The saint and the count, plus two of history's most famous lovers

August 20, 1153 was the death date of Bernard of Clairvaux, the nemesis of the Angevins. It was Bernard who is said to have insisted that from the Devil they came and to the Devil they’d go. The scene below is from Saints, page 580. Geoffrey and Henry have come to the French king’s court and Geoffrey outrages Bernard and Louis by dragging Louis’s seneschal, Giraud Berlai, before them in chains. Since Berlai was a rebel in Geoffrey’s eyes, he was not impressed by the French king’s indignation and says coolly that he showed admiral restraint in not hanging Berlai. When Bernard warns him that his mockery is offensive to God, Geoffrey corrects him, saying his mockery is offensive to Bernard and he is not the sole interpreter of the Almighty’s Will. It rapidly goes downhill from there. When Bernard grudgingly offers to absolve Geoffrey from his “sin of disobedience” and lift the sentence of excommunication, Geoffrey responds:
“I have no intention of releasing Berlai, my lord abbot. The man is a rebel and brigand, and I see it as no sin to punish him as he deserves. But if it is a sin, then I have no wish to be absolved of it. Since you claim to have God’s ear day and night, you may tell Him that for me, that I seek no absolution for an act of simple justice.”
When Geoffrey began to speak, Bernard stiffened, righteously indignant that his olive branch should not only have been spurned, but snapped in half. By the time Geoffrey was done, though, he was speechless with horror. So were the French king and most of the onlookers, for Geoffrey’s defiance sounded to them like the worst sort of blasphemy.
(omission)
If Geoffrey had an innate sense of the dramatic, so, too, did Bernard. Drawing himself up to his full and formidable height, he thrust out his arm as if he meant to impale Geoffrey upon it. “’Be not deceived, for God is not mocked, and whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’ You have prayed for damnation and the Lord God has heard you. Repent now, you impious, wicked man, whilst you still can. Heed me well, for I see your death if you do not, and within a month’s time.”
Bernard’s prophetic trances were known throughout France, and this one sent a frisson of uneasy excitement shuddering across the hall. The French king paled noticeably, some of Geoffrey’s own men began to edge away from him, while others moved in for a better view, just in case the Lord chose to take His vengeance here and now. Henry could not help admiring the abbot’s theatrical flair, but he was suspicious of the prophecy itself, for the timing was too convenient to be credible. Geoffrey looked even more skeptical; one of his eyebrows had shot upward in a familiar gesture of disbelief.
“A month, you say? Could you be more specific, my lord abbot? If you can give me the exact date, that would make it easier for me to plan Berlai’s public hanging in the time I have left.”
The abbot stared at the younger man and then slowly and deliberately made the sign of the cross. “It is true what men say, that the counts of Anjou come from the Devil’s seed. You blaspheme as easily as you breathe, mock all that is holy, you have no shame—“
“And I am doomed, too; let’s not forget that. How good of you to speak up for the Lord like this. Whatever would He do without you?” The abbot sucked in an outraged breath, but Geoffrey gave him no chance to respond. “Well, then, if I have so little time left, I see no reason to waste any more of it here.” And without a warning, without another word, Geoffrey turned on his heel and stalked from the hall.
* * *
His abrupt departure created a sensation and even Henry was taken aback, for that had not been in the script. He was not sure if he should stalk out, too, stay and try to salvage the peace talks, or make a measured, dignified withdrawal. He chose the latter, courteously bidding farewell to the French king and the abbot. But then he moved toward the stunningly beautiful woman who’d entered the hall just moments before.
* * *
“Madame,” he said gravely, and kissed her hand with a courtly flourish. But then he added, for her ears alone, “If you are not the Queen of France, by God, you ought to be.”
Her mouth put Henry in mind of ripe peaches. It curved at the corners, not quite a smile, but enough to free a flashing dimple. “My lord duke.” Her voice was as arresting as her appearance, low-pitched and sultry. “And if you are not yet the King of England,” she murmured, “by God, you will be.”
* * *
And that, of course, was the first meeting between Henry Fitz Empress and Eleanor of Aquitaine. One of my Facebook readers said he thought that was one of history’s great pickup lines, which amused me enormously. Geoffrey did not storm off as he threatened, and even agreed to some of the concessions demanded of him, at Henry’s urging, for by then he and Eleanor were making their own plans for the future. But none of them could have expected what happened next. On his way back to Anjou, Geoffrey caught a chill after swimming in the river at Chateau-du-Loir, and was dead within days. He was only thirty-nine and I do not doubt it vexed him greatly that Abbot Bernard would be able to claim that he’d foretold Geoffrey’s sudden, premature death. But if the abbot thought Henry would be intimidated by that eerie coincidence, he did not know his Angevins. Henry and Eleanor were made of sterner stuff than that and there is no evidence that even Bernard’s subsequent canonization impressed them very much.