He did not stop to assess the situation. He talked of the honor he was about to bestow on Limoges, for the Limousin was a vassal state to Aquitaine. He forgot that there had been a great deal of friction between the two states in the past; he believed that now he was a changed man, everyone’s attitudes must change toward him.

The last thing the people of the Limousin wanted was to come under the direct rule of Aquitaine; and there were others who did not wish to see Aquitaine become more powerful and who would do a great deal to prevent William’s marrying Emma.

They managed very skillfully and prevailed on the Count of Angoulme to abduct Emma. He came in strength and took her from her home as Philip of France had taken Bertrade and my grandfather Dangerosa; and that settled the matter. My father’s attempt to marry Emma of Limoges had failed.

He seemed to regard this as another expression of God’s displeasure and was sunk in melancholy. He continued feverishly to make plans for his pilgrimage. He was anxious for me to know that he still loved me dearly. I was sure that he did so more than he could any sons even though they possessed the magic quality of masculinity.

I was angry with him, and I should have been more so if I had believed he was going to achieve his purpose. First he had to make the pilgrimage, and that was going to take some time. He was not in especially good health, and the hardships he would have to endure would surely not act as a restorative. Then he had to find a bride and she must be fruitful. I was not one to anticipate disaster, and I think at that age I had an unshakable belief in myself and my destiny.

Preparations took some time. He explained to me that for a man in his position there was a great deal to arrange; and I was his main concern.

“I?” I cried, “It would seem to me that I am your least concern since you plan to replace me with a more desirable heir.”

He was distressed. “Eleanor,” he said severely, “you will have to learn to curb your temper.”

“My temper, my lord! Have I not been extremely accommodating? I have helped you with your plans when, if they are successful, they will culminate in my loss!”

“Do not see it that way. You are my great concern. Much as I wish to go to the shrine of St. James, I am constantly plagued by my fears of what will happen to you.”

“The answer is simple. Give up the idea of the pilgrimage and sons. If I am worthy of your concern, surely a better fate should be found for me than to be packed off in marriage.”

“Packed off in marriage! My dear girl, your marriage shall be the most brilliant in Europe. That is what I wish to talk about. Louis ...”

“The fat one or his son?”

“Both, my dear. Louis is a fine fellow. When his brother died, he stepped into his shoes with the greatest of ease.”

“Can that be true of one who was trained to be a priest?”

“Sons of kings have their duty to perform and they must take whatever comes to them.”

I wondered about Louis. I had for some time, for it was no news to me that, if all went well and we did not displease the King of France, there might be a match between me and his eldest son. I did not know how far my father had offended him over this matter of Innocent and Anacletus, but presumably Aquitaine would be a big enough prize for such matters not to be an irrevocable handicap.

I had discovered all I could about the Court of France since I had heard that I might well one day marry into it. I was fascinated by the reputed size of the King. He had grown so large through excessive eating and drinking that it was difficult for him to move about. In his youth he had been tireless and excelled in all physical exercise. I suppose this had developed his appetite, which continued to be large when he was less active. In spite of this foolhardy indulgence, he was a wise man and a shrewd ruler. He had always been on friendly terms with Aquitaine until this unfortunate matter of the Popes had arisen. I think he probably wanted a match with us as much as we with him.

Now that my father had repented, friendship between the two was resumed. But I was not sure whether the union between myself and the heir to the crown of France would be so attractive if he discovered that my father was contemplating marriage. As the sister of the ruler of Aquitaine, I would be a much less desirable match than its Duchess would have been.

I had always imagined that my husband would be Philip but a strange thing had happened. He had been killed when out riding. It was so sudden that it was almost like an act of God. Philip had been riding through Paris when a pig had run under his horse’s legs. He had been thrown clear, hitting his head on a stone wall; he had died instantly.

This was so unusual, so unexpected, that people said it was “meant.”

Louis the Fat had several children besides Philip and Louis. There was Robert who became Count of Dreux, Peter de Courtenay, Henry and Philip and a daughter, Constance. She was later Countess of Toulouse, and the two younger boys became bishops. The second son, Louis, was intended for the Church and was being brought up to this until the pig changed the course of history. Louis was taken from his cloisters to become heir to the throne of France; and that meant that if I were to marry into France, Louis would be my husband.

My father went on: “There is one great concern for me. I hesitate to leave you and Petronilla.”

I stared at him in amazement. “What harm could come to us?”

“What harm indeed! There are those who might well take advantage of my absence. I shall talk to you very seriously. You are not ignorant of the ways of men. You are a very attractive girl. I have seen some of the men’s eyes on you and I have heard their songs. They sing of romantic love, my dear, while they are planning seduction, perhaps even rape.”

“I understand well the nature of men, Father.”

“Then you will understand my concern. If I left you here alone ... you and Petronilla ... some brigand might come along, take possession of the castle and of you. He might even force his attentions on you.”

“Do you think I should submit ... to that?”

“If his physical strength was greater than yours, you would be obliged to. Only recently there was the case of poor Emma of Limoges. You are especially attractive; you have exceptional beauty; but to some, Aquitaine would be even more desirable.”

“I would fight to the death.”

“But I do not want you dead, dear child. No, no, you have had freedom here at Court. You have been surrounded by young men and girls. You have made your verses, sung your songs, indulged in flirtatious conversations with young gallants. You have happily basked in their admiration. You revel in it. Some of these young men have been very handsome, very plausible. Sometimes I have feared ... There must be no dalliance, Eleanor, neither for you nor for Petronilla. You must go to your husband completely pure ... virgins ... nothing else will do.”

I laughed aloud. “You have no need to remind me of that, Father. I saw no reason why I should not be amused by these young men. Light amusement ... that is all it has been.”

“I could not be at peace if I left you and your sister here while I was away. We shall all leave for Bordeaux, and I want you two to remain in the palace there until I return. I have spoken to Archbishop Geoffrey du Lauroux. He is a good man and he is one whom I can trust. He will watch over you and there will be none who dare flout his rule. He is a man of God and much respected.”

“Father, there is no need.”

“Daughter, there is every need, and that is how it shall be.”

I was not displeased. I loved Bordeaux and, in spite of the stern Archbishop, I intended to have a merry time there. I would discuss with Petronilla which members of our entourage we should take with us.

“I shall inform the King of France of my intentions,” said my father.

“Of your intentions to marry?” I asked quickly.

“No ... no ... that is in the future. I shall tell him that I am leaving for a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. He will understand. He knows well what has happened and will realize the necessity for me to make my peace with God.”

“It seems,” I said, “that it is all arranged.”

He nodded. “We will make preparations to leave for Bordeaux without delay. I am eager to begin my pilgrimage and return to you.”

So we left for Bordeaux.

None would have believed that the man at the head of the little group of pilgrims was Duke William of Aquitaine. Dressed in sackcloth, a pilgrim’s hat on his head, he resembled the humblest of his subjects. I thought that he must indeed be a worried man to contemplate such hardships as he would have to face.

But that was the object of the pilgrimage; it was a penance: if it were a pleasant journey, there would be no merit in it.

Petronilla and I stood in the Courtyard to say our farewells. There was a chill wind, and although we were wrapped in our fur-lined cloaks we shivered.

He embraced us with great emotion. “I shall pray to God and all the saints to guard you,” he said.

“And we shall pray to them for you, Father,” I replied. “You will need their help more than we shall.”

“I shall be returned to you ... refreshed.”

But, I could not help thinking ruefully, as a prospective bridegroom.

“We shall eagerly await your return,” I told him.

We watched him leave and afterward Petronilla and I went to the highest point of the ramparts and strained our eyes looking into the distance until we could see him no more.

“I wonder how long it will be before he returns,” said Petronilla.

“I wonder what sort of man he will be when he comes back,” I replied.

She looked at me expectantly but I ignored her. I did not want to explain my thoughts to Petronilla.

“Now,” she said, “you are the ruler of Aquitaine.”

“Yes,” I answered slowly.

“You must be pleased about that. It is what you always wanted.”

I laughed and taking her by the shoulders kissed her.

“Yes,” I agreed, “it is what I always wanted. And it is mine ... for a while. Come. We’ll make the most of it.”

“What shall we do?”

“You’ll see. The Court at Ombrire will be as it was in our grandfather’s day. Do you remember how we used to sit in the hall in the evenings watching the jugglers and listening to the singers? You were too young. But our grandfather used to take me on his knee and sing to me.”

“Tell me about it,” said Petronilla, for she could remember little.

So I told her of the songs they sang glorifying love and telling of the exploits of our grandfather and his knights.

“I remember some of it,” I said, “but I did not understand it all at the time. They were a little risqu. Men were very daring in those days and they have changed little. They will sing songs of love and devotion and how they adore you and set you on a pedestal so that they can worship you, and all the time it is merely to lull your feelings into a sense of security, and when you are sufficiently lulled they will take advantage of you. And once that has happened they will tire of you.”

“Is that really true? Our grandfather did not tire of Dangerosa.”

“That was because she was clever. We have to be clever ... more clever than they are, Petronilla. That is what I learned in the Courts of Love.”

And during those months while we awaited my father’s return I set up my own Court. In the evenings I would have the minstrels play for us; there were the story-tellers and the itinerant troubadours who were constantly arriving. It was becoming more and more like the Court of my grandfather’s day.

I was the Queen of it all. It was in praise of me that they wrote their songs. They would sit at my feet, those handsome knights, and in their songs and in their looks they would proclaim their love for me.

I believe there were some who thought I would succumb. It was not that I should not have liked, on occasion, to do so. I was susceptible to their handsome looks and charming manners. I would pretend to waver. It was exciting to see the hope in their eyes. But I never gave way. I had learned my lessons. Whatever happened, I must be aloof. I must be the one they dreamed about, the one about whom they wove their fancies.

The Archbishop was dismayed. This was not seemly in his eyes. There was too much levity. There should be more time spent in devotions. I pretended to be contrite, but I did not change my ways. This was my Court and because my power might be transient, I was determined to enjoy it while I could.