The Revolt of the Eaglets Page 7

  But the two kings were inherent enemies. There could scarcely be any other relationship between them. Any Duke of Normandy must almost certainly be at odds with the King of France. The Franks had never forgiven the Vikings for raiding their land and making things so unpleasant for their ancestors that to stop their sailing up the Seine to Paris they had been bought off with that northern province which was called Normandy. That went back to the days of Rollo but it rankled still. There was one thing to be grateful for; the Dukes of Normandy like the Counts of other provinces had remained vassals of the King of France.

  And this descendant of the Norman Dukes – this Henry Plantagenet – had taken his wife as ruthlessly as Rollo had taken a piece of France; Louis was not a vindictive man, but he would not be displeased to see Henry brought low. Moreover he was deeply shocked by his treatment of Thomas of Canterbury.

  Had such a man been my subject, thought Louis, I would have counted myself indeed fortunate.

  Now he listened to the complaints of young Henry and Marguerite.

  ‘Your father has made you a king,’ he said. ‘Why did he do that, if he had no intention of allowing you to behave like one?’

  ‘I believe he did it to spite Thomas à Becket.’

  ‘My dear son, you should not say such a thing.’

  ‘But it is true, my lord. He hated Thomas. He would have done anything to discountenance him.’

  Louis shook his head and crossed himself. ‘May that great saint bless us all and intercede for us with God,’ he said.

  ‘I loved him well,’ remarked Henry, and he was trying not to remember that he had refused to see Thomas when he had wanted to call on him because he had acted on the advice of Roger of York.

  ‘All good men loved him,’ said Louis.

  They were silent for a while, thinking of Thomas.

  ‘It is the greatest tragedy that ever befell England,’ went on Louis, ‘and no good will come of it.’

  ‘I thank God that I had no part in his murder,’ said Henry fervently.

  ‘There are others, I doubt not, who wish they might say the same. Well, my son, you have your troubles, have you not?’

  ‘Yes, and I fear I shall continue to. But I will not be treated as a child for ever.’

  ‘Nor should you be. Your father should give you complete control over England if he wishes to stay in Normandy, or over Normandy if he wishes to dwell in England.’

  ‘So say I, but he will not do that.’

  ‘And will you endure this?’

  ‘No,’ cried Henry firmly, ‘I will not.’ But when he thought of his father’s face, eyes narrowed, colour flaming under his skin, he knew in his heart that he was going to find it very difficult – and very likely impossible – to stand out against him.

  ‘You must tell him what is in your heart,’ said Louis.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Henry, feeling that that was more easily said than done. ‘I fear he will not listen though.’

  ‘He must. You are no longer a child. You are a man; you have a wife; soon you will have sons. And your father made you King.’

  ‘I will ask him,’ said Henry. ‘I will tell him exactly what I feel.’

  ‘And if he will not agree, you should not stay at his Court, for what good can you do there? If you are to be given no authority what matters it whether you are there or not?’

  ‘Where should I go?’

  ‘Where should you go but to the home of your father-in-law. If the King of England continues to treat you as a child and will not listen to your arguments, come to me here. I fancy that might put him in the mood to do something.’

  Henry seized the hand of his father-in-law and kissed it fervently.

  Louis was right. If his father would not respect him then revolt was the answer.

  * * *

  The King and Queen had arrived by their separate ways at the castle of Chinon, there to spend Christmas. With the Queen came her son Richard, the new Duke of Aquitaine, and his younger brother Geoffrey, the Duke of Brittany. Young Henry and Marguerite were on their way to join them.

  Eleanor and Henry took stock of each other. She has aged, thought the King. By God’s eyes she is an old woman now. He was comparing everyone with the tender youth of Alice. But he must admit there was still some quality about Eleanor. No one was quite as elegant and regal as Eleanor and never would be. She could marry again mayhap if they were divorced. Her childbearing days were over though, so she could not bring heirs to a new husband. And Richard was now the Duke of Aquitaine.

  Eleanor thought: He has grown older, toughened even more than before by events and weather. Thomas’s death shook him, for somewhere in his flinty heart there was a spark of love for that man.

  Once it had been so strong that she had accused him of loving the man unnaturally. Henry had laughed at that, for if ever there was a man who wanted women that man was Henry; yet she had noticed that he was a little thoughtful. We do not all know ourselves, she thought, not even you, Henry Plantagenet, who think yourself almighty.

  She had determined that the Christmas should be passed in great revelry. It was not often nowadays that the King and Queen of England were together. She had brought with her the finest of her poets and musicians and had ordered them to devise an entertainment which should surpass all others. Henry was not completely immune to the charms of literature. There had been a time when he and she had been in harmony and he had enjoyed good literature and music almost as much as she did. But when her influence had been removed he had thought less of the artistic way of life; he had become absorbed in the need to conquer and of course indulge his lechery.

  Yet at this Christmas she would try to remember the good times they had had together. In the early days of their marriage she had doted on him. She had wished to see him supreme; she had been proud to have him crowned Duke of Aquitaine. But how their marriage had soured! It had started when he brought the bastard to her nursery and she knew that in those early days of their life together he had been unfaithful to her.

  Well it was all in the past and love had turned to hatred, for hate him she did. She hated him for being able to beget children which she could not conceive. Of course she had had a good start on him. Almost twelve years his senior. Well, she was not too old to hate and it amused her to see how this great man was in so many ways a fool.

  His children either disliked him mildly or hated him fiercely. Richard, of course, had always had a fiery resentment against him. She had engendered that. Richard was her dearest one and he must think as she did. Geoffrey listened to his brother and was beginning to see his father as a tyrant. And now Henry the eldest was growing restive. My dear husband, she thought, what a fool you were to crown Henry! You should have known that there is room only for one king in one kingdom.

  Henry and Marguerite joined them the day before Christmas and Eleanor immediately detected the smouldering resentment in her eldest son.

  She took him to her chamber as soon as she could and when they were alone asked him how he had found the King of France.

  ‘Very well and friendly towards me,’ answered Henry. ‘And willing to be more friendly.’

  ‘So should he be. Are you not his son through your marriage with his daughter?’

  ‘I found him kind and sympathetic.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘It would seem, my son, that you are drawing comparisons. You found him more kind and sympathetic than your own father, eh?’

  ‘I did,’ he answered defiantly. ‘My father regards me as a child.’

  ‘Oh ‘tis not that. He is a man who can never take his hands from that which they have once grasped. You will never be anything but a pawn in his game, Henry, I can tell you that. That is what he would wish us all to be.’

  ‘I will never accept that.’

  ‘Nor should you. You should speak to your father.’

  ‘I know, but it is difficult. He is so fierce. He has such power.’

  ‘He wants you to fear him. He wants us all to fear him
.’

  ‘You do not, I know.’

  ‘I never did. And I should like my sons to be the same.’

  ‘He has such power and his rages are terrible. When he is in one of them he could order anything to be done to us.’

  ‘It’s true. Methinks sometimes he uses his rages in an attempt to cow us all.’

  ‘Except you, my lady.’

  ‘I was Duchess of Aquitaine when he was only Duke of Normandy. Perhaps that was why he was so anxious to marry me. I know him well. He will never give you what you want, Henry.’

  ‘Then am I to remain as I am until he dies?’

  ‘Unless you take what you want.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Sons have done it before now!’

  ‘It would mean … war … war against my father! Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I do not mean that you should go straight from here and gather together an army. Though doubtless you could do that for he has his enemies … many of them. I mean that you should think of these things. He will not give you what is yours by right. Well then, you could think carefully – and be in no great hurry – of how you could best take it.’

  ‘You are right, my lady,’ cried Henry. ‘You have given me great hope. You and the King of France.’

  ‘The King of France would be a very powerful ally,’ said the Queen. ‘You should remember that.’

  * * *

  Henry and Eleanor had separate apartments at Chinon and during the sojourn there, they had had little time for private conversation but there were two matters on which the King wished to speak to her. One was straightforward; the formal betrothal of their son John to Alice, daughter of the Count of Maurienne, after which ceremony the little girl would be taken to England to be brought up there. The other he must approach in a subtle manner. That was the possibility of a divorce.

  It was soon agreed that they should lose no time in bringing about the betrothal of John and arrangements should be put in hand so that this could take place in early February.

  There remained that other matter.

  The King approached it uneasily. ‘We have seen very little of each other of late, Eleanor,’ he began.

  ‘Do not tell me that is something you regret for I shall not believe you.’

  ‘I fancy that it is not a matter which has caused you great grief.’

  ‘I could not deny it with truth,’ she answered. ‘In fact I have considered myself well rid of you.’

  ‘Then I think we are of one mind. Our marriage can no longer be fruitful on account of your age.’

  ‘And perhaps of yours?’

  ‘Oh come, Eleanor, you know I am twelve years younger than you.’

  ‘And doubtless have sons and daughters preparing to be born all over your kingdom.’

  ‘There might be a few. But let us not waste time in senseless vituperation. You and I no longer have need of each other. Our marriage is at an end. We shall never again share a bed.’

  ‘A particular article of furniture on which you set great store.’

  ‘It is a necessary part of marriage. The procreation of children. What else is marriage for?’

  ‘And when one partner is beyond childbearing she is to be discarded. Is that what you are saying?’

  ‘Discarded! I used no such word. I want us to look at this sensibly.’

  ‘Then please say outright what you mean.’

  ‘It is this. There may be someone whom you would like to marry.’

  ‘And there is without doubt someone whom you would like to marry.’ Eleanor burst into loud laughter. ‘I know the lady well. Your fair Rosamund. That’s it, is it not? Her youth too will pass … is passing. And then you must find someone even younger, must you not? Rosamund. Foolish simpering Rosamund! She never raised her voice against you, did she? You liked that. Every woman – and man – must applaud you. Everywhere you go, you must be treated not as a king but as a god. And now you would marry Rosamund. Is that what you want? You would legitimise her bastards and mayhap try to set them up above my sons. That, my lord, is something I shall never agree to. So put marriage out of your mind. I shall never allow a divorce.’

  He was faintly relieved that she had no inkling of his relationship with young Alice. Most certainly she had not, for if she had she would never have been able to keep it to herself. She would have burst out with it, and doubtless made trouble. What trouble she could make! The betrothed of Richard! The daughter of Louis! What had he done! No sooner had he extricated himself from the trouble over Thomas à Becket’s murder than he had seduced the not yet twelve-year-old daughter of the King of France.

  But Eleanor was right. He did think that there was one set of rules for him and another for the rest of the world.

  He was the King of England and controlled large areas of the Continent. He would do what he wished and none should dare condemn him.

  But he had had to humiliate himself over Thomas and had seduced the daughter of the King of France.

  He must be very careful for it was clear that Eleanor would never divorce him, which meant that he could never make little Alice his wife.

  Chapter IV

  CASTLES FOR JOHN

  In Montferrand in the Auvergne, Count Humbert of Maurienne had arrived with little Alice who was to be betrothed to Prince John, and there, the little six-year-old Prince, who had arrived from England, was formally betrothed to the Count’s daughter.

  It was a charming ceremony. Henry felt quite tender towards his youngest son. This one’s mind had not been poisoned by his mother. It shall be different with John, Henry promised himself. He was delighted with the arrangement when he considered the fine dowry John’s bride was bringing him and all for a payment of five thousand marks … and this to be paid in instalments, the last of which would not be due until the marriage.

  Henry was extending his empire far and wide.

  There was one discordant note. After the ceremony there were to be celebrations in several towns, for Henry wished everyone to know what good this marriage would bring by giving his family control of more provinces. They were to spend a few days at Limoges and it was while they were there that Count Humbert began to ask himself what John was bringing to his daughter. It was true that young Alice would have the King’s son for a bridegroom and that King the most powerful in Europe, but John had three elder brothers who had already been promised the cream of his father’s possessions. His fears had been roused when he had heard the youthful bridegroom referred to as John Lackland.

  Being a forthright man he decided to speak to the King about this matter.

  ‘You have not yet told me, my lord, what possessions your son John will bring to the marriage.’

  Henry was silent for a few moments. He was thinking: The ceremony has been performed. He cannot withdraw now. But he could. How often had betrothals taken place and there had been no marriage!

  He had no doubt that Humbert would listen respectfully to whatever he said and if he had nothing to offer John he would go back to his dominions and make some excuse why the marriage should not take place.

  He thought quickly. ‘John,’ he said, ‘shall have the castles of Mirebeau, Loudon and Chinon.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ replied Humbert smiling and satisfied. ‘Those will be a goodly heritage, and with what my daughter brings to the marriage they will be very comfortably settled indeed.’

  Henry congratulated himself that he had overcome a difficult situation with great ease.

  * * *

  He had in fact aroused a hornets’ nest.

  The Court was talking about the portion that John was bringing to the marriage, and there was a certain amount of malice in the talk, for the three castles which Henry had designated to John had already been given to his son Henry as they were situated in Anjou which, with Normandy and England, was the inheritance of the King of England. Therefore the King had robbed Henry to pay John.

  When Eleanor heard, she burst out laughing.

&n
bsp; ‘Now, my son, you understand your father’s ways. Promises to him are made to be broken. Next you will hear that he has bestowed the crown of England on someone of his fancy.’

  ‘I’ll not endure it,’ cried Henry, almost in tears.

  ‘Nor should you,’ answered his mother.

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Your brother Richard would know what to do. When he heard he said: “By God, if he tries to lay his hands on Aquitaine, I will place myself at the head of any army and march against him.”’

  ‘Go into battle against my own father!’

  ‘It has been done before.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ cried Henry.

  ‘You lack Richard’s spirit,’ said Eleanor watching closely.

  ‘I do not,’ retorted Henry. ‘I am the King of England, remember.’

  ‘No one will remember it if you allow your estates to be filched from you.’

  ‘I will go to him. I will tell him I will not have it.’

  ‘Go then,’ said the Queen.

  He stood before his father.

  ‘Father, I must speak with you.’

  ‘Say on, my son.’

  ‘The castles you have given to John belong to me.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said the King. ‘These are mine. They are still mine. They always will be mine.’

  ‘But I am the Count of Anjou … and … and these castles are part of my lands.’

  ‘You have titles which I have given you. I can take them away if I wish. You must remember this, Henry. There is one King of England, one Count of Anjou, one Duke of Normandy while I live.’