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
‘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
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