Tribune in return for my Times. "It's performance evaluation time for Dilbert."
"I remain very glad not to be working in corporate America."
"We wouldn't survive a week. They seem to want something called pro-duck-tivi-tee."
I frowned. "I'm stumped. I have no idea what that means."
He chortled in his nefarious way, then got up with another wince. "Maybe I'll go to the doctor this week."
"Maybe you should. Otherwise, people will think you're an algophile."
He left after giving me a particularly fine glare.
* * * * *
My mother called me at my office on Friday to tell me that Meg had come. She seemed truly happy and talked almost nonstop about the baby. I assured her I would come for Mass on Sunday and stay for supper afterward. I was relieved that she was ready to make peace.
In the last two days as I concentrated on my research of Eleanor's life in France, I hadn't thought about Sydney very much, to my heartfelt relief. Work would obviously be my cure, and I threw myself into researching events leading up to Eleanor's decision to leave for England.
Eleanor had had a safe, secure life. She was married to the most admired prince in Europe, and she was the most powerful woman in Christendom. Everyone admired her beauty and wit, and she was considered a shrewd businesswoman in dealing with her lands. King Louis was a monk at heart, and most biographers dwelled on the way Eleanor influenced him. More than one of Louis's advisors felt she had undue influence, ignoring the fact that the Aquitaine was still Eleanor's. That made Eleanor her husband's chiefest and wealthiest vassal, let alone any call she may have had on him because she was his wife. So I didn't see her influence as undue, not in the least.
In 1147, she insisted Louis take her on crusade with him. I was becoming attuned to the way she thought, and could hear her firmly stating that she was not going to sit idly at home counting linens and supervising harvests while the men went off to have their fun. Unfortunately, the result was disastrous. Most biographers put the blame squarely on Eleanor: She dallied in Spain, flirted with Sultans, and so on. Only a few include the information that Louis found travel an appallingly messy and expensive business, and fighting made him ill. When he wanted to call the Crusade off, Eleanor wanted to stay and help defend the castle of one of her uncles. Louis dragged her to Spain with him against her will, and a few weeks after their departure Eleanor's uncle was killed. Adding insult to injury, the king's advisors persuaded Louis to make Eleanor pay the debts they had accumulated on their journey.
Eleanor never forgave Louis. Though they would have another daughter within a year, she was already planning her divorce.
When it became clear that the twenty-seven-year-old Eleanor would win her divorce suit — the clerics of France being eager to get rid of a troublesome and sonless queen — the male nobility of Europe descend ed on her in a feeding frenzy. It may be that the clerics and Louis's advisors thought that they could wrest the Aquitaine from Eleanor in the divorce. They were not successful, and there was no shortage of men who wanted to be its master. And no doubt they thought they would be Eleanor's master, as well. A single woman again, during her journey home from Paris to Poitiers she eluded two would-be abductors who intended to force a marriage on her, by rape if necessary.
Courtiers of every type — Saracens, even — rode into the Aquitaine. Poets, musicians, and lettered men tried to win her. Men from age twelve to sixty pressed their suit. One of them was Henry Plantage-net.
What was it about Henry that made her choose him? The decision was all hers. He was barely eighteen when they married and not yet king of England — and even that wasn't assured. The crown his mother, Maud, had fought for might go to her son, but there was no guarantee. Henry's legacy was no more than potential when Eleanor
"I remain very glad not to be working in corporate America."
"We wouldn't survive a week. They seem to want something called pro-duck-tivi-tee."
I frowned. "I'm stumped. I have no idea what that means."
He chortled in his nefarious way, then got up with another wince. "Maybe I'll go to the doctor this week."
"Maybe you should. Otherwise, people will think you're an algophile."
He left after giving me a particularly fine glare.
* * * * *
My mother called me at my office on Friday to tell me that Meg had come. She seemed truly happy and talked almost nonstop about the baby. I assured her I would come for Mass on Sunday and stay for supper afterward. I was relieved that she was ready to make peace.
In the last two days as I concentrated on my research of Eleanor's life in France, I hadn't thought about Sydney very much, to my heartfelt relief. Work would obviously be my cure, and I threw myself into researching events leading up to Eleanor's decision to leave for England.
Eleanor had had a safe, secure life. She was married to the most admired prince in Europe, and she was the most powerful woman in Christendom. Everyone admired her beauty and wit, and she was considered a shrewd businesswoman in dealing with her lands. King Louis was a monk at heart, and most biographers dwelled on the way Eleanor influenced him. More than one of Louis's advisors felt she had undue influence, ignoring the fact that the Aquitaine was still Eleanor's. That made Eleanor her husband's chiefest and wealthiest vassal, let alone any call she may have had on him because she was his wife. So I didn't see her influence as undue, not in the least.
In 1147, she insisted Louis take her on crusade with him. I was becoming attuned to the way she thought, and could hear her firmly stating that she was not going to sit idly at home counting linens and supervising harvests while the men went off to have their fun. Unfortunately, the result was disastrous. Most biographers put the blame squarely on Eleanor: She dallied in Spain, flirted with Sultans, and so on. Only a few include the information that Louis found travel an appallingly messy and expensive business, and fighting made him ill. When he wanted to call the Crusade off, Eleanor wanted to stay and help defend the castle of one of her uncles. Louis dragged her to Spain with him against her will, and a few weeks after their departure Eleanor's uncle was killed. Adding insult to injury, the king's advisors persuaded Louis to make Eleanor pay the debts they had accumulated on their journey.
Eleanor never forgave Louis. Though they would have another daughter within a year, she was already planning her divorce.
When it became clear that the twenty-seven-year-old Eleanor would win her divorce suit — the clerics of France being eager to get rid of a troublesome and sonless queen — the male nobility of Europe descend ed on her in a feeding frenzy. It may be that the clerics and Louis's advisors thought that they could wrest the Aquitaine from Eleanor in the divorce. They were not successful, and there was no shortage of men who wanted to be its master. And no doubt they thought they would be Eleanor's master, as well. A single woman again, during her journey home from Paris to Poitiers she eluded two would-be abductors who intended to force a marriage on her, by rape if necessary.
Courtiers of every type — Saracens, even — rode into the Aquitaine. Poets, musicians, and lettered men tried to win her. Men from age twelve to sixty pressed their suit. One of them was Henry Plantage-net.
What was it about Henry that made her choose him? The decision was all hers. He was barely eighteen when they married and not yet king of England — and even that wasn't assured. The crown his mother, Maud, had fought for might go to her son, but there was no guarantee. Henry's legacy was no more than potential when Eleanor
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