Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude (47 page)

‘Do not think that I shall allow this to go on,’ she said.

‘The King wills it,’ answered Rosamund with a show of spirit.

‘And I will that it should end.’

‘I have told him that it should never have been …’

‘And yet when he comes here you receive him warmly. You cannot wait to take him to your bed. I know your kind. Do not think you deceive me. And he has got two boys on you has he not! And promised you all kinds of honours for them I’ll swear! You shall say goodbye to him for you will not see him more, I promise you.’

‘You have spoken to the King?’

‘Not yet. He knows not that I have discovered you. He is careful to hide you here, is he not? Why? Because he is afraid his wife will discover you.’

‘He thought it wiser for me to remain in seclusion …’

‘I’ll warrant he did. But I found you. One of your silly little balls of silk led me here. But I have found you now … and this will be the end, I tell you. I’ll not allow it. And what will become, of you, think you, when the King has tired of you? ‘Twere better then that you had never been born. Why did you lose your virtue to such a man? You should have married as good women do and brought children to your lawful husband. Now what will become of you? The best thing you can do is throw yourself down from the tower of your house. Why don’t you do that?’

Rosamund stared at her in horror.

‘Yes. I wish to see you do it now.’

‘I could not.’

‘It is best for you. You are a harlot. It is better you were dead. I will bring you poison and you shall drink it. Or I will bring you a dagger and you can pierce your heart with it.’

Rosamund thought the Queen was mad. There was such a wildness in her eyes.

‘Wait … wait,’ begged Rosamund. ‘Wait until the King returns. If you killed me he would never forgive you.’

‘Do you think I want his forgiveness! He is a hard man. A selfish man. A man who will have his way. Go into your house. Think of your sins. I should repent if I were you, and the only way you can receive forgiveness is to go and sin no more. Tomorrow I will come again and by then you will have decided what you are going to do. Tonight say your prayers, ask forgiveness for your harlotry, and tomorrow be prepared to die.’

Eleanor threw Rosamund from her and ran back through the maze of trees. A madness was on her.

She hated him. Why should she care so fiercely that he had deceived her? Why did it matter so much? It mattered because this was the woman he wanted. She knew how gladly he would have set Eleanor aside for her.

Back at the palace she shut herself into her bedchamber. She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

She hated Henry and she loved him.

I am ageing and she is young, she thought. Once he cared for me, but now he sees me as an old woman. Did they not shake their heads over us because I am nearly twelve years older than he is? When we were younger it did not seem to matter. I had so much to offer. Would he have wanted me if it were not for Aquitaine? Would he? As much as he now wanted Rosamund Clifford?

For all those years he had gone to her. She could tell the age of the liaison by the age of the boys. And he went to see them and was happy there - happier than he was in his royal palaces!

I will kill her, she thought. I will take to her a phial of poison and force her to drink it. When he comes to see her he will find a corpse.

She shall not live to mock me.

Fortunately for Rosamund Henry returned to Woodstock the next day. Eleanor came to him while he was preparing to leave, as she knew now, for that little house in which he had installed his mistress.

‘So you came back early. Were you so eager to make love to Rosamund Clifford?’

He stopped short to stare at her. Caught! she thought with grim satisfaction. She saw the redness come into his eyes. He was now going to fly into one of his notorious tempers because she had found him out.

‘What know you of Rosamund Clifford?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not as much as you, I admit. But I did discover the lady’s bower.’

‘Who took you there?’

‘You, my lord, with your little skein of silk.’

‘What nonsense is this!’

‘No nonsense. The pretty lady’s skein of silk was attached to your spur. I found it and trailed you there … or almost. Yesterday I paid a call on her. She did not welcome me as eagerly as she must welcome you.’

‘You
went
there!’

‘What a haven! And two fine boys too! Henry, what a man you are for getting boys on harlots! I declare your reputation will soon be that of your grandfather and mine.’

‘So you have discovered this.’

‘Yes, indeed. You are found out.’

‘Know this. I will do as I will.’

‘We all know that, my King. But while you may do as you will with low-born maidens, you may not with the Queen of England and Duchess of Aquitaine.’

Henry laughed but it was not pleasant laughter.

‘You should know me well enough by now to realise that I will not be told what I must do by those two.’

‘Neither of them will tolerate a mistress here in the palace even though she is hidden in a maze. You fool, Henry, did you think you could keep the woman’s existence a secret from me for ever?’

‘I did not and I care not.’

‘Yet you did not wish me to know.’

‘I thought it kinder to you not to know.’

‘Do you think I want your kindness ? Do you think I shall fret because you have a mistress or two?’

‘Nay, you are too wise. You know full well that if I want a woman I will have her.’

‘How long has this one been your mistress?’

‘Suffice it that she is.’

‘You have a special fondness for this one, eh?’

‘I have.’

‘She is as a wife to you, is she?’

‘She is.’

‘And you would to God she were.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘I would to God she were.’

She struck at him; he caught her hand and threw her from him.

‘You she-wolf,’ he said.

‘And you are the lion. Henry the Lion, King of the Forest. But forget not the she-wolf has her fangs.’

‘If she dares show them to me or mine they will be torn from her. Doubt that not. And know this. If you harm Rosamund Clifford I will kill you.’

‘All Aquitaine would revolt against you if you dared.’

‘Do I care for Aquitaine? I will subdue Aquitaine as I have all my territories. Do you forget that I am the King and master of you all … every one of you. Don’t be a fool, Eleanor. You are the Queen. Does that not suffice? You have borne my heirs. We have a nursery full of them. Four fine boys. Henry will be King to follow me - your son. Is that not enough?’

‘No. It is not enough. I will not have you sport with your mistress a stone’s throw from the palace. She must go. Get rid of her.’

‘I’d liefer get rid of you.’

‘If you go back to that woman I never want to share your bed again.’

‘So be it,’ he said. ‘You are no longer young. There are others who please me far more.’

She struck out at him as she had done before but he seized her and threw her on to the bed. In the old days there would have been a rising of sexual passion on such occasions. Not now. There was now hatred for her. It was clear to her that the two youngest children, Joanna and John, had come into being through custom or the need of a king to get as many children as he could to ensure the succession.

Suddenly she felt defeated. She was an ageing woman. She had lived an adventurous life; she had had her lovers, but that was over now.

She still had power though. She was still ruler of Aquitaine. In that fair land her troubadours still sang to her beauty.

She had a great desire then to be there.

‘I am going to Aquitaine,’ she said.

‘Your people are ever glad to have you with them,’ answered the King. ‘It is well that you should go. They grow restive when their Duchess is not among them.’

‘I will take Richard with me and young Marguerite.’

Her anger had left her. He would be free to dally with Rosamund Clifford. Perhaps now he need not keep her in her secret house - unless the lady was coy.

Eleanor had discovered the secret of Woodstock and it had brought to her some understanding of herself. The King was tired of her. He no longer loved her. She was merely the mother of his children and the ruler of Aquitaine. Let her go. He would be free of her. Let him alone that he might give himself to those two passions which consumed him - his love for Rosamund Clifford and his battle with Thomas Becket.

As she knew she would, Eleanor found her children at their books. Matilda, the eldest daughter, was a year older than Richard who with his fair good looks and elegant figure was her favourite. It was not only his charm and good looks which made him so, but the fact that his father seemed to dislike him. Why? Because Richard more than the others resented the intrusion into their circle of the bastard Geoffrey - and Henry knew that more than anything on earth Eleanor loved this son.

She loved his brother Geoffrey too, and when she came into their quarters and called his name there was never any confusion because of that other. She never spoke to him if she could help it and if she was ever obliged to she never looked at him when she spoke and never called him by a name.

Richard called him Geoffrey the Bastard. There had been many a fight between them. She suspected that the sly little bastard complained to his father about the unkindness of Richard.

Her son Geoffrey was beautiful. Strangely enough he had inherited the looks of his grandfather of the same name, Geoffrey of Anjou who had been known as Geoffrey the Fair. There was little Eleanor, too young as yet to show much character, adoring Richard because he was by his very nature the leader.

Joanna and baby John were too young to join the schoolroom but John was already showing signs of having inherited the famous Angevin temper. Rarely, she was sure, had a child screamed so much when he was displeased as Master John.

As she watched them in those few seconds before they were aware of her, she was overwhelmed by her emotions. She had always been fond of children. Even her two daughters by Louis had been important to her during their early life. It was difficult for a Queen who had so many calls upon her time to be as much with her children as a humbler mother might have been - and in the days of her marriage to Louis she had craved adventure because she had been so bored with her marriage.

She had never been bored with Henry. Now that she hated him, for she was sure she did, he could still arouse in her an emotion which was far from boredom. She was of a nature to prefer hatred to ennui.

Richard looked up and saw her. The pleasure in his eyes compensated her for the King’s contempt of her. Henry might find her ageing, no longer an inspiration to love, but Richard loved her with a love which did not depend on years. He was her beloved son; there was an understanding between them. They were allies against the King, for Richard was fully aware that for some reason his father did not like him.

Richard rose from the table and ran to her. He knelt and kissed her hands.

‘Mother,’ he said, raising his beautiful eyes to hers.

‘My dearest boy,’ she answered, and her son Geoffrey was already clamouring for attention.

She thought: They love me. They truly love me. Is it like this when the King comes to their schoolroom?

Geoffrey the Bastard stood up and bowed stiffly. She looked past him as though she were unaware of his existence.

Another child had come into the room. This was Marguerite, the little French Princess, who was married to Henry and was now being brought up in the royal household.

Marguerite curtseyed to the Queen and greeted her in her pretty accent.

Eleanor drew them all about her and asked questions about their lessons. They answered eagerly, but Richard was the cleverest she noticed with satisfaction.

‘We are going to Aquitaine,’ she said. ‘That is my own country.’

‘Are we all going?’ asked Richard.

‘As yet I am unsure, but one thing I know. You, my son, will go with me.’

Richard laughed aloud to show his pleasure.

‘That pleases you, my boy?’ she asked ruffling his fair curly hair.