Free The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine by Jean Plaidy Page B

and the only punishment which had been inflicted on the rebels was a few days of fear that they would lose their children.
    He came back and said to me: “It is over. The revolt is quelled.”
    “I know what happened,” I told him. “Suger came and countermanded your order.”
    “He came and showed me the way.”
    I snapped my fingers at him. “You gave way just like that.”
    “It was the right thing to do.”
    “It is the wrong thing to give an order and then withdraw it just because a priest comes along and tells you to.”
    “I had to do it. Suger explained to me.”
    “Suger! Suger! It is all Suger. He runs this country         .         .         .         not you.”
    “He was my father’s trusted minister and he is mine.”
    “He was your master when you were at St. Denis. He still is now that you are on the throne.”
    “He was right, Eleanor.”
    “I don’t care. You should not have done what you did in the first place if you had no intention of carrying it through.”
    “But I had to do what I did. Suger made me see that I could not separate those young people from their families.”
    “It was a foolish thing to contemplate in the first place. You should have made them deliver up the leaders and then had them executed in the square so that all could see.”
    “I couldn’t bear that. I hate bloodshed.”
    “Oh, Louis. How can you be a king if you can’t even be a man? And you will never be a man while you have Nurse Suger to feed you his pap religion.”
    “He is a good man. He is a priest.”
    “He means more to you than anyone         .         .         .         I know that. I am as nothing to you compared with him. My wishes are of no account. You were dealing with my country. It came to you through me. I know these Poitevins. They will be laughing at you. They will be singing songs about this, mark my words. And they will make you live in their songs—the lily-livered King of France.”
    I turned and left him.
    He was very subdued for days after that. He was deeply wounded. I did not try to win him back, which was foolish of me. I think he avoided me by day. At night he would pray for a long time and I would doze off while he was still on his knees. He slept at one extreme end of the marital bed, I at the other. I was getting very restive. I wanted a lover and I could see that my husband was failing me miserably in that respect. How could a full-blooded woman, reared in the Courts of Love, granddaughter of the roaring lover-troubadour, find satisfaction with a husband who looked upon physical contact as sinful? With him there was only one reason for cohabitation, and that was the procreation of children.
    And we had had no luck in that direction so far. Louis was only just capable of performing the sexual act with a good deal of coaxing and encouragement, so perhaps he was unable to beget a child.
    This marriage which I had thought I might turn to great advantage was already proving a disappointment.
    I lay in bed thinking of all the handsome men at Court. And here was I with this one!
    I wondered whether he slept. I had a feeling that he was not altogether displeased by the rift between us. It gave him an excuse to escape the arduous and faintly distasteful business of making love.
             
    Gradually my relationship with Louis returned to what it had been before the disastrous affair at Poitiers. There was talk of my coronation.
    I was delighted at the prospect of this and temporarily forgot my disappointments. There was little I liked better than such a show, particularly when I was at the center of it.
    Petronilla and I spent a great deal of time discussing what I should wear, what she should wear and what my attendants should wear. It was fascinating.
    I was surrounded by young men         .         .         .         my attendants and those who came to Court to