The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

father.”
    We were not the only ones who had noticed the arrival and when we went down a little crowd had gathered there.
    A groom took the rider’s horse. He was clearly exhausted and must have ridden a long way. He came to me and kneeling before me lifted woeful eyes to my face.
    “I bring sad news, my lady.”
    “You come from my father?”
    “The Duke is dead, my lady.”
    “Dead! No, that cannot be.”
    “Alas, it is so, my lady. There were many hardships on the journey. The Duke developed a cough. It settled on his lungs. His legs became stiff. There were nights when there was no shelter. We could not travel fast.”
    “He should never have gone,” I said. “He should have stayed with us. There are other ways of expiating sins.”
    “He became too ill to ride, my lady. We had to make a litter for him. It impeded our progress. It became clear to us all that he could not make the journey to Compostela.”
    “Why did you not bring him back?”
    “He would never have made that journey either; and he wished to go on.”
    “And he did not reach the shrine.”
    “He passed away when we were within a mile or so of it. We could see it in the distance. But he died contented. He knew that, although God had denied him the satisfaction of reaching the shrine, his sins would be forgiven and he would be received into Heaven. He talked of Moses, who did not reach the Promised Land. He wished to be buried at the shrine, my lady; and this was done.”
    I felt dazed. I said: “You are exhausted. You must rest. You should take some food. Come into the palace.”
    This was a possibility which had not occurred to me. I had thought my father might return debilitated, for I knew his health was not such that he could endure hardship, but I had not thought of death. Never to see him again. Then one thought overwhelmed all others: Aquitaine was mine. No one could replace me now.
             
    The Court was still in mourning for its Duke. Attitudes had changed. I had been admired by the courtiers as a beautiful girl; now I was their Duchess. They regarded me with a new respect.
    I missed my father. When people have gone forever, one remembers so much that one wished one had done. I wished that I had let him know how much I had cared for him, that I had known, even when he planned to displace me, that his great concern had been for me. He did not want me to have to face difficulties such as those which had confronted him and given him great anxiety. I could have told him that I was different from him. I believed I would not have made the mistakes that he did. This was not so much conceit as conviction. I know now how wrong I was when I look back over a lifetime of mistakes; perhaps as great as any he made. But I wanted him back; I wanted to talk to him; I comforted myself with the thought that God had accepted his final sacrifice and given him absolution in return for his life, that he would be in Heaven and from there perhaps be able to look down on me and know that his fears for me were groundless.
    I learned more from the messenger, of the hardships they had endured, and how when he became so ill he had sent a messenger to the King of France offering him my hand in marriage with the King’s eldest living son. He had received assurances from Louis before he died, and I was told that because of this he died content.
    That Louis intended to keep his promise was evident. Almost immediately emissaries from the Court of France arrived at Bordeaux.
    The King’s son, Louis, was on his way to visit Aquitaine, and I knew that he was coming to ask my hand in marriage. It was a courtly gesture—and typical of the French—for it was a foregone conclusion that I should accept him, since the marriage had been a possibility for some time. There was no fear now that any son of my father could claim Aquitaine from me. I was the best match in France for him; and as he would one day be King of France, he was the best for