Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude Read Online Free PDF

use hanging back. What was not done today must be done tomorrow.
    ‘Let us go now,’ he said.
    He was riding to the castle at the head of the small party he had taken with him. His standard bearer held proudly the banner of the golden lilies. He looked up at the turret and wondered whether she watched him.
    She was there, exultantly gazing at the golden lilies, the emblem of power. Aquitaine might be rich but a king was necessarily of higher rank than a duke or duchess and even if the acknowledgement of suzerainty was merely a form yet it was there, and Aquitaine was in truth a vassal of France.
    And I shall be Queen of France, Eleonore told herself.
    She came to the courtyard. She had taken even greater care than usual with her appearance. Her natural elegance was enhanced by the light blue gown she was wearing; this was caught in at her tiny waist with a belt glittering with jewels. She was not wearing the fashionable wimple as she wanted to show off her luxuriant hair which she wore hanging over her shoulders with a jewelled band on her forehead.
    She looked up at the boy on his horse as she held the cup of welcome to him.
    Young, she thought, malleable. And her heart leaped in triumph.
    He was looking at her as though bemused. He had never imagined such a beautiful creature; her serene eyes smiled into his calmly; the diadem on her broad high brow gave her dignity. He thought she was exquisite.
    He leaped from his horse and, bowing, kissed her hand.
    ‘Welcome to Aquitaine,’ she said. ‘Pray come into the castle.’
    Side by side they entered.

    She told Petronelle when her sister came to her chamber that night: ‘My French Prince is not without charm. They have grace, these Franks. They make some of our knights seem gauche. His manners are perfect. At first though I sensed a reluctance.’
    ‘That passed when he saw you,’ said the ever-adoring Petronelle.
    ‘I think it did,’ replied Eleonore judiciously. ‘There is something gentle about him. They brought him up as a priest.’
    ‘I can’t imagine you with a priest for a husband.’
    ‘Nay, we shall soon leave the priest behind. I wish we need not wait for the ceremony. I would like to take him for my lover right away.’
    ‘You always wanted a lover, Eleonore. Father knew it and feared it.’
    ‘It is natural enough. You too, Petronelle.’
    Petronelle sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Alas, I have longer to wait.’
    Then they talked intimately about the men of the court, their virtues and their potentialities as lovers.
    Eleonore remembered some of the exploits of their grandfather.
    ‘He was the greatest lover of his age.’
    ‘You will excel even him,’ Petronelle suggested.
    ‘That would be most shocking in a woman,’ laughed Eleonore.
    ‘But you will be equal to men in all things.’
    ‘I look forward to starting,’ said Eleonore with a laugh.

    The Prince loved to listen to her singing and watch her long white fingers plucking the lute and the harp; she said, ‘I will sing you one of my own songs.’
    And she sang of longing for love and that the only true happiness in love was through the satisfaction this could bring.
    ‘How can you know?’ he asked.
    ‘Some instinct tells me.’ Her brilliant eyes were full of promise; even he found a certain desire stirring in him. He no longer thought so constantly of the solemn atmosphere of the Church; he began to wonder what mysteries he and his bride would discover together.
    She played chess with him and beat him. Perhaps she had had more practice. When he was learning to be a priest she had been brought up in court accomplishments. It was a lighthearted battle between them. When she had check-mated him she laughed and was delighted; it was like a symbol to her.
    They walked in the gardens of the castle together. She showed him the flowers and the herbs which grew in the South. She told him how it was possible to make cures and ointments, lotions to beautify the skin and make