Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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‘You think of Vitry. You will not be blamed entirely for that.

Your soldiers were undisciplined. You tried to make them desist.’

‘And failed in my duty. I was not strong enough to prevent them.’

‘Give your support to the crusade. Help those who wish to go to go. But your duty lies here in governing your kingdom.’

‘Bernard wishes me to go.’

‘Bernard is a fanatic. My lord, a king cannot be that. God would not wish you to fail in your duty.’

As usual Louis was torn between two courses. He knew that his duty lay in France; yet the thought of expiating his sins in this dramatic way appealed to him. It was not long before Eleonore was aware of the conflict in his mind.

‘You are closeted for long periods with Bernard,’ she said, ‘and with Suger. What are they putting before you?’

He hesitated. Then he blurted out: ‘Bernard wants me to lead a crusade. Suger is against it.’

‘To lead a crusade. You! And what of France?’

‘That is what I tell Bernard. My duty lies here.’

‘Lead a crusade!’ murmured Eleonore. And she was thinking that she would be Regent of France. Or would she?

They would set up Bernard or Suger or someone to govern with her. She would be expected to lead a cloistered life during the King’s absence.

But to go on a crusade! To ride to the Holy Land. What adventures she would have! Life would hardly be dull and monotonous then.

Then she knew that this was the answer. This was exactly what she had wanted.

‘You must go,’ she said firmly. ‘You will throw away your burden of guilt. It is the only way if we are ever to have any peace from Vitry. And, Louis, I shall come with you.’

He looked at her in amazement; but she did not see him; she saw herself riding at the head of the women she would select to accompany her. She could not wait to start.

In the market square of Vézelai Bernard was rallying men to his banner. Beside him were the King and Queen.

‘If you were told,’ he thundered, ‘that an enemy had attacked your castles, your towns and your lands, had ravished your wives and your daughters, profaned your temples, would you not fly to arms? All these evils and evils still greater have come upon your brethren in the family of Christ. Why do you wait to avenge these wrongs, Christian warriors? He who gave His life for you now demands yours.’

Once again a cry rose up from the throats of thousands: ‘God wills it.’

And from none more fervently than that of the Queen of France.

The King then knelt and Bernard put the cross in his hands. Louis kissed it. Then the Queen knelt and did likewise.

She was exultant. The great adventure was about to begin.

Chapter III

THE LOVERS OF ANTIOCH

Eleonore was afire with enthusiasm as she rode back to Paris. This was going to be the greatest adventure of her life. She would ride at the head of the ladies whom she would select to take with her. She would immediately set about designing what costumes they should wear. They would be more than an inspiration to the men; they would be crusaders in very truth.

How exhilarating to be setting out on an enterprise which had the blessing of the Church, and to plan exciting adventures in the knowledge that in carrying them out one would be gaining redemption for one’s past sins. This was the second occasion when she must be grateful to Bernard.

He had wrought the miracle of childbirth for her and now he had presented her with this wonderful way of expiating her sins and having an exciting adventure at the same time.

She summoned her ladies to her. They should be mounted on gaily caparisoned horses, she told them; she was arranging that there should be countless pack mules to carry their baggage. Eleonore could not tolerate the idea of traveling without the beautiful gowns and all that which was necessary in order for a lady to lead a gracious life.

The minstrels now sang of war – holy war. Eleonore listened with outward attention but her thoughts were far away in the Holy Land where she saw herself riding at the head of her troupe of ladies. They should be dressed as Amazons for they were going into battle. She started an equestrian school where her ladies were taught to practise marching into war. Trumpets were sounded in their horses’ ears that they might grow accustomed to the noise of battle; they were forced to jump over high barriers.

Eleonore spent excited hours preparing the boxes of dresses, perfumes, unguents and all that was needed for ladies of elegance.

Petronelle joined her and gave way to loud lamentations when she heard she was not included in the plan. At first she had believed she would be with her sister; she had practised her skill on horseback; she had found great pleasure in planning the clothes she would need.

Then it was decided that Raoul, Comte de Vermandois, should act with Abbé Suger whom the Pope had chosen to be Regent of France during the King’s absence. Petronelle was overcome with grief. She wept and implored but was told she must either leave her husband or stay in France.

‘I should not advise you to leave Raoul,’ said Eleonore with a smile. ‘He is a husband who would find it very easy to be unfaithful as you discovered before you married him.’

So Petronelle decided she must stay behind.

‘Well,’ said Eleonore, ‘one cannot have everything. You have an attractive virile husband, sister, and you must needs be content with that.’

So Eleonore went on with her preparations and talked so glowingly of the crusade to all whom she met that many more were gathered to the banner.

With her usual single-mindedness Eleonore despised all those who did not wish to join in. She told her ladies that if any man did not wish to come with them he must be a coward. ‘Some of them are of the opinion that women are useless except for the domestic duties they perform and for submitting to their pleasure and their need to see themselves reproduced in their children, but I have never accepted this view,’ she cried. ‘I believe that my sex is in every sense equal to that of its opposite. And now that we are going into battle, now that we have shown France that women can and will help to carry on this holy war, why should not those men who stay at home weave and spin and look after the children of their households?’

How she laughed to scorn those who made excuses not to join in the crusade.

‘Come,’ she cried, ‘we will send them our distaffs and ask them if they will make good use of them as they do not wish to do what they call men’s work.’

Eleonore was amused when she learned how many of them who had received the distaffs changed their minds and joined the expedition.

The day of departure grew near. It had been arranged that all the French joining in the crusade should meet at Metz where King Louis would be ready to lead them; and the Germans should gather at Ratisbonne where the Emperor Conrad would be waiting to put himself at their head.

Both armies should then make their way to Constantinople where Manuel Comnenus, who was the grandson of Alexis Comnenus, would assist them.

Eleonore said an revoir to her little three-year-old daughter and set out at the head of a party of Amazons while Louis led the men. It was a brilliant cavalcade which crossed Europe, the golden lilies flying side by side with the red cross of Christianity.

As they made their way across Europe, men eager to join in the crusade fell in behind the King so that his army numbered one hundred thousand men. Eleonore was in her element. They rested at the castles of noblemen who delighted to receive them and, eager to help any engaged on such an enterprise, entertained the company lavishly.

Eleonore and her ladies sang and played; and there were tournaments and entertainments to enliven the company.

Louis was uncertain whether they should have enjoyed so much luxury for, he pointed out, it was not a pleasure jaunt; but Eleonore laughed this to scorn and the more magnificent the spectacle the more delighted she was.

When they reached Constantinople which was ruled by Manuel Comnenus, they found that the Emperor Conrad had arrived before them. The Greeks gave them a great welcome and there was much rejoicing.

Manuel declared that he would give them guides to conduct them into Asia Minor and would do everything in his power to aid them in their campaign against the infidel.

He was charmed by Eleonore and her party of ladies and she was in no hurry to leave such a pleasant haven.

At the beginning of October the Emperor Conrad was ready to leave Constantinople, and Manuel, true to his promise, provided guides who would conduct him through the hostile Turkish territory. The French army had not at that time completed its preparations, and as Conrad had been the first to arrive at Constantinople he was the first to leave.

It was an unpleasant shock when news reached Louis and his advisers that Conrad had been set upon by the Turks and completely routed at Iconium. Conrad himself had been wounded; his army was in disorder and it was by no means certain what further action he could take.

There was great consternation among Louis’s advisers, and the King was prevailed upon to hold a secret conference in his apartments. Several of the bishops who were accompanying the party begged the King not to include the Queen in this meeting. She was on great terms of friendship with Manuel and it would be difficult, they said, for them to voice their suspicions in her presence.

Louis, who had begun to feel that Eleonore was displaying a levity which was not always seemly, agreed, and in the quiet of his apartments the Bishop of Langres announced that he did not trust the Greeks.

‘It appears to me,’ went on the Bishop, ‘that Conrad could have been led into an ambush. Who were his guides? The answer is Greeks who had been supplied by Manuel. What if Manuel is in league with the Turks?’

‘They are infidels!’ cried Louis.

‘They are rich. Perhaps they offered Manuel a bribe to betray Conrad.’

‘I cannot believe it. They would have to answer for such a deed in Heaven.’

‘There are some, my lord, who allow treasures on Earth to blind them to those in Heaven.’

‘Yet Manuel has been so gracious to us.’

‘Too gracious!’ retorted the Bishop. ‘Too friendly. Fawning in fact at times. I don’t trust him and now that Conrad’s army has been routed I fear for ours.’

‘What must we do then?’ asked the King. ‘We are pledged to take the road to Jerusalem.’

‘But we should not trust the Greeks. How do we know that they may not be listening to our plans and warning the Turks of them?’

‘I cannot believe that of Christians.’

‘My lord, you judge others by yourself. Alas, they lack your piety and honour. I have every reason to believe that the Greeks, under Manuel, are traitors to our cause.’

‘Then we will regard their advice with suspicion.’

‘That is not enough, my lord. They may have their spies. They may send warning to the Turks. We should take Constantinople. Let the enemy know that we will not suffer traitors.’

‘I would never agree to that!’ cried the King. ‘We did not set out to punish the Greeks, but to expiate our own sins.

When we took up the cross, God did not put into our hands the sword of his justice. We have come forth to fight the infidel to restore the Holy City to Christians. I shall not engage in any other war.’

The knights rallied to the King. They were eager to press forward. They wanted to continue with the march to the Holy Land and had no desire or intention to engage in a war against the Greeks.

‘Then beware,’ said the Bishop of Langres.

‘We shall take every care, fear not,’ said Louis. ‘And now we must proceed.’

When Louis and his army left Constantinople and landed in Asia Minor, they caught up with the remains of Conrad’s army. Louis was disturbed to find the German ruler wounded and despondent. The Turks were fierce fighters he told Louis and he was certain that they had been warned of his plans.

He was in no state to march with Louis and had decided he would return to Constantinople and perhaps go by sea to Palestine.

A mood of fierce determination swept over the French army. Each man assured himself that what had happened to the Germans should not happen to the French. They would be prepared and ready for the Turk if he should attempt to ambush them.

And so it happened that when at Phrygia on the River Maeander the armies met, the French achieved a brilliant victory over the Turks. Eleonore and her ladies watched the battle from some distance and when victory was certain they came forward, dressed the wounds of those who had suffered and celebrated the success with songs written for the occasion.

‘Such an army,’ said the Bishop of Langres, ‘could if it had the mind, have taken Constantinople.’

‘It would not have had the heart,’ said Louis. ‘It has been gathered together to fight a holy war and nothing else will satisfy it.’

Now there was high hope among the soldiers. They had succeeded where the Germans had failed. Full of optimism they planned the next march forward.

The Queen and her party were considerably encumbered by the pack-horses which carried their baggage; and it was decided that the army should be divided into two parts. The Queen and her ladies should set up their camp on the heights over the Valley of Laodicea. There they would be able to see the approach of any enemy forces. They would overlook the fertile valley and miles of surrounding country.

The King would follow them and there should be a rendezvous on the heights.

The ladies must of course be well protected and Louis chose his best troops to accompany them, while he with the ladies’ baggage and the remains of his army followed behind to fight off any of the enemy who might be following.

Eleonore rode at the head of her troops and beside her was her constable, Saldebreuil of Sanzay, a man in whose conversation she delighted. He was elegant, handsome, cultured. Often she had wished that the King was a little more like him. But then more and more often she was beginning to compare poor Louis with other men, to his disadvantage.

They laughed and sang as they went along, and at length they came to the heights where the King and his commanders had decided they should rest. Eleonore looked up at the plateau. It appeared to be a grim spot and very different from the beautiful valley of Laodicea. There the grass was fresh green and clear waterfalls gushed from the hillside while wild flowers grew in profusion.

‘What an enchanting spot!’ cried Eleonore.

‘It is indeed,’ Saldebreuil agreed, ‘and sad that we must not tarry here.’

‘But we shall tarry here,’ said Eleonore. ‘It is too beautiful for us to ignore. It’s an enchanting spot. I want to rest here. Imagine it in moonlight.’

‘The King’s orders were that we were to encamp on the plateau,’ her constable reminded her.

‘Leave the King to me. He will understand that having discovered such a spot we cannot be so blind to the beauties of nature as to pass through it. We shall sing tonight of the glories of nature. We shall thank God for leading us to this beautiful spot.’

‘And the King...’

‘The King will understand that it was my wish,’ said Eleonore.

So they camped in the valley and darkness fell.

The King coming along behind with the loads of baggage was aware that the Arabs were swarming for the attack.

‘Thank God,’ he said, ‘that the Queen has gone on ahead and will be safe on the plateau.’

By this time there were Arabs on all sides of them.

‘On!’ cried the King. ‘We must reach the plateau. There our soldiers will be waiting for us. Once we are on it we shall be able to face the enemy in all our strength.’

Fiercely battling its way forward, harassed on all sides by the attacking Arabs, the French army approached the valley. To their consternation they saw that the heights above were not occupied by their troops as they had expected.

‘What of the Queen?’ cried Louis. ‘Where is she?’

It occurred to him that since she was not with his troops on the heights she must be in the valley and the horror of the situation alarmed him. He had to place himself between the Arabs and the advance troops among whom were the Queen and her ladies. He pictured what could happen to Eleonore and her women if they fell into those infidel hands.

They could be sold into slavery; they could be submitted to a thousand indignities. At all costs he must reach Eleonore.

But the Arabs were upon him. They had discovered the rich baggage and there were shouts of triumph as they dragged the bales from the pack-horses. Eleonore’s beautiful robes, her jewels, all that which had delighted her and made the journey so far such an exciting adventure would be lost.

Worse still, what would become of her and the women? What would become of his men?

All about him his soldiers were falling and there were very few left between him and the enemy. Vitry and all its horror came into his mind, and with it the terrible knowledge of the danger the Queen would be in if he were killed.

It seemed as if by a miracle that he noticed a nearby tree and above it an enormous boulder. Acting on impulse he seized the branch of this tree and swung himself up to the top of the rock. He was then out of reach of those cruel scimitars.

There was another point in his favour for it had grown suddenly dark, and the Arabs who had been attacking those who surrounded him, fearing that others would take the best of the spoils from the pack-horses, shouting to each other, hurried off to make sure of their share of the plunder.

He caught at the branch of the tree on which he had swung to the rock and descended. Then he climbed the tree. He believed he had been saved by a miracle. The tree had been put there by God for it had undoubtedly saved his life.

There he was temporarily safe. The leaves completely hid him. Peering through them he could in the moonlight make out something of the horrible carnage and he knew that this was a defeat as certain as that which had befallen Conrad of Germany.

And Eleonore? What of her? Was she safe in the valley?

He thought she must be and she was in any case protected by the best of men.

Had she gone to the heights as he had commanded this would not have happened. She should never have come on this crusade. Women did occasionally follow the men, but they had to obey orders strictly and they came rather as camp followers than crusader commanders. But Eleonore would never be anything but a ruler. She would always impose her will on those about her. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had married a less forceful woman.

And even now with this horror all about him he could not regret his marriage. There was about her a quality which no other woman would ever have for him. He would never forget the first time they had met when he had thought her more beautiful than any creature he had ever seen. And he who had thought he would never wish to live with a woman had wanted Eleonore with him day and night.

He was bound to her. Whatever she did he would love her; he would never regret his marriage. And he could think thus while overlooking this carnage for which to a great degree her headstrong ways were to blame; he could still feel love for her, still be anxious for her, still never regret the day he had seen her and known she was to be his wife.

The dawn showed that the enemy had retired. The pack-horses minus their burdens wandered aimlessly among the bodies of fallen men.

The King descended the tree. What was left of his army rallied round him. They could not bury the dead but they could succour the wounded.

Then sadly they made their way into the valley where the Queen and her protectors received them with great sorrow.

Seven thousand fine soldiers had been slain and the army was without means of continuing the fight. The brief success at Phrygia was as though it had never been.

Louis and the French army were in as unhappy a state as Conrad and his Germans had been.

By the cooling streams of the Orontes they made fresh plans.

‘We dare not stay here,’ said Louis. ‘The enemy will return. They know our weak state. They will finish us completely.’

Eleonore was despondent. All those handsome men lost and with them the beautiful gowns and jewels which were her delight. She had no desire for this kind of adventure if she must appear disheveled in a dirty gown. The adventure had been spoilt.

‘And can we travel in our present state?’ asked the Bishop of Langres. ‘What of our wounded?’

‘We must somehow manage to take them with us,’ said the King. ‘And to delay here is dangerous. We must march on and hope for succour. If we can get to Pamphilia we might make our way to Antioch.’

‘My uncle Raymond is the Governor of Antioch as you know,’ said the Queen. ‘We must reach Antioch and there we can nurse the wounded back to health and re-form the army.’

‘There is a chance,’ said Louis, ‘if we can get there before we are overtaken by the Arabs who will certainly pursue us. If they did, in our present sorry state we should stand little chance of survival.’

‘We shall do it,’ said Eleonore.

‘And if we fail,’ said the King, ‘we shall have died in Christ, for in battle with the infidel we have done His work and we shall know that it is His will.’

It was the Queen’s example rather than the King’s expression of acceptance of any fate which awaited him which spurred the survivors of that disastrous campaign to continue their march.

On they went to be harassed continually by marauding bands of Arabs. On one of these skirmishes Saldebreuil de Sanzay was captured. The Queen was desolate. The thought of her handsome constable in the hands of the infidel was unbearable. What would they do to him! It would doubtless be better for him if he had been killed. She could not wish it otherwise if the infidel should submit him to torture. She was more than a little in love with him as she was with several of the gal ant men who surrounded her and was constantly comparing them with the monk-like Louis.

But the situation was too desperate for her to brood too long on the fate of others. They must make their way to Antioch without delay. At length famished, wretched, denuded of most of their baggage they reached Pamphilia.

The Governor of that city gave them shelter.

‘We will not encroach on your goodness,’ said the King.

‘We shall stay only until we can find transport to Antioch.’

The Governor told the King that Antioch was forty days’ march from Satalia, the port close by, but by sea it would take only three days.

‘My army is in no fit state to march,’ said Louis. ‘If you can provide us with boats to take us to Antioch we will repay you well as soon as this can be arranged.’

The Governor said he would do what he could.

Impatiently Eleonore awaited the arrival of the vessels. She had heard her father talk of his brother Raymond who had become the Prince of Antioch through his marriage with the granddaughter of Bohemund. ‘Raymond,’ her father had said, ‘was the handsomest man I ever saw. Women always found him irresistible.’ So it seemed had Constance, Bohemund’s granddaughter, and so she had brought him Antioch. Eleonore was eager to see this man.

As her uncle he would surely make them welcome. In Antioch she could acquire some beautiful clothes. She was deeply grieved at the loss of the baggage, for to appear romantic and beautiful was necessary to her enjoyment of life.

Each day she awaited the arrival of the vessels which would carry them to Antioch, and when at last they came there was bitter disappointment. Seaworthy they undoubtedly were, but there were so few of them that they could not carry the army and all its adherents.

Louis was nonplussed. This could only mean that some of them would have to do the hazardous land march which would take forty days.

‘I cannot subject any to that,’ he cried to his bishops. ‘We must try to carry everyone in the ships.’

‘They would sink,’ was the terse reply.

‘Yet I cannot leave them to march across the land. The Arabs will attack them. They would suffer hardship, hunger… No, I cannot do it.’

‘Yet we cannot stay here, Sire.’

He spent long hours on his knees begging Heaven to show him what he must do. Time was passing; he must act quickly. Finally he made his decision.

He embarked on the ships with the queen, her ladies, the best of his army and some of the bishops.

And so Louis and Eleonore left for Antioch. The King had lost more than three-quarters of his army.

The journey which was to have taken three days had stretched out to three weeks. The weather had been good however and it seemed as though fortune was smiling on them at last.

Ahead lay the green and fertile land, and Raymond, Prince of Antioch, uncle to Eleonore, having been advised of their coming had prepared special honours for them.

As soon as the ships were sighted he personally set out to greet them, and he had ordered his subjects of Antioch to gather and line the route the visitors would take that they might be given a welcome.

Thus it was that Eleonore and her uncle met. She looked up at him for although she was by no means small he towered above her. Rumour had been true when it had said that he was the handsomest prince in Christendom. There was the faintest resemblance between them; they were both gay and adventurous; they were both ambitious; they were both eager to live their lives to the full and take the utmost advantage from it. They recognised each other as two of a kind and there was immediate rapport between them.

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘What pleasure this gives me,’ he said.

‘I am very happy to be here,’ replied Eleonore.

He had turned to Louis. The King of France! This poor creature! Noble-looking in a saintly kind of way, of course, but no husband for his fiery Queen. It was going to be an amusing and exciting situation.

‘Welcome to Antioch, Sire,’ said Raymond, bowing.

‘Our gratitude to you, kinsman. We have had an arduous journey.’

‘I heard with dismay of what had happened to your army.

But let us not despair. Here you may rest among friends and make fresh plans. But come. Let me conduct you to the palace I have prepared for you, and there I hope you will be furnished with all you need.’

There were horses for them to ride – for Eleonore a beautiful white palfrey.

‘I somehow knew that this should be yours,’ said Raymond warmly, and he would allow no one but himself to help her into the saddle.

He rode between the King and Queen into Antioch.

‘What a beautiful city!’ cried Eleonore enchanted by the olive groves, the palms, and the people who shouted greetings and waved leaves as they passed.

From time to time Raymond glanced at her. His niece was not only spirited but beautiful. A worthy heiress of Aquitaine. The most interesting phase of this development would be his growing acquaintance with his niece, and the possibility, perhaps through her, of bringing to fruition plans which had long been in his mind.

‘If the palace I have had made ready is not to your liking,’ he told Eleonore, ‘you must tell me. Another shall be made ready for you.’

‘How good you are!’

He leaned towards her. ‘Are we not bound by kinship? And were we not I would wish to do everything in my power for you.’

His eyes glowed in a manner which was something more than avuncular. Eleonore was delighted by such conversation, it was the essence of that romance of which she sang. If he were attracted by her, so was she by him.

Never before had Louis seemed so insignificant. As she rode into Antioch she asked herself how different her life would have been if the King of France had had the bearing, the manners and the vitality of the Prince of Antioch.

Into the courtyard of the palace they rode. There bloomed brilliant flowers and the spring sunshine glinted on the waters of the fountains and the feathery leaves of the cypress trees. From the balconies of her apartments Eleonore could look out on the olive groves and vineyards of the fertile land, and she was enchanted by it.

How Raymond understood her. He had heard of the loss of her baggage and sent to her beautiful cloths that she might choose from them, and with these came seamstresses that they might immediately provide her with the garments she needed. He gave her presents of costly jewels.

Eleonore exulted for she realised that Raymond was wooing her far more insistently than he was her husband.

There were entertainments for her pleasure. After a banquet Raymond would beg her to sing for him, and she sang some of her songs of love while he watched her with glowing eyes.

Raymond’s wife Constance, through whom he had inherited Antioch, was less pleased with the visitors. She was well aware of the disturbing presence of the Queen of France, and she rejoiced in the Queen’s close relationship to Raymond for a man could hardly make his niece his mistress. Raymond was the most handsome and charming man Constance had ever known and she was proud to be his wife, but she did realise that her opinions were shared by many and this of course meant that temptation was constantly offered to her attractive husband.

She preferred not to know of his infidelities. She was his wife. He could not put away the granddaughter of great Bohemund. She was safe enough. But she would be pleased when the French party left to get on with their crusade.

Eleonore had no wish to leave. Crusading had turned out to be not quite the joyous adventure she had dreamed of.

There was more to it than riding at the head of her ladies, beguiling the crusaders with her songs and enchanting them with her presence. The recent débâcle had taught her that. It had been utter misery in the boats which had brought them here, and when she thought of her baggage being rifled by those infidels, she grew so angry that in her rage, her ladies feared she might do herself some injury.

All that was behind her. Here she was in Antioch with the most adorable of hosts and between them a very exciting relationship was springing up.

‘You must completely recover from your ordeals before you think of departing,’ insisted Raymond.

‘You are good,’ replied Louis, ‘but I think we should not delay too long.’