Read The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine for Free Online Page B

pure         .         .         .         virgins         .         .         .         nothing else will do.”
    I laughed aloud. “You have no need to remind me of that, Father. I saw no reason why I should not be amused by these young men. Light amusement         .         .         .         that is all it has been.”
    “I could not be at peace if I left you and your sister here while I was away. We shall all leave for Bordeaux, and I want you two to remain in the palace there until I return. I have spoken to Archbishop Geoffrey du Lauroux. He is a good man and he is one whom I can trust. He will watch over you and there will be none who dare flout his rule. He is a man of God and much respected.”
    “Father, there is no need.”
    “Daughter, there is every need, and that is how it shall be.”
    I was not displeased. I loved Bordeaux and, in spite of the stern Archbishop, I intended to have a merry time there. I would discuss with Petronilla which members of our entourage we should take with us.
    “I shall inform the King of France of my intentions,” said my father.
    “Of your intentions to marry?” I asked quickly.
    “No         .         .         .         no         .         .         .         that is in the future. I shall tell him that I am leaving for a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. He will understand. He knows well what has happened and will realize the necessity for me to make my peace with God.”
    “It seems,” I said, “that it is all arranged.”
    He nodded. “We will make preparations to leave for Bordeaux without delay. I am eager to begin my pilgrimage and return to you.”
    So we left for Bordeaux.
             
    None would have believed that the man at the head of the little group of pilgrims was Duke William of Aquitaine. Dressed in sackcloth, a pilgrim’s hat on his head, he resembled the humblest of his subjects. I thought that he must indeed be a worried man to contemplate such hardships as he would have to face.
    But that was the object of the pilgrimage; it was a penance: if it were a pleasant journey, there would be no merit in it.
    Petronilla and I stood in the Courtyard to say our farewells. There was a chill wind, and although we were wrapped in our fur-lined cloaks we shivered.
    He embraced us with great emotion. “I shall pray to God and all the saints to guard you,” he said.
    “And we shall pray to them for you, Father,” I replied. “You will need their help more than we shall.”
    “I shall be returned to you         .         .         .         refreshed.”
    But, I could not help thinking ruefully, as a prospective bridegroom.
    “We shall eagerly await your return,” I told him.
    We watched him leave and afterward Petronilla and I went to the highest point of the ramparts and strained our eyes looking into the distance until we could see him no more.
    “I wonder how long it will be before he returns,” said Petronilla.
    “I wonder what sort of man he will be when he comes back,” I replied.
    She looked at me expectantly but I ignored her. I did not want to explain my thoughts to Petronilla.
    “Now,” she said, “you are the ruler of Aquitaine.”
    “Yes,” I answered slowly.
    “You must be pleased about that. It is what you always wanted.”
    I laughed and taking her by the shoulders kissed her.
    “Yes,” I agreed, “it is what I always wanted. And it is mine         .         .         .         for a while. Come. We’ll make the most of it.”
    “What shall we do?”
    “You’ll see. The Court at Ombrire will be as it was in our grandfather’s day. Do you remember how we used to sit in the hall in the evenings watching the jugglers and listening to the singers? You were too