their lovers. Poetry and songs are no substitute for love-making, and you know it.’

‘So you would instruct us! But let us not waste time in recriminations. You could not wait for marriage. That is what we must consider.’

‘I love Raoul,’ said Petronelle firmly.

‘And he loves you, I suppose you’ll tell me.’

‘Oh yes, oh yes.’

‘But not enough to save you from his lust.’

‘It was love,’ said Petronelle ecstatically.

‘And he knew to what disaster he was leading you. He knew he was married and so did you. He is married...’ She stopped suddenly and a slow smile spread across her face. ‘… he is married,’ she went on slowly, ‘to that woman who shares my name. She is the sister of our haughty Theobald of Champagne.’

‘He does not love her,’ said Petronelle quickly. ‘Theirs has been a marriage which is no marriage. It is years since they were lovers. She does not understand him at all.’

‘So he told you, sister. A common complaint of the wayward husband. All she cannot understand is why she should be expected to be faithful while he philanders where he will. It is something I do not understand either. Suffice it you are no longer a virgin. And that is deplorable. I will speak to the King. We must get you married without delay.’

‘If you married me to someone else I would never give up Raoul.’

‘And what if it were possible to marry Raoul?’

Petronelle clasped her hands ecstatically. ‘Oh, if it but were!’

‘I will explore the matter.’

The Queen received Raoul, Count of Vermandois, very coldly. She did not give him permission to sit.

‘I am displeased,’ she said.

‘Not with me, I trust, my lady.’

‘With whom else! I know about you and my sister. She has confessed to me that you have seduced her. What have you to say?’

‘That a man dazzled by the sun turns for consolation to the moon.’

‘There have been too many metaphors concerning the sun and moon. I have had enough of them. Are you implying that finding me unobtainable you turned to my sister?’

He bowed his head.

‘My sister will not be pleased if I tell her that.’

‘Your magnanimity and discretion would not allow you to.’

‘I never allow anyone or anything to prevent my doing what I wish.’

‘You are the law and it is our will to obey you. What would you have me do, my Queen? Say it and I will do it or die in the attempt.’

‘It is not exactly one of the labours of Hercules.’

‘I would it were that I might show my devotion.’

‘You should take care. I might set you some impossible task one day.’

‘Nothing could strain me more than to be near you and not allowed to love you.’

‘You do not speak like the prospective bridegroom of another woman.’

‘Bridegroom!’ He was alert. ‘My lady, alas I am married.’

‘To a lady of whom I gather you are not desperately enamoured.’

‘She is my wife. When I am in the presence of the irresistible I must perforce succumb.’

‘Are you referring to me or to my sister?’

‘You know my feeling. I am not alone in my adoration.’

‘And Petronelle? You are in love with her?’

‘She resembles you. What more can I say?’

‘That if you were free you would agree to marry her?’

‘With all my heart.’

‘I do not ask if you would be a faithful husband to her. I know the futility of that. She has a fancy for you.’

‘I would I were free.’

‘You could be if there were a blood tie between you and your wife.’

‘I know not...’

‘You are obtuse, Count. There are always blood ties between families of our blood. So much inter-marrying through the centuries means that if we search back far enough we can find the connection.’

‘If this could be found...’

‘If! It can be found. It must be found. You have seduced my sister. For all I know she may already be with child. You are responsible. Forget not that she is the sister of the Queen. Would you marry her?’

‘If just cause could be found that I am not already married.’

‘Then found it shall be,’ said the Queen firmly. She was smiling to herself. Certainly Petronelle must marry her seducer; and how amusing that Raoul’s wife was the sister of her enemy Theobald. This would teach that family to flout the King and Queen.

It was disconcerting. Count Theobald was not the only baron who ignored the King’s summons. It should have been clear that the country was in no mood to go to war over Toulouse. The only enthusiasm came from the Queen and that which she imparted to her docile husband.