‘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. Abbe 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.