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Authors: Marion Meade
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risks. If reports were to be believed, Aquitaine swarmed with anarchists who would not hesitate to filch their liege lady from her rightful destiny. With all the dangers menacing the roads, Louis could not expect Eleanor to travel alone to the heart of France; instead, it was necessary to make a special expedition to bring her back. Nor was it enough to simply fetch her. It had to be accomplished in a style befitting this unprecedented occasion, with a pageantry gorgeous enough to impress the frivolous Aquitainians.
On June 18, 1137, a mighty cortege threaded its way over the hills of the Parisian suburbs in the direction of Orléans. Under the blue and gold banners of the fleur-de-lis they marched, two by two, first the heralds and standard-bearers, then the commanders: Count Theobald of Champagne and Count Ralph of Vermandois, who was the king’s cousin and seneschal of France. The two counts, bitter rivals who had been persuaded to bury their hostilities for the occasion, were accompanied by the man unofficially in charge, Abbot Suger. They were followed by the chivalry of France, but in addition to the noblest barons and knights in the land there was a sizable body of squires, infantry, and cavalry. Next came a train of pack animals carrying portable kitchens, tents, provisions, sacks of silver deniers, and presents for the bride. To call this procession of five hundred or more a nuptial escort would not be accurate. It was a veritable army that moved down the highroad, carefully keeping within the king’s lands. In the midst of the column rode the young prince, his eyes tired and bewildered under their pale blond lashes. Ringing in his ears were his father’s fervent words: “My most dear son, may the powerful hand of almighty God, by whose grace kings are enabled to reign, protect thee and thine. Because if I had the misfortune to lose thee and those I send to accompany thee, I should care neither for myself nor for my kingdom.”
Louis the Fat’s precious son was sixteen. Uprooted Unceremoniously from his devotions, he had been washed, combed, and set on a steed facing south. It was not a matter of his questioning his destiny, because he had known for some years that his vocation would not lie in the Church after all and that he would be obliged to marry. But deep within his eyes dwelt fear. Events had moved too swiftly, and he had yet to accustom himself to the curious idea that he would have to sleep with a girl. Had the choice been his, he would have lived his entire life as chastely as the angels in heaven. Women, to him, were needed to preserve the species and provide food and drink, but at the same time they were also the gateway to the devil, in short, necessary but perilous objects. When his forthcoming marriage was spoken of, he smiled with regal good grace, but if the conversation turned coarse, he blushed and lowered his eyes. None of the Franks had seen Eleanor, but they seemed to know everything about his bride-elect: She was fair and white and pink, she had a mouth as soft as an apple blossom and she was also that rarity, a literate woman in an illiterate age. None of this information reassured Louis. Before their departure, his commonsensical father had taken him aside, lecturing him on how to behave: He must conduct himself with dignity and uphold the prestige of the monarchy; he must not arouse hostility by billeting his men in the homes of vassals or plundering their fields for supplies; he must offend no one, especially once he entered Aquitaine. But Louis the Fat had provided no sexual enlightenment.
As the column marched slowly south in the insufferable heat, its reception among the peasants and burghers was not always cordial. To the indignation of more than one town, the king had financed this expedition by a special levy, and the poor grumbled over the additional and, in their opinion, oppressive, tax so that the prince could be married in style. It was no use saying that the marriage
On June 18, 1137, a mighty cortege threaded its way over the hills of the Parisian suburbs in the direction of Orléans. Under the blue and gold banners of the fleur-de-lis they marched, two by two, first the heralds and standard-bearers, then the commanders: Count Theobald of Champagne and Count Ralph of Vermandois, who was the king’s cousin and seneschal of France. The two counts, bitter rivals who had been persuaded to bury their hostilities for the occasion, were accompanied by the man unofficially in charge, Abbot Suger. They were followed by the chivalry of France, but in addition to the noblest barons and knights in the land there was a sizable body of squires, infantry, and cavalry. Next came a train of pack animals carrying portable kitchens, tents, provisions, sacks of silver deniers, and presents for the bride. To call this procession of five hundred or more a nuptial escort would not be accurate. It was a veritable army that moved down the highroad, carefully keeping within the king’s lands. In the midst of the column rode the young prince, his eyes tired and bewildered under their pale blond lashes. Ringing in his ears were his father’s fervent words: “My most dear son, may the powerful hand of almighty God, by whose grace kings are enabled to reign, protect thee and thine. Because if I had the misfortune to lose thee and those I send to accompany thee, I should care neither for myself nor for my kingdom.”
Louis the Fat’s precious son was sixteen. Uprooted Unceremoniously from his devotions, he had been washed, combed, and set on a steed facing south. It was not a matter of his questioning his destiny, because he had known for some years that his vocation would not lie in the Church after all and that he would be obliged to marry. But deep within his eyes dwelt fear. Events had moved too swiftly, and he had yet to accustom himself to the curious idea that he would have to sleep with a girl. Had the choice been his, he would have lived his entire life as chastely as the angels in heaven. Women, to him, were needed to preserve the species and provide food and drink, but at the same time they were also the gateway to the devil, in short, necessary but perilous objects. When his forthcoming marriage was spoken of, he smiled with regal good grace, but if the conversation turned coarse, he blushed and lowered his eyes. None of the Franks had seen Eleanor, but they seemed to know everything about his bride-elect: She was fair and white and pink, she had a mouth as soft as an apple blossom and she was also that rarity, a literate woman in an illiterate age. None of this information reassured Louis. Before their departure, his commonsensical father had taken him aside, lecturing him on how to behave: He must conduct himself with dignity and uphold the prestige of the monarchy; he must not arouse hostility by billeting his men in the homes of vassals or plundering their fields for supplies; he must offend no one, especially once he entered Aquitaine. But Louis the Fat had provided no sexual enlightenment.
As the column marched slowly south in the insufferable heat, its reception among the peasants and burghers was not always cordial. To the indignation of more than one town, the king had financed this expedition by a special levy, and the poor grumbled over the additional and, in their opinion, oppressive, tax so that the prince could be married in style. It was no use saying that the marriage
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