The King had been uneasy, for Bernard had a reputation for making prophecies which came true; and sure enough this one had.

One day Philippe the heir, after hunting in the forest, came into Paris where a pig, running suddenly across the road, tripped his horse. Philippe fell and struck his head against a stone and died almost immediately.

By this time Bernard had become revered as a holy man who could see into the future, and young Louis much to his dismay was taken from Notre-Dame to study the craft of kingship.

The boy had always hankered after the religious life.

Perhaps it was not a bad thing. A certain amount of religion was good for a king provided it did not interfere with duties.

He would be called upon now and then to defend his kingdom and his father hoped that when such occasion arose he would not be squeamish about punishing those who rebelled against him. Young Louis was too gentle. Also he must get an heir. Louis had never frolicked with women.

So many young men of his age had fathered a few bastards by this time. Not Louis.

Now the King sent for his son.

He sighed a little as the boy stood before him.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you see me prostrate. Never indulge your appetite as I have done. It is not worth it.’

‘I see that, Sire.’

‘Be seated, my son. I have news for you.’

Louis sat down.

‘My friend and ally, the Duke of Aquitaine, is in the same sad state as that in which I find myself. It would seem neither of us is long for this world.’

The King saw the lights of fear spring up in his son’s eyes. They did not mean so much that he could not endure to lose his father as that he feared the heavy responsibility which that death would place on his shoulders. A king should never be afraid of his crown, thought Louis the Fat.

A pity indeed that he had brought him up in religion. But how could he have known that Heaven had already signed Philippe’s death-warrant and sent a paltry pig to be his executioner?

Louis would forget that he had loved the ceremonies of the Church when those of State were forced upon him. It was merely the contemplation of great power that frightened him.

‘Therefore,’ went on the King, ‘I think it well that you should marry and that without delay.’

Now the boy was really frightened. This would never do.

A pity he had never dallied with a girl in some secluded part of the hunting forests. It was all very well to be as he was if he remained the second son. But he would change when he was married to a young and beautiful girl and by all accounts Eleonore was this.

‘You cannot get an heir too soon, my son. I have a bride for you. I could not have chosen one who pleased me more.

The Duke of Aquitaine is dying, so his messengers tell me.

He has suffered much hardship on the road to Compostella. His heiress is his eldest daughter. She is fourteen years of age and very desirable. There is to be a match between you two.’

‘Marriage,’ stammered young Louis, ‘so soon...’

‘Without delay. It is what the Duke wishes. He has placed his daughter under my protection. This is the finest thing that could happen to France. Eleonore is heiress to all the Duke’s dominions, Poitou, Saintonge, Gascony and the Basque country. I could not have chosen a more suitable bride for you.’

‘Father, I am as yet unprepared...’

‘Nonsense, my son. Little preparation is needed to get an heir. We shall put you to bed with this desirable and very rich girl and you will know what to do. Think of the good she can bring to France. The more lands under our protection the less likelihood of wars. The more powerful we are the more we can work for the good of France.’

‘The possession of lands often leads to strife. They must be protected.’

‘They must indeed be protected and good wise laws be made for them. It will be your duty to give a happy life to your people.’

Young Louis closed his eyes. Why had this had to happen to him? Why had that miserable pig ruined his life?

Philippe would have been a good king; he had been trained for it. And he, Louis, would have spent his life in the rarefied atmosphere of the Church. He would have been the Prince of the Church; how he loved the sonorous chanting, the beautiful music, the hallowed atmosphere.

And he had lost this because God had called on him to do his duty in a different sphere from that for which he had been trained.

‘I am sending word to the Duke of Aquitaine that I shall cherish his daughter and that I am losing no time in arranging a marriage between her and my son.’

‘Father, is there no help for it?’

‘No help, my son. This marriage must take place without delay.’

‘How far to the shrine?’ whispered the dying Duke.

‘But a mile or so now, my good lord.’

‘Thank God then, I shall reach Compostella.’

Just a little more pain to endure and salvation would be his. Who would have thought that he should come so far and endure so much to ask for a male heir and to find instead death?

‘There are messengers, my lord Duke,’ said one of his bearers. ‘They come from the King of France.’

‘Thank God then. Thank God again. What news?’

‘The King, my lord, sends his greetings. He will care for your daughter as he would his own for indeed he says ere you receive this message she will be almost that. For he is betrothing his son to her and the marriage of France and Aquitaine will take place without delay.’

‘I shall die happy,’ said the Duke.

So this was the answer. Eleonore would be safe. She would be Queen of France and what more could he ask for her than that? She was born to rule – not only because of her inheritance but because of her nature. She had the innate power to inspire respect and love.

It was said that the King’s son was a serious boy, destined for the Church as he had been. He had proved himself to be a great churchman in the making, and would have been such had not a wayward pig made him a future King of France and husband of Eleonore of Aquitaine.

‘Lift me,’ he said, ‘that I may see the shrine of St James.’

They did so and he was content.

Since her father’s absence Eleonore had been the undisputed mistress of the château. During the cold winter’s evenings she and her court would range themselves about the great fire in the centre of the hall ; there would be singing and music and she would judge the merits of the literary compositions and perhaps sing one of her own.

This she enjoyed; to sit among them, more elegantly attired than any of the other ladies, more brilliantly witty, while at her feet sat the knights gazing at her with adoration. The first lesson in chivalry was the adoration of women. Romance was the greatest adventure of the day. It was not so much the culmination as the dalliance on the way, although Eleonore herself knew that that climax must inevitably be reached. She thrilled to the ardent glances; she allowed herself to dream of fulfilment, but in her heart she knew there must be some delay.

Sometimes she played a game of chess with an admirer, for it was part of the court education that any who aspired to gracious living must first master the game; she always found an element of excitement in the conflict over the board; because she was fighting a battle and from this she invariably emerged the victor.

In the privacy of her bedchamber she talked with her sister. Petronelle believed that everything Eleonore did was right. She imitated her elder sister in all things. Now their conversation centred round their father. They wondered constantly what was happening to him on the dangerous roads.