The Revolt of the Eaglets Read online

  These were Marie and Alix, the two she had borne Louis when she was his wife. She had loved them dearly when they were babies but she had been too adventurous a woman to devote herself to children. Marie and Alix were married now – Marie to the Count of Champagne and Alix to the Count of Blois – but they had inherited her love of literature and consequently they could best satisfy this at the court of Poitiers and whenever it was possible they visited her.

  What joy it was to have her attendants hurry to her to tell her that they had arrived and then to go down to the courtyard to drink the welcoming cup with them. She believed that they bore her no rancour for her desertion of them. They, like her other children, enjoyed hearing stories of her wildly adventurous life. Marie was perhaps the more attractive of the sisters. She was beautiful and had a spontaneous wit which enchanted everyone including her mother. Marie wrote exquisite poetry herself and it gave Eleanor great pleasure to see the affection between the two most loved of her children, Marie and Richard.

  It was into this happy court that the messengers came from England with the news that Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, had been murdered in his Cathedral.

  Eleanor’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘Murdered!’ she cried. ‘And by the King’s knights! We have no doubt who is the true murderer.’

  Richard and Geoffrey stared at her in horror. How wise they were! she thought. Wise enough to know the importance of this news!

  ‘The whole of Christendom will rise in horror against the one responsible for this crime,’ prophesied Eleanor. ‘They will all cry shame on the murderer of such a man.’

  She laughed aloud. She could not stop herself.

  It was going to be amusing watching the effect of this deed, for she knew it would be great. It would reverberate throughout the world and could bring no good to the man she hated.

  Now was the time for his enemies to rise up against him.

  She looked at her sons and said slowly: ‘The time will be soon at hand when you should claim what is due to you. The time is ripe for action.’

  Chapter II

  PRINCESS ALICE

  The first shock was over. Henry emerged from his chamber of mourning and laughed at his fears. Was he not capable of holding what he had won? Was he going to be afraid of what penance the Pope might try to extract under threat of excommunication?

  He was named as the murderer of Thomas à Becket and because people were becoming more and more convinced that Thomas was a saint they were regarding him in horror.

  He would maintain the fact that he had never meant his knights to murder Thomas, meanwhile there was the business of being King to be attended to.

  Now more than ever he needed to show the world that he was ready for any who should come against him.

  Duke Conan of Brittany had died suddenly and it was evident that there might be trouble there, for Conan had been holding Brittany for Henry’s son, young Geoffrey, who as a boy not yet thirteen years old was not capable of governing himself.

  No sooner had Henry heard that certain Breton nobles were stating their refusal to do homage to him than he set himself at the head of a troop of soldiers and marched on Brittany. He felt better immediately. Whatever the outcome of Becket’s death he was still the King of England and surely not even the Pope would dare attack him.

  With his usual skill in a short time he made those Bretons realise that he was their master. His son, Geoffrey, was as yet too young to take up his role as ruler but his father would hold the land for him until he was of age.

  That lesson accomplished he was ready for whatever might come. He was seriously thinking of Ireland. This was the answer. He would not brood in one of his castles waiting for excommunication; he would go into action and add to his possessions, thus making himself more powerful than ever.

  It was while he was settling affairs in Brittany that he received a message from Count Humbert of Maurienne who asked if the King would receive him as he had a proposition to lay before him.

  Knowing that Count Humbert was a widower with two daughters Henry guessed what might well be the nature of his business and when he considered the Count’s possessions, Henry was not displeased.

  He received him with honour and begged him to state his business.

  ‘As you know, my lord King,’ said Humbert, ‘I have no son but two daughters, and it would be a great honour to me if you would accept the elder as a bride for your youngest son.’

  Henry pretended to be taken aback. In reality he was far from it. He had already thought very seriously of what Humbert could bring into the family. This was very important. His daughters, Matilda and Eleanor, were both suitably placed – Matilda to the Duke of Saxony, Eleanor to the King of Castile; as for Joanna, she was a child yet, being only six years old; and daughters were little problem. They could usually be married advantageously. It was not always easy with sons, for their father was expected to provide them with lands. Young Henry would be King of England – he was already crowned – and as the King of England would have Normandy and Anjou; Richard would have Aquitaine and he had provided Brittany for Geoffrey. But what of baby John? His patrimony had always been an anxiety. When he had been born Henry had looked at his little face and thought: Another son, what land shall I give him? He had nicknamed him then Jean Sans Terre; and the name had clung. He was often called John Lackland.

  Here was an opportunity to provide him with territory to rule over. For the chance of marrying his daughter to the son of the King of England – albeit that son had three brothers older than himself and therefore one might say had no chance of reaching the throne – a mere Count of Maurienne would be ready to give a good deal.

  He narrowed his eyes and studied the Count. ‘Well, my lord Count,’ he said, ‘I believe your daughter to be a comely child in good health and I would welcome her into my family, but I must look to my son’s welfare. What dowry would she bring?’

  ‘For such a marriage,’ said the Count, ‘I would be prepared to bestow the greater part of my lands. I have as you know, my lord, a younger daughter, and for her I must reserve a little of my territories, but as she could not hope to make such a brilliant marriage as her sister naturally she would have to take a far smaller portion.’

  ‘There is the County of Belley,’ said Henry. ‘And the valley of Novalesia.’

  ‘And Rossillon-en-Bugey, my lord. Aix, Aspremont, Rochetta, Mont Major …’ The Count went on counting them off on his fingers.

  The King sat nodding. ‘And you have a claim on Grenoble, I believe.’

  ‘I have, my lord, and that too should pass to my elder daughter.’

  ‘It seems a fair enough proposition,’ said the King.

  ‘I should ask that the bridegroom brought five thousand pounds to my family,’ added the Count.

  Five thousand pounds! For so much! It was a fair bargain and Henry’s eyes sparkled at the prospect of the lands which would come into the family on the marriage of John to the daughter of Humbert of Maurienne.

  ‘Of course your son is but a child as yet,’ went on the Count.

  ‘Almost six years,’ agreed the King, ‘but bright for his age and there is no reason why we should not get them betrothed. We’ll not bed them yet but it is well for them to know that we think of them.’

  It was a bargain.

  John should be Lackland no longer.

  It was this kind of bargaining which pleased the King and made him forget the gathering storm over the death of Becket.

  While he was congratulating himself on this match, disturbing news was brought to the castle. Two papal legates had already crossed the borders into France on their way to deliver a message to the King of England from the Pope.

  Henry was well aware of what that message would contain. His spies had heard that the Pope wished him to observe his humility which meant of course to do some penance for his share in the murder of Becket. To do this would be to admit publicly his guilt and that was something he was not prepared to do
.

  He must leave for England at once before the papal legates could reach him. There he would give orders that any messenger from the Pope should on setting foot in England be seized as a spy.

  Then he would make plans for his campaign against Ireland. The conquest of that country could not be achieved in a few weeks. It would doubtless be a campaign of some duration and while he was engaged on such an enterprise he could hardly be expected to give his mind to other matters. The longer the lapse of time between the murder and the reckoning the better.

  So … to England.

  * * *

  His first visit was to Rosamund, now installed in the royal apartments at Westminster. As ever her beauty surprised him and he marvelled, as he had never ceased to do, that he could have loved her so long. The years had added a serenity to her charms; and he thought how much more attractive she was than a more clever and ambitious woman would have been. Of course he was comparing her with Eleanor.

  She was pleased to see him and for the first day and night there was nothing but this delight in each other.

  She told him of the fears she had while he had been away. He responded with assurances that in the strategy of war he was always one move ahead of his enemies; and that never had he forgotten her and his joy in returning to England was because he would find her there.

  They talked of their boys who were now growing up. Young William would soon be of an age to come to Court.

  ‘Never fear,’ said Henry, ‘the boys shall be as my legitimate sons, for, Rosamund, in my eyes you are indeed my wife.’

  ‘But not, my lord, in the eyes of God and the State.’

  ‘What matters that if you are so in my eyes? I will tell you something that has been in my mind of late. I have no love for the Queen – nor she for me. Why should I not rid myself of her?’

  ‘How so?’ asked Rosamund with a note of fear in her voice.

  ‘Why should I not divorce her?’

  ‘It would never be permitted.’

  He was astonished. It was rare for her to suggest that anything he wanted would not be possible.

  ‘If I willed it, it should be,’ he said a trifle impatiently.

  ‘There are the young King and his brothers.’

  ‘’Tis no affair of theirs. Their position could not be altered.’

  ‘On what grounds would my lord be given his divorce? If it were consanguinity then would not the young King and his brothers be illegitimate?’

  The King sighed. ‘’Tis so,’ he conceded. ‘If it were on grounds of adultery that would not affect my sons. By God’s eyes I doubt I’d have difficulty in proving something against her. Louis could have divorced her for adultery. She took as her lovers her own uncle and a Saracen. Any woman who could do that …’

  But for a man to accuse his wife of adultery when he was in bed with his mistress was in a measure ludicrous. Moreover a divorce on such grounds would mean that neither party could marry again. So therefore it was clear that the King was not speaking seriously when he declared he would divorce the Queen.

  Rosamund was uneasy. She supposed that there must come a time in the life of any woman in her position when she must ask herself what her future would be. Rosamund was not concerned with her material future. She knew that the King, even if he ceased to be in love with her, would always provide for her and their sons. It was not that which worried her.

  With everyone else Rosamund had shuddered at the news of Becket’s murder. She knew how deeply the King had been involved with the man. Many were the times when he had come to her distraught, angry, sad – and all because of Thomas à Becket. He had talked to her often as though he were talking to himself … he would ramble on sometimes about the great friendship they had shared and at others the hundred ways Thomas had found to plague him. Once he had said: ‘There’ll be no peace for me while Thomas à Becket is Archbishop of Canterbury. I would to God I were rid of the man.’

  When she had heard that Thomas had been killed she could not get those words out of her mind. And she kept seeing Henry on those occasions when he had given vent to his rage against the Archbishop. Then he had frightened her with the violence of his fury and only her loving solicitude had prevented his giving way to it. She soothed him at such times by agreeing with him, offering him sympathy, making him realise that whatever he said, whatever he did, she believed him to be right.

  And now … Becket.

  She could not stop thinking of him. She had heard what had happened at the Cathedral after the death. How pilgrims were already visiting the place, the sick and maimed. They believed that if they kissed the stones on which his blood had been shed they would be blessed and perhaps cured of their sins.

  For once she could not say to herself or to the King: You were right in what you did.

  Thomas à Becket was between them.

  He sensed the change in her. It frustrated him, put a barrier between them. She smiled and was as gracious and loving as ever; he was as ardent; but something had changed in their relationship and they were both aware of it.

  There was not the same comfort with Rosamund as there had been.

  * * *

  In the palace at Westminster he visited the nursery. There were only the two youngest of his children there at this time – Joanna in her seventh year and John in his sixth. The fact that he had just made a marriage contract for his youngest son had awakened his interest in him and he wanted to tell the little fellow about his good fortune.

  When he strode into the nursery a hushed awe fell upon the place; the nurses and attendants curtsied to the floor and the children watched in wonder. Henry cast a quick glance over the females – a habit which never left him – to see if any of them were worthy of his passing attention; and perhaps because his mind was busy with the change in Rosamund, or perhaps because he was not greatly impressed by any of them, he dismissed them.

  The children were looking at a picture book and with them was a girl of some eleven or twelve years. They all rose. The two girls curtsied and young John bowed.

  What a pleasant trio. The King felt his mood changing as he surveyed them. His son John was a pretty creature and so was his daughter. In grace and beauty though he had to admit that their companion surpassed them.

  He remembered suddenly who she was. Of course she was Alice, daughter of the King of France, and she was being brought up here because she was betrothed to his son Richard.

  ‘I trust you are pleased to see me,’ said the King.

  John smiled; Joanna looked alarmed but Alice replied: ‘It gives us great pleasure, my lord.’

  He laid his hand on her soft curling hair.

  ‘And do you know who I am, little one?’

  ‘You are the King,’ she answered.

  ‘Our father,’ added John.

  ‘You are right,’ said Henry. ‘I have come to see how you are all getting on in your nursery. Come, Joanna, it is time for you to speak.’

  ‘We get on well, my lord,’ murmured the little girl shyly.

  He picked her up and kissed her. Children were charming. Then he picked up John and did the same. When he set him down he looked at Alice. She blushed slightly. ‘And you, my lady,’ he said, ‘I must offer you like treatment, must I not?’

  He lifted her in his arms. Her face was close to his. The texture of children’s skin was so fine, so soft. Even beauties like Rosamund could not compare with them. It gave him great pleasure to hold this beautiful child in his arms. He kissed her soft cheek, but he did not put her down. He went on holding her. He looked into her eyes so beautifully set. Richard, he thought, you have a prize in this one. The idea of monk-like Louis siring such a perfect little creature amused him.

  John and Joanna were looking up at him. He held Alice against him and kissed her again, this time on the mouth.

  ‘You kiss Alice more than you kiss us,’ said John.

  Henry put the girl down. ‘Well, she is our guest so we must make sure she knows she is welcome.’
r />   ‘Is Alice our guest then?’ asked John. ‘They say she is our sister.’

  ‘She is to be your sister and she is our guest.’ He took one of her ringlets and curled it round his finger. ‘And I want her to know that there was never a more welcome one in my kingdom. What say you to that, little Alice?’

  She said: ‘My lord is good.’

  He knelt down, feigning to hear her better, but in fact to put his face closer to her own.

  ‘I like you well,’ he said; and he patted her face and his hands went to her shoulders and moved over her childish unformed body.

  He stood up.

  ‘Now I will sit down and you shall tell me how you progress in your lessons.’ He looked at John whose expression had become a little woebegone.

  ‘Well, well, my son,’ he said, for his spirits were higher than they had been since he had heard of Becket’s death, ‘we’ll not go too far into the subject if it is not a pleasant one, for this is an occasion for rejoicing.’

  He took Alice’s hand in one of his and Joanna’s in the other and led the way to the window. He seated himself there. John leaned against one knee and Joanna against the other. ‘Come, Alice, my dear child,’ he said, and drawing her between his knees held her close to him. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we are a friendly party. John, my son, I have come to see you because I have some good news for you.’

  ‘For me, my lord,’ cried John starting to leap up and down.

  ‘You must not do that,’ said Joanna.

  ‘Oh, we will let him express a little joy, daughter,’ said the King, ‘for it is a most joyful matter. I have a bride for him.’