me, my child. Who is the man?’
‘Eleonore, I …’
‘And I know,’ said Eleonore. ‘You could not hide it from me. It is clear. If you shouted from the turret, I have a lover, you could not say it more clearly.’
‘I don’t see why …’
‘No, you are a child. You are also foolish. You should have waited for marriage.’
‘As you did …’
‘As I did. You know I was a virgin when I married Louis. It was necessary that I should be. Now we shall have to find a husband for you. Who is your lover? Perhaps we can marry you to him without delay. I will speak to the King.’
Petronelle stammered: ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Why so?’
‘He … he is married already.’
‘You little fool!’
‘I couldn’t help it, Eleonore. I didn’t mean to. At first it was only a kind of play-acting … like singing the songs and talking of love … and then …’
‘I know. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about such matters. You should have consulted me about it. You should have told me that he was making advances. Who is he?’
‘Raoul …’
‘The Count of Vermandois!’
Petronelle nodded.
Eleonore felt a wave of fury. Raoul who had pretended to admire her, who had implied that only she could satisfy him, that all other women were of no moment to him! And all the time he was making love to her sister!
‘I don’t believe it. Why, he is old …’
‘He is ten years older than you are. That is not much in a man.’
‘And you submitted to him.’
Petronelle held her head high. ‘I did and I don’t care. I’d do it again. So would you if you weren’t married to the King.’
Eleonore shook her sister angrily. ‘Don’t forget you are talking to the Queen. I am mindful of my duty. You have behaved like a slut of a serving-girl.’
‘Then many ladies of the court do the same. They sit with you and talk in a high-minded way about love, and then by night they are with their lovers. Poetry and songs are no substitute for love-making, and you know it.’
‘So you would instruct us! But let us not waste time in recriminations. You could not wait for marriage. That is what we must consider.’
‘I love Raoul,’ said Petronelle firmly.
‘And he loves you, I suppose you’ll tell me.’
‘Oh yes, oh yes.’
‘But not enough to save you from his lust.’
‘It was love,’ said Petronnelle ecstatically.
‘And he knew to what disaster he was leading you. He knew he was married and so did you. He is married …’ She stopped suddenly and a slow smile spread across her face.
‘… he is married,’ she went on slowly, ‘to that woman who shares my name. She is the sister of our haughty Theobald of Champagne.’
‘He does not love her,’ said Petronelle quickly. ‘Theirs has been a marriage which is no marriage. It is years since they were lovers. She does not understand him at all.’
‘So he told you, sister. A common complaint of the wayward husband. All she cannot understand is why she should be expected to be faithful while he philanders where he will. It is something I do not understand either. Suffice it you are no longer a virgin. And that is deplorable. I will speak to the King. We must get you married without delay.’
‘If you married me to someone else I would never give up Raoul.’
‘And what if it were possible to marry Raoul?’
Petronelle clasped her hands ecstatically.
‘Oh, if it but were!’
‘I will explore the matter.’
The Queen received Raoul, Count of Vermandois, very coldly. She did not give him permission to sit.
‘I am displeased,’ she said.
‘Not with me, I trust, my lady.’
‘With whom else! I know about you and my sister. She has confessed to me that you have seduced her. What have you to say?’
‘That a man dazzled by the sun turns for consolation to the moon.’
‘There have been too many metaphors concerning the sun and moon. I have had enough of them. Are you implying that finding me unobtainable you turned to my
‘Eleonore, I …’
‘And I know,’ said Eleonore. ‘You could not hide it from me. It is clear. If you shouted from the turret, I have a lover, you could not say it more clearly.’
‘I don’t see why …’
‘No, you are a child. You are also foolish. You should have waited for marriage.’
‘As you did …’
‘As I did. You know I was a virgin when I married Louis. It was necessary that I should be. Now we shall have to find a husband for you. Who is your lover? Perhaps we can marry you to him without delay. I will speak to the King.’
Petronelle stammered: ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Why so?’
‘He … he is married already.’
‘You little fool!’
‘I couldn’t help it, Eleonore. I didn’t mean to. At first it was only a kind of play-acting … like singing the songs and talking of love … and then …’
‘I know. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about such matters. You should have consulted me about it. You should have told me that he was making advances. Who is he?’
‘Raoul …’
‘The Count of Vermandois!’
Petronelle nodded.
Eleonore felt a wave of fury. Raoul who had pretended to admire her, who had implied that only she could satisfy him, that all other women were of no moment to him! And all the time he was making love to her sister!
‘I don’t believe it. Why, he is old …’
‘He is ten years older than you are. That is not much in a man.’
‘And you submitted to him.’
Petronelle held her head high. ‘I did and I don’t care. I’d do it again. So would you if you weren’t married to the King.’
Eleonore shook her sister angrily. ‘Don’t forget you are talking to the Queen. I am mindful of my duty. You have behaved like a slut of a serving-girl.’
‘Then many ladies of the court do the same. They sit with you and talk in a high-minded way about love, and then by night they are with their lovers. Poetry and songs are no substitute for love-making, and you know it.’
‘So you would instruct us! But let us not waste time in recriminations. You could not wait for marriage. That is what we must consider.’
‘I love Raoul,’ said Petronelle firmly.
‘And he loves you, I suppose you’ll tell me.’
‘Oh yes, oh yes.’
‘But not enough to save you from his lust.’
‘It was love,’ said Petronnelle ecstatically.
‘And he knew to what disaster he was leading you. He knew he was married and so did you. He is married …’ She stopped suddenly and a slow smile spread across her face.
‘… he is married,’ she went on slowly, ‘to that woman who shares my name. She is the sister of our haughty Theobald of Champagne.’
‘He does not love her,’ said Petronelle quickly. ‘Theirs has been a marriage which is no marriage. It is years since they were lovers. She does not understand him at all.’
‘So he told you, sister. A common complaint of the wayward husband. All she cannot understand is why she should be expected to be faithful while he philanders where he will. It is something I do not understand either. Suffice it you are no longer a virgin. And that is deplorable. I will speak to the King. We must get you married without delay.’
‘If you married me to someone else I would never give up Raoul.’
‘And what if it were possible to marry Raoul?’
Petronelle clasped her hands ecstatically.
‘Oh, if it but were!’
‘I will explore the matter.’
The Queen received Raoul, Count of Vermandois, very coldly. She did not give him permission to sit.
‘I am displeased,’ she said.
‘Not with me, I trust, my lady.’
‘With whom else! I know about you and my sister. She has confessed to me that you have seduced her. What have you to say?’
‘That a man dazzled by the sun turns for consolation to the moon.’
‘There have been too many metaphors concerning the sun and moon. I have had enough of them. Are you implying that finding me unobtainable you turned to my
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