A Family Tree Rooted in Hell

Here is the post that I was unable to put up last night. I wouldn’t have wanted to be married to the man, but he’d have made a very interesting friend. And writing about him gives me an excuse to post a scene about Henry and Eleanor; I do miss writing about them.
October 22, 1071 was the birthday of Guillaume or William, the 9th Duke of Aquitaine, often called the Troubadour Duke; he was famous for his often bawdy poetry, and would in time become even more famous as the grandfather of Eleanor of Aquitaine. The following is a scene from Saints, set on Henry and Eleanor’s wedding night. They are having supper in bed after consummating their marriage and she has just revealed to her new husband that her parents had not been happy together.
Saints, pages 645-646
* * *
“……I can understand why they were loath to wed. It had created enough of a scandal when my grandfather carried off the wife of one of his own vassals. But then to marry his son to that woman’s daughter—you can well imagine the gossip that stirred up!”
Henry sat up so abruptly that he almost spilled his wine. “Did I hear you right? Your grandfather was having a tryst with Aenor’s mother?”
“Not just a tryst, Harry. A notorious dalliance. The lady, who had the remarkably apt name of Dangereuse, was wed to a neighboring lord, the Viscount of Chatellerault. My grandfather always did have a roving eye, and he never seemed to see marriage as much of a hindrance—his or anyone else’s.”
(omission)
“But Dangereuse was different, not a passing fancy?”
“More like a grand passion. My grandmother Philippa had put up with his straying as best she could, but his infatuation with Dangereuse could not be ignored, for after he wooed her away from her husband, he brought her right under his roof, settled her here in the Maubergeon Tower. When my grandfather refused to send Dangereuse away, Philippa left him. She retired to Fontevrault Abbey, where—as unlikely as it seems—she became good friends with Grand-papa Will’s first wife, Ermengarde, who dwelt at the nunnery whenever the whim took her. Imagine the conversations they must have had on those long winter nights!”
“I’m still mulling over the fact that your grandfather was having an affair with his son’s mother-in-law!” Henry said with a grin. “It is not as if I come from a line of monks myself. My own grandfather could have populated England with all his by-blows. But I have to admit that this grandfather of yours seems to have had a truly spectacular talent for sinning. What did the Church say about these scandalous goings-on?”
“Oh, he was often at odds with the Church, but it never bothered him unduly. In truth, Harry, nothing did. He liked to scandalize and shock people, but there was no real malice in him. As you may have guessed, I adored him. Most people did, for he had more charm than the law should allow. (omission) What I remember most is his laughter and I suspect that is what truly vexed his enemies, that he got so much fun out of life. He could find a joke in the most dire circumstances, as his songs attest. That shocked people, too, that a man so highborn would write troubadour poetry, but he enjoyed it and so what else mattered?”
Henry brushed back her hair. “Tell me more,” he urged, and she shivered with pleasure as he kissed the hollow in her throat.
“Well….Grandpapa Will painted an image of Dangereuse on his shield, saying he wanted to bear her in battle, just as she’d so often borne him in bed. He liked to joke that one day he’d establish his own nunnery—and fill it with ladies of easy virtue. And when he was rebuked for not praying as often as he ought, he composed a poem: ‘O Lord, let me live long enough to get my hands under her cloak.’”
Henry gave a sputter of laughter. “Between the two of us, we’ve got a family tree rooted in Hell! Once Abbot Bernard learns of our marriage, he’ll have nary a doubt that our children will have horns and cloven hooves.”
“The first one born with a tail, we’ll name after the good abbot.”
* * *
The rest of the scene is R-rated, as Henry and Eleanor found more interesting things to do than discuss their relatives. Now that we know Eleanor was actually born in 1124, not 1122, it is not likely that she had any memories of Duke William, as he died in 1127. But we know that her sons took pride in boasting of their notorious ancestress, the Demon Countess of Anjou, so I think we can safely say that Eleanor would have been equally proud of her scandalous, pleasure-loving grandfather