The Troubadour's Romance

T
he Troubadour
’
s Romance

by Roby
n Carr

This novel is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to non-historical figures are either the product of the author
’
s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such non-historical incidents, places or figures to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1985 by Robyn Carr

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Westminster Castle

1166

The bowers that Veronique occupied were rich by the English standard, but now more than at any other time she longed for the comfort of France. She had accustomed herself to the drabness of English castles, the absence of the finer silks and fragrances, and even to the cold, damp weather. But there was still no feeling of home.

It was growing late in the year and she hungered for spring; it was chill and heartless and she feared she would never know warm tenderness again in her life. Just three days past childbearing and barely moving out of her bed, she yearned for an embrace of goodness or the light of pride in a husband
’
s eyes. But all of that was hopeless and there was naught to pray for but mercy.

In this vulnerable state and residing
much alone with her thoughts, Ve
ronique could not reach for her baby daughter without going over in her mind each detail that had brought her to the present. And she began instinctively to give consideration to how she could save this baby girl from the same fate.

She had grown up without a mother, her father had been a devoted knight who worshiped Queen Eleanor in the fash
ion she most adored
--
chastely and from afar. He would
have at any moment laid down his very life that her shoe would not be muddied. To preserve this dedication that Eleanor was intent on, she al
lowed the motherless child, Ve
ronique, to live in her household.

Ve
ronique did not presume that she was as a daughter to the queen; rather, she was a very special servant and ward of Her Majesty. Just as her father, Sir Flavian, had done, Veronique learned to partake in the lamenting love verse flavored with the chivalry of Arthur
’
s court and the honor
abl
e pursuit of unrequited love. Ve
ronique became, in time, not just a waiting woman for the queen; she rose in her own right to the status of court poetess. She was beautiful, untainted, and glowing with sublime rapture.

As a child she had resided near Eleanor during her marriage to Louis le Jeune, and later had journeyed with Eleanor to England, when she married for the second time. Her new husband, King Henry, was crowned in 1154. In the twelve years since, she had only seen her beloved Poitiers four times, for although Elea
nor traveled to France often, Ve
ronique did not accompany her every time. The home of her birth was near Narbonne, and she had seen that fair place even less.

She had either attended or been close at hand for the queen
’
s childbearing, yet she bore her own child with little assist. The labor had bee
n tedious and drawing, for Vero
nique was nearly thirty years old. Had Sir Flavian lived be
yond the Welsh campaign of the year before, she might have borne this bastard daughter in a farmer
’
s sty in France. When Sir Flavian left to fight the Welsh for Henry, he fell to one knee before his queen, praised her beauty with his usual reverence and supplication, and beseeched her to
“
look to Ve
ronique and hers should my life
’
s blood be shed upon Your Majesty
’
s husband
’
s cloak of honor.
”

Eleanor smiled in kind supremacy and murmured,
“
When have I not, sir knight? You of all would know that while I cannot reward your fealty with earthly pleasure, I can yield that loyalty of service which you entrust solely to me. Go with cause
and without fear. I treasure Ve
ronique as richly as you.
”

The mature vir
gin, bidden to her queen, took the news of
her father
’
s death as fearlessly as he had died, for her place with the queen had been promised. It was to be a nun
’
s li
fe without the costume, since Ve
ronique
’
s place was to beauti
fy Eleanor
’
s surroundings and lament of love unattainable and pure. The theme of the poems, the discussion, and even the acting done about Eleanor was constant arousal, with consummation the ultimate flaw, as if the seduction was the joy and the actual union of lovers a disappointm
ent. Mar
riage was not denied Ve
ronique; it was simply never men
tioned. It was assumed she was content with the role of seeker of pure love, and furthermore, no suitors met with the queen
’
s satisfaction. Marriage would mean leaving the queen, and that would cost her dearly.

It came as small wonder then that Eleanor considered the be
trayal deep and personal when Ve
ronique yielded to a lover
’
s caress. No touch had tempted her until his, no lips had brushed her silken cheek until she
’
d felt his breath, hot and flaming, close to her ear.
It w
as in the troubadour fashion that he had courted her, he was first inspired as they looked across the room at each other, then he sang of her throughout the ladies
’
bowers
--
while all thought that the object of his madness was Eleanor. Then his fingers, rough
ened from working the sword and lance, had stroked her flesh, melting her resolve for purity. Ice met fire and theirs was an instant flood of passion.

The splendor of his fealty and lust held her strong for his return from a mission for Henry. Upon his homecoming he would speak, nay, plead for her release from the queen, and she would bask in h
is ardor all her life. It was Ve
ronique
’
s private fear that when Eleanor became aware of their love, she would be jealous and cruel. The queen
’
s sensuality and lusty looks were as hungry as Henry
’
s, and oft
times when she looked at Ve
ronique
’
s suitor, her gaze warmed and held promise. Although Eleanor would be faithful to the king, her love of being worshiped as the perfect woman was boundless, and many times she was an
gry when one of her troubadours
found satisfaction with a woman who was free to return his love.

Ve
ronique
’
s brave and handsome lover did not return to her. Time melted away, and she came to fear him dead and herself bearing fruit from their coupling; yet she shed no
tear and held her eyes level and soft as she amused and served her queen. She dared not ask after her suitor, for the troubadour fashion was to maintain complete anonymity among lovers. And she heard no word of him until the first flutterings of her child whispered within her womb
. A returning knight spoke of Ve
ronique
’
s lover briefly, and he aroused much laughter as he described the man
’
s pursuit of a wealthy widow residing in the south of England. He had been approved by her, it was said, and could not be rousted from that demesne without owning it through her hand. He quite delayed the troops with his folly, until they left him to seek his lady.

In that very moment, Ve
ronique knew the bitterness of the lie she had been living. The many years of love
’
s whisperings were nonsense to her, for she was sullied and spoiled not only for a man, but for her station beside Eleanor. In her thoughts
she instantly abandoned the lan
guishing drivel of the troubadours and was hard put to discover what she could salvage of her life. She begged forgiveness from a priest and then sought out Eleanor, confessing her deed.

Eleanor slapped her and raged at the indece
ncy and dishonor. This was as Ve
ronique had expected. As she had also foreseen, the queen then softened, asking solicitously for the na
me of the child
’
s father, but Ve
ronique refused to identify her lover.

“
Tell me then,
”
the queen demanded,
“
that the king is not the father of your babe.
”

Veronique let her eyes drop and could not face her. The king
’
s passions were lusty and hard to resist. He kept Eleanor often with child and scattered his seed elsewhere with little discretion. Even Veronique, sheltered as she was by the queen
’
s watchful eye, had been bothered by Henry on many occasions. She did not feel at risk in his presence, being neither tempted by nor submissive to his desires. There was no longing within her for the energetic king. Yet Eleanor had begun to sense she was losing him, for his affairs were more frequent than in the early years of their marriage. So long as Henry kep
t himself strictly to bed
mates who would not threaten her position, she was stoical
ly tolerant.

Eleanor had cause to be fearful. Her marriage to Louis had been annulled after a decade and a half on the grounds of consanguinity. Those same ancestral lines could b
e found within her marriage to
Henry, s
hould he too seek annul
ment. Ve
ronique knew all of this well and took it close to heart as she sought shelter and sustenance at this time, when a woman in her plight cou
ld expect to be granted none. Ve
ronique held onto Eleanor
’
s small seed of doubt, knowing the queen would not turn away her husband
’
s child, although she might shun the mother.

“
Name him or free Henry from your accusation,
”
Eleanor demanded once more.

“
Would you spare me no dignity, Madame?
”
she had murmured, her moist green eyes twinkling.
“
Would you have me list those men who did not use me and grant you the identity by default? I beg mercy ... that he is not here beside me proves there is no man. What matter? I am alone. The child is mine ... alone.
”

“
Sir Flavian chafes even as we speak,
”
Eleanor snarled.
“
His beloved remains writhe in pain in his grave.
”

Ve
ronique raised her eyes and looked beseechingly at her queen. There was a new strength there, born of worldly suffering and a scarred heart
.
“
Nay, Madame, he rests at peace even now, for you gave your oath to me and mine.
”

Ve
ronique was dismissed from her usual entertainment of the ladies and troubadours. Chambers were vacated for her solitary existence and she ventured out but rarely. Eleanor visited on occasion, her mood sometimes black and mean, no doubt wondering which man who praised her had lain with her handmaiden. Other times she proved tractable and could even be considered kind. It wasn
’
t as though Eleanor was ignorant of the plight of women, whose lives were bent on the whims of men. For herself, when Louis had rejected her, she quickly had to marry Henry lest she be kidnapped and forced into marriage at the point of a dagger. There was naught to stay such an act, and Eleanor was too ambitious to marry a lesser man.

Ve
ronique
’
s door to her chamber was watched: no men lingered without to betray an interest in the beautiful woman
’
s condition, leaving the queen at a further loss. Once, when the queen was in a more compassionate mood,
she
reached out a hand to caress Ve
ronique
’
s long, red-gold hair and gently asked,
“
Do you mourn, dear sweet? Did love touch you but once and leave you filled with life but empty of hope?
”

“
Oh, yea, Madame,
”
she replied.
“
‘
Twas the cruelest thing that when I would give, I was robbed. I once thought love a heaven of bliss impossible to find, the
n thought next that I held it a
t my breast, then what I held was a dagger that ripped my heart from me and left me naught. Now I say truly, I do not know love, nor have I ever. Yet a child is to be born. I grieve for all women and their babes.
”

“
But my sweet V
eronique, do you see the cost of love? Tis why men of greater heart sing of amor de lonh,
”
Eleanor whispered in her beloved Provencal tongue. Then she laughed softly and added,
“
Love from afar does little to sate the hunger, but neither does it fill your belly thusly. Have you come to know which is worse? To hunger for love ... or to be fed and, indeed, full upon it?
”