The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean (читаем полную версию книг бесплатно txt) 📗

‘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 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 Petronelle 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 sister?’

He bowed his head.

‘My sister will not be pleased if I tell her that.’

‘Your magnanimity and discretion would not allow you to.’

‘I never allow anyone or anything to prevent my doing what I wish.’

‘You are the law and it is our will to obey you. What would you have me do, my Queen? Say it and I will do it or die in the attempt.’