The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine Read Online Free PDF

have been the most dramatic confrontation the watchers had ever seen.
    Then Bernard began to castigate my father; he said he had spurned God, that he had desecrated the Church and had rejected God’s servant.
    Closer and closer they came to each other and the people waited breathlessly for what would happen next. Would my father slay the saint?
    Bernard had no fear. Such men never have. They embrace martyrdom as the worldly do their lovers. It would not surprise me if, at the moment, Bernard
hoped
my father would kill him, for if he did that would no doubt be the end of my father—and such men as Bernard are vengeful—and for Bernard the crown of glory.
    Then the miracle happened. My father lifted his sword, for having come so far a man such as he was could not retreat. Bernard came nearer, waiting for the blow, but as my father raised his arm, he fell suddenly at Bernard’s feet.
    This was seen as the power of God against the forces of evil. The sword had no power to strike the Host.
    My father lay on the floor, and Bernard made him rise and make his peace with God.
    The strange thing was that my father was able to get to his feet, and Bernard embraced and kissed him.
    “Go in peace, my son,” he said.
    The miracle had brought about the effect which Bernard had desired. My father had been vanquished. There would be no more objections to Innocent, no more support for the man whom his enemies called the anti-Pope.
    My father came back to us, a changed man.
             
    He was never the same again. He was given to moods of melancholy. Immediately after his return he shut himself in the palace. It was a shattering experience to have been shown so clearly that God was displeased with him.
    Bernard was a saint. He was sure of that. The man had proved it. And he himself was a miserable sinner.
    Everyone was afraid to go near him—with the exception of myself, and even I went tentatively at first. But I soon found that he wanted me with him. He wanted to talk to someone, and he could do that with me more easily than with anyone else.
    He explained to me how he had lifted his sword. “I was going to strike a holy man. What if I had? I should have been damned forever.”
    “But you did not,” I soothed. “You were saved in time.”
    “Bernard saved me. He looked into my eyes         .         .         .         such glittering eyes
he
has. I seemed to lose myself in them; and there he was         .         .         .         holding the Host, and my knees buckled under me. I found myself swaying like an aspen in the wind. It was as though something flowed over me         .         .         .         like a gigantic wave         .         .         .         and there was I, helpless at his feet.”
    “Try to forget it,” I said. “It is over.”
    “It will live with me forever. I see that I have failed and not done what I should for my country         .         .         .         and for God. What shall I do, Eleanor my child? What shall I do?”
    “Forget what has happened. Have no more trouble with these Popes. Let them fight their own battles. Rule Aquitaine. This is your country. What else matters?”
    “I fear I have not done well. There is unrest in the country more than there was during my father’s time.”
    “Your father did not worry with such matters as you do.”
    “No, he was content in his Courts of Love.”
    “As you must be.”
    “I am different from my father. I see how neglectful I have been of my duties. My dear wife died         .         .         .         and our son with her. I am left with two daughters.”
    “We are as good as any sons, Father.”
    He smiled at me. “There is none like you, my dear child, nor ever could be, but you are a woman. There will be