Fourth Visit: Home

Eleanor used to enjoy Christmas in England. Now she was only happy in her memories. Though she could hear the merriment from the Great Hall, her spirit was far away. She closed her eyes. She could see herself roasting chestnuts with her grandfather, his kind eyes looking loving at her. They laughed and cried together as they listened to a troubadour’s story, a favorite of her grandfather’s. What would she not give to be back home in Aquitaine?

Her husband, the king, had told her she was to put on a brave face for the holidays. If she acted out the part of a devoted queen well enough, then she could receive visits from her sons during her imprisonment. She felt she had already succeeded. When Richard arrived at the castle, she had not shed a single tear, though she wanted to collapse at his feet and never let go.

Now she sat alone in her chambers. Sitting in the hard wooden chair, she stared at the fireplace, unsure if she could face all those people and continue to be strong. The shadows of her past seemed more real and inviting than the people nearby.

“My queen,” a servant said. Eleanor didn’t bother to look up to see which maid it was. “Sir Pierre is here for you.”

Pierre entered without a word. He knelt down and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. With such a simple gesture, all the fear, anger, and sadness she had kept inside poured out as she sobbed into her hands. When she had calmed down and taken a few breaths, Pierre rose and went back to the door.

"I have a surprise visitor for you.” Eleanor turned to see an elderly man walk in. Though it took a while, recognition suddenly spread across her face.

“Bonsoir ma petite.”

"Mon cher Roland! What are you doing here? I never imagined I would see you again!”

“Pierre told me about what has happened and that you have heard so many new stories. I’m sure you have greatly enjoyed them, but I thought you wouldn’t mind a familiar tale. What would you like to hear from me?”

“Roland, do you need to ask?”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I remember when your grandfather asked me to compose this many years ago. A Christmas present for his dearest granddaughter. Who would have thought I would someday perform it under such circumstances?”

Once upon a time there was a lovely maiden.

Princess of her land, she was content with her life.

Beloved by all, she only waited for her prince.

Her grandfather, the king, cared for her most of all.

So one Christmas, he gave her a precious fairy

Gift: A mirror with great magical properties.

This mirror would show the princess her destiny.

She looked wonderingly into the cool, clear glass.

What she saw, she did not share with anyone there.

Was it a face, a thing, or a place?

She would not say. Only that she must have it.

The next evening, she donned the armor of a knight

And she rode away to find what she wanted most.

She vanquished countless foes and slayed terrible beasts.

No one recognized her for what she was: woman.

She became the most revered knight in all the realm.

After years of conquests and great battles afar,

The lady hero returned home to songs of praise.

Her cherished grandfather asked if she found what she

Desired. All craned to hear the response of the lovely knight.

Oh my dear, kind king and most beloved grandfather!

When I looked in that fairy mirror, I saw life.

I saw danger and fear, but also the greatest

Victories. I saw adventure, glory, and strength unknown.

But after all this, I saw you, my king, waiting.

I returned to your arms, I heard your gentle voice,

Once again home and safe with you, but having lived.

It was as if the arms of all those she had ever loved had wrapped around Eleanor. She also felt the warm embrace of those she had only recently come to know. Strength surged through her as she recognized the fierce loyalty of the Viking princess, the faithfulness of the vanishing bride, the bravery of Scheherazade, and the loving kindness of her long departed grandfather.

She clasped the hand of Pierre. She kissed Roland’s cheek. The queen smiled with a sad determination in her eyes. Walking past the two men, she stopped at the door and gathered this newly found strength. After a few moments, Eleanor left to greet those who had come for Christmas at the castle, and prepared for the stares of those who only came to whisper about the imprisoned queen.

But she refused to be defined by the position her husband had forced her into. She was not Henry's imprisoned wife. She chose to be who she had always been: Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Author’s Note: For this story, I wanted to add a story and introduce new characters to continue the pattern of the previous stories, but I also wanted to give a satisfying conclusion to the storybook. When thinking about how to conclude, I remembered something I had read when I was doing my first round of research on Eleanor of Aquitaine. While Eleanor was probably the most influential figure in supporting the troubadours’ movement, she was continuing the tradition of her grandfather who was one of the first troubadours whose works survive. Stories were so important to both of them that I imagine them to be very close, but I am sure that is due to my own biases.

This was the hardest story for me to write for multiple reasons. I wanted the story to be in the form of epics told by troubadours, but I am not good with poetry. Writing the poetry of the story was definitely difficult. What also was hard was the emotional toll writing this took on me. I was very close to my own grandfather who passed away four months ago. When writing about Eleanor’s grandfather, I couldn’t help picturing my own and how much he loved reading and telling stories.

The story told by the troubadour is a very loose adaption of the story of Britomart from the Faerie Queen. However, in the original, she is chasing a man she saw in the mirror.

Britomart's Story: Stories from the Faerie Queene by Mary Macleod, with drawings by A. G. Walker (1916).