12. Who do you consider to be the heroes of the book? What makes a person heroic or even virtuous in this story?

13. Why does Jane Rochford spy and tattle as she does? In the case of Anne Boleyn, she is driven partly by jealousy and vindictiveness—but why would she continue this dangerous behavior with Catherine and others? At what point do you think Jane goes mad? Is George to blame?

AN EXCERPT FROM

IN THE COURTS OF LOVE

JEAN PLAIDY

Duchess of Aquitaine, Queen of France, Queen of England—the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine comes to life in Jean Plaidy’s In the Courts of Love, in bookstores May 2006.

WHEN I LOOK BACK over my long and tempestuous life, I can see that much of what happened to me—my triumphs and most of my misfortunes—was due to my passionate relationships with men. I was a woman who considered herself their equal—and in many ways their superior—but it seemed that I depended on them, while seeking to be the dominant partner—an attitude which could hardly be expected to bring about a harmonious existence.

I inherited my good looks and fiery passionate nature from my forebears—and my surroundings no doubt played a big part in forming my character, for until I was five years old I lived at the Court of my grandfather, the notorious William IX of Aquitaine, poet, king of the troubadours, adventurer, lecher, founder of the “Courts of Love,” and the most fascinating man of his day.

It was true that I knew him when he was past his adventuring and had reached that stage when a man who has lived as he had is casting uneasy eyes towards the life hereafter and forcing himself into reluctant penitence; but, all the same, even to my youthful eyes, he was an impressive figure. Engraved on my memory forever are those evenings in the great hall when I sat entranced watching the tumblers and listening to the jongleurs—and most of all hearing my grandfather himself singing songs of his exploits in those days when he was a lusty young man, roaming abroad in search of love. I thought him godlike. He was as handsome as Apollo, as strong as Hercules, and as ingenious a lover as Jupiter. I was sure he could assume any shape in his love adventures. All the songs were of beautiful women, mostly unattainable, which seemed to make them more desirable than they would otherwise have been. Women were glorified in his Court, and when I left Aquitaine and discovered how differently they were treated in other countries, I was amazed.

Seated beside him would be the exciting Dangerosa. I had heard her called Dangereuse, which was appropriate. She was tall, statuesque, and flamboyantly handsome. He was my father’s father and she was my mother’s mother; but they were lovers. Nothing in my grandfather’s Court followed conventional lines.

My grandfather often sang of how he had ridden into the castle where he found her, and he had fallen in love with her the moment he set eyes on her. She was married to the Viscount of Chtellerault to whom she had borne three children, but that was no obstacle to my grandfather’s passion. He abducted her and brought her to his castle—a willing captive—and he set her up in that part of the castle known as the Maubergeonne Tower. Not that her presence was kept a secret. All knew what had happened, and when my grandfather’s wife, Philippa—who had been away at the time—returned to the castle to find a rival actually in residence, understandably she left my grandfather forever.

I never knew my grandmother Philippa. She died before I was born, but of course I knew the story of that stormy marriage. My grandfather’s affairs were openly discussed and he himself sang of them.

However, I was enchanted by my dashing troubadour grandfather and my merry, wicked grandmother, Dangerosa, living in riotous sin together.

I think my mother was a little shocked and would have liked the household to have been run on more orthodox lines. She was Anor, daughter of Dangerosa and the Viscount of Chtellerault; as Dangerosa could not be the Duchess of Aquitaine, she decided that her daughter should marry my grandfather’s eldest son so that her grandchild could inherit Aquitaine in due course. This was adding to the unconventionality, and I believe even my grandfather hesitated, but he was so besotted with Dangerosa that he gave in.

Very soon after the wedding, to the delight of all, I appeared. No doubt they would have preferred a boy, but because of the status of women in Aquitaine, I was warmly welcomed.

I heard afterwards that before I was born one of the holy pilgrims came to the castle. They were always turning up like birds of ill omen. The man was understandably shocked by the situation at the castle: the abduction, the blatant living together of the unmarried pair, and the flight of the true Duchess to Fontevrault Abbey, and to follow that the marriage of the son and daughter of the guilty pair.

He stood before my poor pregnant mother and declared: “Nothing good will come of this.”

What I am wondering now is: Was the pilgrim right?

I was called Eleanor, named after my mother, for Eleanor meant “That other Anor.”

They made much of me. Like many sinners, my grandfather and grandmother were indulgent. I doubt the virtuous Philippa or the Viscount of Chtellerault would have given me so much loving attention. My mother was there in the background, gentle, rather timid, an alien in this flamboyant Court. She was devoted to me and I know did her best to counteract the effect of the spoiling. I am afraid she was not very successful in this, but I did love her dearly and she represented a steadying influence in my young life, which was certainly necessary.

When my sister Petronilla arrived, I was not quite sure of the effect she would have on my position, but very soon I was in charge of her. The elders watched me with amusement as I exerted my influence over her, and by the time she could walk she was my abject slave. She was pretty and charming, but just as my father lacked the charisma of my grandfather, so Petronilla, for all her prettiness and charm could only take second place to me.

So all was well. I was the little queen of the Court. I would sit on my grandfather’s knee and make my quaint remarks, which set his beard wagging, implying that he was amused. I was the one who received most of the sugarplums fed to us by Dangerosa.

At this time I heard someone say that the Lady Eleanor could well be the heiress of Aquitaine. That was a great revelation. Aquitaine, that beautiful county with its rivers, mountains, flowers, and vineyards, its many castles . . . all would one day be mine! I was a very contented little girl.

And then it happened. My mother had been sick for a long time. Her shape changed; she rested a good deal. There was a great fuss about what they called “her condition.” I was told: “There is going to be another little one in the nursery.”

I naturally thought of another Petronilla—someone for me to mold and direct and who would become my ardent admirer.

The great day arrived. One of the nurses came to me in great excitement.

“What do you think, my lady!” she said. “You have a little brother.”

What rejoicing there was throughout the castle. “Now we have a male heir,” they said.

My grandfather was full of glee; so were Dangerosa and my father.

It was treachery. I was the heir of Aquitaine. But it seemed that, in spite of all the songs dedicated to the glory of women, they were forgotten when a boy was born.

This was the first setback.

I sat on my grandfather’s knee and voiced my protests.

“But you see, little one, men want a leader.”

“I could lead them.”

“Sometimes we go into battle.”

“You don’t.”

“I did . . . when I was a younger man.”

Dangerosa said: “Never mind. Women have their way of ruling.”

My father tried to console me. “You will make a great marriage when the time comes.”

My mother said: “Happiness does not come with great titles, my child, but with the good life. If you marry and are a good wife, that will bring you more happiness than great estates.”

I did not believe her. I wanted to be the heiress of Aquitaine.

But no one could help loving little William Aigret. He was such a docile child, and I still ruled the nursery.

Soon after that my grandfather died and my father became the Duke of Aquitaine.

My grandfather was genuinely mourned. I spent a great deal of time with Dangerosa; she used to tell me stories about him, and it was from her I pieced together the events of his turbulent life. She loved to tell the story of her abduction and how he had come to the castle to talk business with his vassal, the Viscount of Chtellerault, and as soon as he set eyes on her all thought of business was driven from his mind. I felt I was there during those periods in the castle when they had planned their flight. I seemed to have ridden with them through the forest, she riding pillion, clinging to him as they sped away to happiness. It was very romantic. I did not spare a thought for the poor deserted Viscount and my wronged grandmother Philippa. My sympathies were with the lovers.

Philippa was dead now but in the Courts of Love, which my grandfather had created, their story would be sung for years to come.

The Court changed, of course. My father was a very different man. He was not the great lover; he was more of a fighter. At least he was constantly embroiled in some dispute with his vassals. He was quick-tempered and ready to go to war on the slightest pretext; and he was absent a good deal during the years which followed my grandfather’s death.

There were plenty of young people at the castle, for girls were sent to my mother to be brought up as the Court ladies they would eventually become. There were boys too, who must be taught the art of chivalry and horsemanship. We girls had to learn how to embroider and do delicate needlework, which was so much a part of a lady’s education; we had to sing and dance and make gracious conversation, but I was taught other things besides, such as reading and writing. I had shown such an aptitude for learning when it was thought I might be Duchess of Aquitaine that they decided I should continue. I was, therefore, apart from the other children, and I intended that none should forget it.

There was still a great deal of music in the evenings, but my father, although he loved it, was no composer. He sang well, and this he liked to do, and he enjoyed the ballads and stories about his father. But he was so often away and the character of the Court had changed from what it had been in his father’s day.

When my father came home he would want to know how we had progressed. He was very interested in William Aigret’s performance, but I fancied he had a special fondness for me.

Then one day fever struck Poitou. Several people died and there were restrictions as to who should be allowed to come into the castle.

My mother became ill and she died within a few days. That was not all. William Aigret caught the fever from her and very soon afterwards he was dead.