“WE MUST GO BY SHIP,” Eleanor told Louis, barely able to address her husband with civility.
After leaving Paris a year ago, what was left of the crusading army had finally reached the Greek coast. It was now painfully evident to Eleanor that they would never reach Antioch by land.
Eleanor could hardly believe that her initial sense of excitement and high adventure in Paris had turned into despair and near hatred for her husband and the French. It was now obvious to her—and everyone else—that the crusade, far from being the glorious odyssey all had envisioned, was a total disaster. Trouble had begun three months after crossing the plains of Hungary—and the Franks were almost entirely to blame.
Eleanor and the captain of the Aquitainian contingent, as well as lords of other provinces, had kept control of their knights and foot soldiers. But the French army, disobeying Louis’s orders, had taken to pillaging farms and villages. By the time the crusaders reached Constantinople, they had left behind them a legacy of fear and hostility.
Since then, the near escapes, misadventures, surprise enemy attacks by the Turks, and driving winter storms had all blended into one long hideous nightmare that Eleanor preferred to forget. Louis had turned out to be a grossly inefficient leader—but many of the troubles, Eleanor knew, were blamed on herself and the Aquitainians. The French complained that her baggage and women slowed them down, her frivolity was unseemly, her knights unwilling to take orders from the French. The Franks and the Aquitainians made no secret of their ever-growing mutual hatred. Louis’s personal maladroitness was ignored.
“Yes, by ship,” Louis said now in a resigned voice. They had spent the latter part of the journey arguing about almost everything, and Eleanor could see he was too exhausted to provoke another quarrel.
“But there is a shortage of available ships,” replied the captain of the Aquitainian contingent. “This means that a great many of our surviving pilgrims and foot soldiers must be left behind.”
“How can we leave these people to an uncertain fate?” cried Eleanor. “Surely there is something we can do?”
“Their fate is far from uncertain, Madam,” the captain said. “These people will perish—unless they turn Moslem. It is the only way to survive among the infidel. But if we are to save ourselves we must reach Antioch as soon as may be.”
“Become Moslems!” Louis paled and crossed himself. “Better to perish than give up one’s faith.”
Eleanor did not trust herself to speak. How typical of Louis. She knew perfectly well that if she found herself on the horns of a similar dilemma she would do what she had to do in order to survive. What did not bend, was broken.
The starved remnant of a great host that had once been thousands strong finally left the Greek coast. After a perilous sea voyage wracked by storms and tossing seas, they sailed into the port near Antioch. Eleanor, pale, thin from lack of nourishment, and near collapse, stood on the deck of the ship. Clinging to the rail she observed a party of knights waiting on the quay. Was Raymond among them? Eleanor, who had not seen her uncle for nineteen years, doubted she would recognize him.
A tall figure garbed in gold-embroidered purple robes, no doubt an emissary sent by her uncle, stepped forward to greet them. Eleanor saw an exceptionally handsome man with a commanding presence—and was instantly drawn to him. His hair was a mixture of dark gold streaked with bronze; his eyes the color of the sea at Talmont at midday, a soft blue tinged with green. When he smiled Eleanor’s heart turned over; she could not take her eyes off him. Her interest quickened. An instant later—too late—came the shock of recognition. For one wild moment it was as if her beloved grandfather had returned from beyond the grave.
“Your Majesties, what a great honor to welcome you to Antioch,” said Prince Raymond in French. Then in the soft, melodious langue d’oc of his native Aquitaine he added: “Despite your recent hardships, Niece, it is easy to see that you have more than fulfilled the promise of your early beauty. I’ve never forgotten what an enchanting child you were.”
Eleanor, flushing with pleasure, immediately forgot her worn and bedraggled appearance. Louis, who did not understand the langue d’oc dialect, glanced uneasily from Raymond to herself, as if he could not quite believe this comely figure was his wife’s uncle. Even Eleanor, despite his resemblance to her grandfather, found it hard to realize this man was a close relative only eight years older than herself.
After sending her an amused look that seemed to imply he knew exactly what she was thinking, Raymond ordered that the royal party be properly mounted for the ride into Antioch. Thereafter he concentrated all his attention on King Louis.
When they approached the walled city of Antioch, Eleanor could see a crowd of people waiting to meet them. It was a beautiful day, the sun a golden orb in a sky of such blinding blue that it hurt her eyes. The clear air was fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms. She caught glimpses of lush, green foliage, orchards heavy with golden fruit, a wide river filled with ships.
Massive gates swung open. Eager citizens and sumptuously robed clergymen cheered their entry. Inside the city, Eleanor caught her breath. Terraced gardens rose steeply against the hillside; graceful palaces revealed a glint of pink and yellow flower beds, white marble fountains, and tiled pools. The ruins of ancient Greek and Roman temples marched side by side with the soaring spires of Christian churches and the graceful minarets of Moslem mosques. On the streets she was intrigued to see Arab merchants in snowy turbans mingling freely with Christian traders. With its relaxed and easy atmosphere the city reminded Eleanor of Bordeaux, and she responded at once to its charm.
When she reached the palace and saw the well-appointed chambers that had been furnished for her ladies and herself she broke down and wept. After the harsh conditions of the past year she could hardly believe the attentive servants, silken tunics, gossasmer gowns, woven cloaks, mirrors set in carved ivory, silver basins, and perfumed soap. There had been no opportunity to bathe since leaving Constantinople, and Eleanor and her ladies spent hours in the huge wooden tubs washing each other’s hair while attendant women poured steamy water, scented with rose petals, over them.
They had barely put their clothes back on when a trio of fat, dark-skinned eunuchs appeared to massage them. Eleanor’s women were genuinely shocked.
“I’ve never heard of such people,” said one of the ladies. “Nor have I ever been touched by any male other than my husband.”
Even Eleanor was uncomfortable at the thought but prepared to go through with it.
“Must we remove our clothes?” she asked.
One of the eunuchs bowed and nodded. He pointed to the bed and held out a long white linen sheet.
“How do we know they are really—well—I mean—no longer men?” whispered another lady.
“Don’t be foolish. Of course they aren’t.”
“Wouldn’t we be committing some kind of sin?” asked the first.
Determined to appear far more nonchalant than she felt, Eleanor removed her clothes, folded the sheet around her and under the round-eyed gaze of her women lay face down on the bed.
The eunuch unfolded the sheet. When his strong but supple fingers kneaded her flesh with jasmine-scented oil, Eleanor immediately relaxed. His impersonal, almost indifferent touch lacked any carnal significance. He would have massaged a cow in much the same manner. In truth, his handling of her body reminded her of Louis. There was no affection, no tenderness, no desire. Louis was just like a eunuch. It would have been funny if it were not so tragic.
After doing little more than sleeping and eating for almost three days, Eleanor felt almost restored to her normal self. Certainly she looked better than when she had arrived, she decided, critically examining herself in one of the mirrors. The peach bloom had returned to her cheeks; her hair looked as if the sun were shining through it, and her hazel eyes had begun to sparkle with their usual brilliance. Although still thin, her body no longer looked like that of a fasting anchorite.
During this time Eleanor barely saw either Raymond or Louis, who was separately housed with his entourage in the prince’s own palace. When she emerged from her chamber, refreshed and eager for activity, dressed in a sea green gown covered with a gold-embroidered tunic, she found herself presented with a variety of entertainment.
There was hawking and hunting, sumptuous feasts which included exotic fruits Eleanor had never heard of before: blood red pomegranates, dates, purple figs, and a long yellow fruit called apples of paradise. Instead of trenchers of bread everything was served on gold plates, accompanied by a heady, sweet wine native to the region.
Eleanor learned that Louis and his men had been provided not only with new clothes, but weapons and horses as well. As a result she assumed he was in better spirits, particularly now that the rigors of the exhausting journey were over. Hopefully, their endless bickering also would cease.
On the evening of her fourth day in Antioch, Eleanor and Louis attended a feast in the great hall of Raymond’s palace, held, he said, in honor of his illustrious guests.
“My uncle is wondrously generous,” Eleanor told Louis. “He has not forgotten his Aquitainian hospitality.”
The Franks were being entertained by troubadours, jugglers, and a band of sinuous Saracen dancers, from whom Louis modestly averted his eyes.
“Generosity with a purpose behind it.”
“What purpose?” Eleanor’s spirits continued to revive at the sounds of gaiety and laughter that reminded her of her grandfather’s court at Poitiers.
“Raymond wants me to postpone going to Jerusalem. He claims to be in a precarious position with the Turks. Should they attack Antioch with all their forces, he tells me, the city would fall, just as Edessa did.”
“You knew that before we came, Louis. It is one of the reasons why we came.”
Louis speared a slice of game with his knife and eyed it suspiciously. “He believes he can forestall the infidel by capturing the Turkish city of Aleppo.”
Eleanor nodded. “What a clever strategy.”
“Clever?”
“Of course. The Turks’ defeat at Aleppo would not only safeguard the principality of Antioch as well as other Christian states but also protect the road leading to Jerusalem.”
“Your uncle has been pleading his cause, I see,” Louis said with an accusing look. “That is exactly his argument.”
“Indeed, Raymond has told me nothing of his plans, I assure you,” Eleanor said. “It is the only course that makes sense. Surely you can see that?”
“Can I? By my faith, just because he has re-equipped us with horses and arms he thinks obligation must persuade me. It is God’s will I follow, not Raymond of Antioch’s.”
“I was under the impression that you were following God’s will when you came here to fight the infidel.”
Louis glared at her, a hostile look that made her want to shake him. Sweet St. Radegonde, they were at it again, like two hounds snapping at each other, just as they had been during the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when Louis had been her willing slave, listened to her views, and sometimes even followed her counsel. Eleanor did not doubt that Louis still adored her, but his recent losses had made him far more resistant than he had been in Paris.
There was a loud clapping and Eleanor saw that the dancers were now replaced by two jongleurs, one a dark-skinned Moor in Moorish dress, the other a flaxen-haired man dressed in the Provençal fashion.
Louis’s face turned crimson. Crossing himself, he hissed through his teeth.
“Impious! A Moslem and a Christian singing together! He harbors the enemy in his own court.” Louis turned his back when the two men began to play and sing a duet.
Eleanor, who had seen this pairing before at her grandfather’s court, thought it quite natural. She was tempted to tell Louis about the unusual group of jongleurs she had once witnessed at her father’s court in Bordeaux. Some had been Moors, others Christian, and one a Jew. Two of the Moors had been women who sang profane songs and danced, to the delight of everyone present. Jongleurs, whatever their race, were not warriors but followers of the gai saber, above battles, assaults and sieges. All of this would be lost on Louis, however. She could tell by the outraged, stubborn expression on his face.
It was exactly the same expression Eleanor had encountered when he insisted on going to Poitou alone. It meant Louis had made his decision and, no matter how illogical it might be, nothing would move him. A chill of foreboding pricked Eleanor. Should she warn Raymond?
Before she could act, the matter was taken out of her hands.
Eleanor spent the following day with Raymond’s wife, Constance, in a lovely garden shaded by palm trees. The mosaic-tiled courtyard was strewn with rugs and cushions; low tables held silver bowls of an orange-colored fruit called apricots cooling in snow brought down from the mountains.
Into the midst of this tranquillity strode her uncle. One look at his wrathful face told Eleanor that what she feared had come to pass.
“Louis has refused to help you?”
“Yes. Constance, my dear, I would speak with my niece alone. Do you take your ladies elsewhere.”
When his wife and her women had gracefully retreated to another corner of the garden, Raymond angrily pulled up several cushions and seated himself in front of her.
“I told Louis for the tenth time that the Moslems were terrified of the French army and now was the time to attack to ensure an easy victory. Your husband said he had given the matter considerable thought but must refuse. In all conscience he could not fight until he had expiated his sins against God and Holy Church by completing his pilgrimage to the sepulcher of Christ. Once he has received forgiveness he will do battle against the infidel. Can this possibly be true?”
“Indeed, I feared that might be his answer,” Eleanor replied with a vexatious sigh. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. But the man is such a pious fool that—” she threw up her hands. “Sometimes I don’t know how I have endured him all these years.”
Raymond’s sea blue eyes searched her face. “Your unfortunate situation is all too clear to me, Niece. Nevertheless, it is rumored that you have always had great influence over your husband.”
Eleanor shrugged. “In the past that has certainly been so. During our pilgrimage here, however, his affection for me has been sorely tried. We have had many bitter quarrels.”
“I beg you now to use whatever influence you have left to plead my case before your husband. He must help us. Our very survival here in Antioch is at stake.”
There was no mistaking the agitation in his voice.
Impulsively, Eleanor reached out and grasped his hand. “Of course. I’ll do all I can.”
Raymond gave her a slow warm smile filled with gratitude. Lifting her hand to his lips he pressed upon her palm a burning kiss that reverberated throughout her whole body. Her heart jumped; she must convince Louis to put off his pilgrimage and aid her uncle against the Turks.
That night, for the first time, Eleanor visited Louis in his private quarters at Raymond’s palace. She found him at prayer in the small oratory adjoining his chamber.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Wife,” he said upon completing his orisons. “But I hope you have not come on your uncle’s behalf.”
Surprised, for Louis was usually not so discerning, she seated herself upon one of the richly embroidered stools scattered about the chamber. “And if I have? I only ask that you hear me out. Alone.” She glanced significantly at the equerries milling about.
After Louis dismissed the equerries, Eleanor motioned him to pull up a stool. “Raymond’s scheme has much to recommend it. He has ruled as prince in Antioch for thirteen years and knows the ways of the infidel. Why do you refuse to join him in an attack on Aleppo, when it would speed your own plans?”
“I explained to him that I cannot undertake any campaign until I have fulfilled the vow I made at the start of this pilgrimage: to worship at the shrine of Our Lord. When I have completed that promise then I may take up arms and—and need no longer be celibate.” He lowered his eyes. “But you already know this.”
“What I know is that you have taken leave of your senses. The entire point of this venture was to recapture Edessa and protect Jerusalem. The opportunity to accomplish this is at hand and yet you refuse!”
Louis flushed. “I see that your uncle’s silver tongue has bewitched you. Well, he has cast no unholy spells over me or my barons. We have no use for this—this corrupt, pagan potentate who dares to call himself a Christian!”
Eleanor jumped to her feet. “Dares to calls himself a Christian? After he has showered you and your men with gifts? Extended his hospitality to all crusaders in need? St. Peter’s is the most beautiful Christian church I’ve ever seen. You said yourself, the singing of the monks was like a heavenly choir.”
“Never mind what I said.” Louis’s lips twitched in irritation. “I am repelled by what I find here. Repelled! Indeed, Antioch does not appear to me to be in any danger whatsoever. It is a loose-living city devoted entirely to pleasure. A very Sodom of iniquity. Inside the palace Raymond himself dons slippers and loose-fitting robes like some infidel sultan. The Europeans here wear turbans, and sport beards and flowing garb like the Moslems. One can hardly distinguish between them!”
“Holy St. Radegonde, what has that to do with—”
But Louis’s stream of invective would not be quenched. “Were you aware that there are as many mosques in the city as there are Christian churches? That some Christians have even intermarried with the Saracens?” His eyes were almost popping from his head. “Moslems and Christians live side by side in apparent friendship and even eat together at the palace! You saw that for yourself the other night, with the two jongleurs.”
“My grandfather entertained many Moslem troubadours from Moorish Spain who visited his court. They too sang with Christian minstrels. What of it?”
“What of it?” For a moment Louis was nonplussed. “Well! But then nothing about your family would surprise me. Absolutely nothing! One need look no further than his sire to see where Raymond has picked up his heretical tendencies.”
“Heretical? You are mad.”
“It is not I who am mad.” Louis crossed himself. “Only this morning I found out that many of the Christian churches have been decorated by Saracen painters! Impious! And you have the effrontery to ask me to support such a man?” His voice was edged with spite; his whole body taut with rage.
Eleanor was speechless. This was a Louis she had not seen before. His excessive religiosity had always been a sore point between them, but now it seemed to have reached a pitch of fanaticism blinding him to the very purpose of the crusade itself. Behind this Eleanor sensed a deeper enmity. The ancient hostility between Franks and Aquitainians, north and south, had been building to a climax ever since the crusade began.
No, no, no! How could she have been so blind? The tension had begun long ago; she had seen it from the very beginning of their marriage, starting with the betrothal ceremony in Bordeaux, but refused to acknowledge it for what it was. The years in Paris had exacerbated their differences, the crusade brought them to a head. Raymond represented all that the Franks hated and feared. Pleasure. Enjoyment. Sensuality. Freedom of expression. Tolerance. The encouragement of novel ideas that might threaten the status quo.
Nor was that the whole tale. At the bottom of it all, coiled like a venomous serpent, lay Louis’s jealousy. He sensed her attraction to Raymond, a kindred spirit reminding her of her beloved Aquitaine. Louis’s underlying hatred for all she represented had finally erupted. Eleanor knew he would never lift a finger to help her uncle.
Chilled by this knowledge, she fled the chamber. Filled with disquiet by her failure, shaken at this unexpected glimpse of her husband’s true feelings, Eleanor sought out Raymond. As they walked across the mosaic-tiled floor Eleanor told him what had transpired.
“So, the king of France led thousands of people on a dangerous and lengthy journey that has already cost many hundreds of lives merely to boast he has prayed at the Holy Sepulcher?” Raymond shook his head. “It is beyond belief.” He looked at Eleanor. “My heart goes out to you, Niece. Had my brother any inkling of what lay in store for you, he would never have entrusted your future to Fat Louis of France.”
Remembering her initial refusal to marry Louis, Eleanor was sufficiently moved to swallow a surge of grief. Had she followed her own instincts then …
“Such a waste of beauty and youth and spirit.” Raymond again shook his head and fell silent. When he spoke it was almost to himself. “I will not allow Louis to do this injury to the House of Aquitaine, nor to me personally. He will regret what he has done—or rather what he has failed to do. As God is my witness, he shall pay dearly for this sin of omission.”
“But what can you do?” Eleanor stared at him, half fearful, half intrigued. In just this defiant manner had she heard her father threaten his enemies.
Raymond bestowed upon her an enigmatic smile.