Beloved Enemy (27 page)

“We are to blame.”

Louis looked mystified. “For what?”

“Offending God.”

“I have offended God?”

She heard her voice falter. Once spoken the words could not be withdrawn. “Have—have you forgotten that you and I are related within the third, forbidden degree? That we married without papal dispensation?” She paused, allowing the import of her words to sink in. “We are guilty of consanguinity. Is it any wonder that God has not smiled upon our endeavors?”

The palace appeared in the distance, the sun shimmering on its white marble walls. A look of horror crossed Louis’s face.

“Consanguinity!” He signed himself. “I’m not sure I ever knew we were related in the forbidden degree. Or if I did I had long forgotten. Are you sure? After all, no one has ever mentioned it to me. But that would mean—may God forgive us—surely that would mean—our marriage may not be valid?”

“That is exactly what it does mean.”

“I cannot believe—” Louis’s eyes bulged in agitation. “Perhaps there was a papal dispensation. There must have been.”

“When we return to France we can ask Abbé Suger, but there would hardly have been time between my father’s death and our marriage to receive a dispensation from the pope.”

“But why did the abbé not say something at the time? Or my father? He sent me immediately to Bordeaux when he received news of your father’s death. I was too inexperienced in these matters to question … naturally I assumed … Why did no one take this into consideration?”

At his look of mingled bewilderment and dread, Eleanor almost felt sorry for him. “Greed.”

“Greed?” His face was pale, his eyes haunted.

“What else? In their haste to acquire my lands, greed for Aquitaine took precedence over the dictates of Holy Church.” Eleanor sighed deeply. “When I remembered this—while I prayed at the Holy Sepulcher—suddenly everything became clear—especially why we lack an heir.” She heard his sharp intake of breath and patted his hand. “We cannot go on as we are.”

“No. No. Certainly not.” Louis signed himself again, then passed a trembling hand across his face. “We have been living in mortal sin. Certainly that is an explanation for our misfortunes.”

Eleanor settled back comfortably in the litter while Louis moved as far away from her as possible. The weakness of his position was no longer lost on him, she had just made certain of that.

But she would be more certain of victory if the suggestion of an annulment came from him. Despite everything, she knew he still loved her, but Louis was martyr to a formidable conscience that gave him no peace at the best of times. Eleanor had staked a great deal, her entire future in fact, on her knowledge of Louis’s character. Now it was only a question of time as to whether she had guessed rightly—or wrongly.

I
F THE VOYAGE FROM
Greece to Antioch had been fraught with hardship and terror, this one from Acre was even worse, thought Eleanor, clinging to the wooden rail as the vessel rolled in the pale green shallows.

Only two vessels had set sail from Acre. No more had been needed to accommodate those who were left of the mighty pilgrimage that had left France two years ago. Eleanor, unable to bear the sight of her husband’s morose face another moment, had suggested they sail in separate ships, and Louis, brooding over the issue of consanguinity, aware that his marriage was hanging by a thread, agreed.

During a severe storm, the two ships—both flying Sicilian flags—lost sight of each other. Off the Peloponnesian coast, Eleanor’s vessel had run straight into the midst of a raging sea battle being waged between the opposing fleets of the king of Sicily and the emperor of Byzantium. Fortunately, the Sicilians eventually routed the Greeks, and now, feeling more dead than alive, she was finally in sight of a friendly shore. Sicily. She and Louis had left Acre at the end of April. It was now July. She had not touched land for two months.

King Roger of Sicily was a Norman, and generally well-disposed toward the Franks. Eleanor knew he would welcome her.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, still grieving for Raymond of Antioch, Eleanor suddenly collapsed onto the deck. Only half-conscious, she was dimly aware that two sailors carried her to the beach. Then she knew no more until she opened her eyes to find a dark-skinned man in a white burnoose and turban bending over her.

“Open your mouth,” he said in heavily accented French.

When she had done so, he lifted her head, then poured a cool drink down her throat. She gave a little choking cry. Was she still in Antioch? Jerusalem? Was this all a dream?

“Please, Madam,” said a voice in Norman French. “Do not be alarmed. I am King Roger and you are safe in my palace at Palermo.”

She weakly turned her head to see a tall man with a beard and a concerned look on his face.

“By God’s grace, you have survived a very rough voyage and a major sea battle. Indeed, both you and the king were given up for dead. Now you are under the care of my Arab physician. He tells me that in time you will make a full recovery.”

“Louis—” she whispered. The chamber began to grow hazy.

“No word has been heard of King Louis’s vessel,” Roger said. “Daily masses will he held for his safety.”

Before she fell into a deep sleep induced by the healing draught, Eleanor wondered if God had taken the matter of her annulment out of her hands.

A fortnight later, King Roger received word that Louis’s ship had landed on the shores at Calabria near Brindisi. After a slow recovery, Eleanor, accompanied by an escort provided by Roger, joined Louis in late August. Their meeting was cool but not acrimonious.

“We should travel at once to Naples, then take ship for Marseilles—” Eleanor began.

“We do not return to France,” said Louis, pale and thin after his calamitous voyage. “I have decided we should go first to Rome. The issue of consanguinity must be settled once and for all lest I go from my wits. I cannot go on with this—this sin hanging over my head. If an annulment is in order …” He could not finish. “The Holy Father must advise us.”

Eleanor kept her face impassive. It was the very first time he had mentioned an annulment! Before she was forced to bring it up. She could barely conceal her relief. But Rome? She was so used to Louis’s procrastinations that she was unprepared for his sudden decision. Weak and still tired, was she ready to battle this out with the pope? Eleanor wavered. Perhaps the question should be brought to the test so she could see where matters stood. On the other hand, she had wanted to carefully read the marriage contract once again and seek legal advice before proceeding further. Perhaps even consult the archbishop of Bordeaux, who had a formidable knowledge of legal matters. Her mind flew back and forth then settled on the answer: as far as she was concerned, the outcome was already determined—however long it took. Better to know exactly what obstacles stood in the way so that she could circumvent them.

Forced to travel slowly, it was mid-October before Louis and Eleanor reached Tusculum, south of Rome, where the papal court was in residence. She had had a relapse of the exhaustion that befell her on the voyage to Sicily, and they had been forced to stop at a Benedictine monastery in Monte Cassino until she recovered enough to continue.

The papal court was housed in a gloomy fortress, as the pope had been forced to flee Rome which was threatened by imperial troops in one of the never-ending battles between the Holy See and the Holy Roman Emperor. There was none of the splendor Eleanor had expected, and a decided lack of ceremony.

“I welcome you, my children, with open arms,” said Pope Eugenius the Third. “I have been kept informed of your mishaps—indeed the mishaps that have befallen this whole pilgrimage to save the Holy Land.” A look of distress crossed his face. “And, indeed, your personal difficulties, as well.”

How could the pope know of their personal troubles? Eleanor glanced at Louis and from the guilty expression on his face suddenly realized that he must have written Abbé Suger, who had undoubtedly informed the pope. She was furious. It was very important that her side of the tale be heard first; now the pontiff would have heard Abbé Suger’s distorted version of events, which would not be to her advantage. On the other hand, she had heard that Eugenius was a kindly man, not a fanatical zealot. Perhaps she would be able to move him.

“I will speak to each of you separately,” said the pope. “The king, first.”

Louis followed him into a private antechamber while Eleanor was offered refreshment of spiced wine and honied sweetmeats. Within a short time, Louis emerged, his eyes red. She could tell nothing from his face.

Inside the antechamber, crudely furnished with a table and two stools, Eleanor took a seat. A papal secretary stood in one corner, a red-robed cardinal in another. The pope, in flowing white robes, sat on a makeshift throne. Eleanor knew that what she said now—in front of witnesses—would have far-reaching consequences. It was impossible to tell the pope of her contempt for her husband, her lack of physical satisfaction, her hatred of life among the Franks. She had to make him believe that her only reason for wanting their union annulled was the fact that she and Louis had displeased God. Why else had He punished them by failing to grant them an heir after twelve years of marriage?

“My marriage at fifteen, Holy Father, was rushed through without the proper dispensations,” she began with a surge of confidence. “I am now twenty-seven—”

Choosing her words with care she told the pontiff exactly what she felt he needed to hear.

When she had finished he nodded. Had her plea moved him? Impossible to tell.

“So then it is only the issue of consanguinity that troubles your conscience?” Was there a particular emphasis on the word only? Was that a shadow of disbelief in his eyes?

“Yes, Your Holiness. Indeed, it weighs on me night and day.”

“I see. A moment, please.” He beckoned the secretary. “Tell King Louis to come in.”

When Louis stood beside her, the pope’s round face suddenly creased into a beneficent smile. “Well, my children, I have heard all you have to say.
Benedicamus Dominum!
You may both put your consciences to rest. Let me hasten to assure you that your marriage
is
valid! Under pain of anathema no word may be spoken against it, and it cannot be dissolved under any pretext whatsoever. If the lack of a papal dispensation is troubling you then you shall have one this very day! From my own lips—and shortly on parchment—I confirm that there is no impediment to your union.”

Horrified, Eleanor burst into tears. She could not endure the thought of spending even one more day with Louis, and now the pontiff had just given her a life sentence behind the golden bars of the French court.

“You see, Louis, the queen is overwrought, what with the long journey, her illness, and all. This matter has obviously weighed heavily upon her heart. An heir, my son, an heir is the answer.”

He rose. “I have prepared a little surprise for you. One that should gladden both your hearts.”

He took Eleanor, still weeping, by one hand, Louis by the other, and led them down a hall and into a small chamber. The room was dwarfed by a huge bed, decorated with ornate gold-and-crimson hangings.

“No expense has been spared to make you comfortable, my children. These priceless hangings came from my own chamber. Sleep well. God is with you.” Beaming with goodwill, he held out his ring for them to kiss. “I have stationed a guard outside the door to be sure that you are not disturbed.”

Still smiling, he withdrew. Short of getting into bed with them himself, Eugenius had ensured they would spend the night together. Eleanor wiped her eyes. Nothing had gone the way she intended. If she dared to protest, both Louis and the pope would surmise her real reason for wanting to end the marriage. Her own words had been used against her and she was helpless. Defeated, for the moment anyway, she rigidly submitted to Louis’s fumbling embrace. Tears flowed afresh when she remembered Raymond’s sure touch.

When they departed Tusculum several days later, the pope wept copiously, heaped gifts upon them, and exhorted them to love one another. If the pope knew her better, Eleanor thought, a fixed smile on her face, he would have known that once her mind was made up nothing and no one could change it.

“An heir will result from this blessed union,” Eugenius declared.

His words froze Eleanor’s blood. Sweet St. Radegonde, if she bore a son she was doomed. If, however, there was another daughter …Then again, perhaps she was not with child at all.

When Eleanor and Louis reached the Ile-de-France on a damp, gray morning in early November, a large crowd came out to greet them. The crusade had been an ignominious fiasco, yet here were Louis’s subjects rejoicing as if he had won a great victory! Eleanor wondered if Abbé Suger lay behind this demonstration.

The walls of the French palace closed around Eleanor like an oubliette. According to Petronilla, dark rumors of her depravity in Antioch were flying all over Paris. Far from rejoicing, said her sister, the air in France was filled with recriminations and a demand for explanations: Why had matters gone so awry on the crusade? What, if anything, had actually been accomplished? Why had so many lives been lost? As usual, saintly Louis was exonerated. The blame for everything was somehow due to the Poitivin seductress.

Then, to make matters even worse, shortly after her return from Tusculum, Eleanor found she was indeed with child. While news of her pregnancy silenced the rumors and forced people to regard her with a new, if grudging, respect, Eleanor’s own despair knew no bounds.

“You will bear a son,” said an enraptured Louis. “The pope has promised me that you will bear a son.”

Eleanor clung to her only hope: that she would give birth to another daughter. This would be her salvation, her pathway to freedom. Her entire future hung on the gender of this child.

Henry of Anjou was finally made duke of Normandy in January of the year 1150.

“And not before time,” he told his squire, Jocelin, who, like himself, had a huge grin on his face. “After all, I am seventeen, a seasoned warrior, a man of judgment. This appointment was long overdue.”