The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (53 page)

Then he looked at them with anguish in his eyes. He grasped Geoffrey’s hand, and suddenly the young man felt the grip slacken.

He bent over his father. The King murmured: “Oh, the shame that I suffer now         .         .         .         the shame of a vanquished King.”

And those were the last words of Henry Plantagenet.

Richard’s Marriage

W
HEN I HEARD THE
news of Henry’s death I was deeply shocked. My mind was a jumble of impressions from the past. I did not know whether I was glad or sorry. The idea of a world without that maddening, devious personality, who meant no good to me, was somehow empty.

I supposed that everyone who had lived close to him must have been deeply impressed by him. He was no ordinary man. He was unique. Whenever I had encountered him I felt a great excitement; to do battle with him had been as stimulating as making love had been.

It was strange to remember that he had gone forever.

But why should I mourn? I had been his prisoner for sixteen years. He had dared treat me thus. Now I was free. My beloved son Richard was King of England. Everything would be different from now on.

Even before orders came that I was to be released, people behaved differently. There were no more guards, no more locked doors. With Richard King, his mother would be the most important woman in the land.

William Marshal arrived at Winchester almost immediately. To my surprise he came from Richard. I could not help but be amazed after what I had heard of their encounter when Marshal had been on the point of killing him. Marshal himself told me what had happened and how it was that Richard had chosen him to be his messenger.

After the King’s death he and Geoffrey had carried him to Fontevrault Abbey and sent word to Richard that his father was dead.

There Henry lay, stripped of his jewels and all possessions, which those who deserted him had taken before they went. There were very few besides Marshal and Geoffrey who had remained faithful to him.

That was perhaps one of the saddest aspects of all.

Richard had arrived at Fontevrault and stood beside the dead King. It was typical of William Marshal that he did not attempt to make his escape, although it must have occurred to him that after what had happened he would have little mercy from the new King.

Richard had moved away from the corpse and signed to Marshal to follow him.

He said: “There is work for you to do, William Marshal. I cannot return to England immediately. Go to my mother and, with her, guard my kingdom until I return.”

William was so taken aback that he stared at the King in amazement.

Richard said: “I trust those men who are faithful to their kings, and I believe you will be so to the new one as you were to the old.”

William took his hand and kissed it.

“I will, my lord King,” he said.

I was delighted. Richard was not always by nature magnanimous, but I considered this a gesture worthy of a shrewd king; William Marshal’s acceptance of him made me feel that everything I had heard of him was true.

A king needs men such as William Marshal about him.

Thus it was that he arrived in England and came straight to me.

William brought letters from Richard in which he stated that I was to have full command of the kingdom until his return. My orders should be obeyed as though they came from the King himself. I was delighted and gratified by his trust. It was my duty now to prepare the people for him. I knew they would be feeling a little dubious.

He had never shown much interest in England; he had been out of it for most of his life. I had to make them realize that he was a strong man, a worthy successor to his father.

A further shock awaited me. Following almost immediately on the news of Henry’s death came that of Matilda. She had in fact died a few days before her father. I was glad he had been spared the grief of knowing this.

He had skillfully negotiated with the Emperor Frederick and had made it possible for them to return to their own dominions; but I believe the strain she had suffered greatly impaired Matilda’s health. It was sad that her husband was not with her when she died. He had been with the Emperor in the Holy Land and had taken their eldest son, Henry, with him. Thus Matilda died with only Richenza, Lothair and William beside her. She was only thirty-three years old.

The messenger who brought me this terrible news tried to comfort me by telling me that she had been buried with great pomp and ceremony in the church of St. Blasius. As if that could console me! I was grief-stricken for the loss of my daughter as I could not be for my husband.

I went over the details of her childhood and our last meeting         .         .         .         and my sorrow was great.

But there was no time for mourning. Richard was left to me, and my time must be dedicated to his needs.

I could not tarry in Winchester. I must go to London as soon as possible.

Before I left I summoned the Princess Alais to come to me. I think she was very frightened, fearing what would become of her now that the King was dead. She stood before me trembling.

She was a poor thing, really. She had so little spirit. That was what he had found comforting; she would always be ready to obey without question. I despised her, and I reminded myself that while I had been a prisoner she had been acting as Queen, taking my place.

The tables were turned now.

“Your position has changed considerably,” I said. “You must be wondering what will become of you.”

She looked blankly at me. I could see that she had been weeping.

“I, who was a prisoner here, am so no longer,” I went on. “The King treated me very badly, but that is over now. What are you going to do now that he is no longer here to protect you?” She looked at me piteously.

“You can’t expect Richard to marry you.”

“No,” she said quietly.

“No indeed. You could not expect the King of England to marry his father’s onetime mistress. Oh Alais, who would have believed that possible—and you the half-sister to the King of France!”

“Perhaps         .         .         .         I should go home.”

“Do you think you would be welcome at your brother’s Court? You are no longer a marriageable princess. So many people know what you were doing with the late King. I         .         .         .         his prisoner         .         .         .         was aware of it. As you know, your lover kept me in captivity for sixteen years         .         .         .         apart from that short period when he cheated me into going to Aquitaine to put my duchy at peace.”

“I         .         .         .         I did know.”

“For what reason do you think?”

“Because you plotted with his sons against him.”

“That is what he told you, was it? His sons were against him because he tried to cheat them. He crowned Henry and then would give him nothing. They were all against him         .         .         .         and he deserved it. Now, Princess Alais, you will remain in Winchester until I decide what shall become of you. We shall have to see whether your brother wishes to have soiled goods back in his Court.”

She shrank from me and I waved her away.

I gave orders that she was not to be allowed to leave Winchester. Then I went to London and summoned leading representatives of the Church and the nobility in order that they might swear fealty to the new King.

I stayed in London only for a few days, showing myself to the people as often as I could, smiling graciously and benignly, willing them to love me.

Then I decided to make a tour of the countryside. I wanted the people to welcome Richard as their King. They had been aware of the virtues of his father, which would have naturally increased in their eyes since his death. Henry had brought law and order to the country where there had been none, but recently the taxes he had imposed had alienated them, and I always believed that what they had resented more than anything were the stringent forestry laws.

William the Conqueror had been a great hunter; it was his main recreation; he had created forests and had had game placed there so that there would always be plenty of hunting grounds. Whenever he traveled around the country, the journey was broken by hunting trips. Most of his successors had been the same; hunting was their passion—and Henry had been no exception. He had added to the forest lands and made new ones. There had been strict laws. No one was allowed to deface trees; moreover, cutting them down was a major offense; no one must touch the game. In fact, the forest was sacrosanct.

Infringement of the laws brought dire penalties: a man could have his hands or feet cut off, his tongue cut out, his eyes gouged. The King’s forest must not be touched. There were wardens in the forests looking for offenders; even trespassers were thrown into prison, and they never knew whether they were going to be robbed of some vital part of their bodies.

I always thought that such laws should never have been. There was nothing like such to stir up strife, to underline the subservience kings expected of their people, and to arouse those bitter feelings which, when the opportunity arose, would come bursting forth.

I knew that the prisons were full of people awaiting condemnation. So I ordered that they should all be freed.

“Life will be different under King Richard,” I told the people. “He wishes all his subjects to be as happy serving him as he will be to serve them.”

This was a very worthwhile move. King Richard’s health was being drunk all over the country. Life was going to be good. He was a benign King; he cared about his subjects. He was going to make England a merry place to live in.

I had only a few weeks to prepare them, but I flatter myself I did so thoroughly, and by the time Richard arrived at Portsmouth the people were ready to welcome him as their King. They anticipated great celebrations. Coronations always won popular approval. A new reign could herald a new era, and people were always ready to believe that what was to come was better than what had gone before.

Richard greeted me with great affection. Such demonstrations were particularly touching when they came from him because he made them so rarely and when he did they were heartfelt. He was not the man to dissimulate. I could never understand how Henry and I could have had such a son; he was so different from us both; he was entirely straightforward, which I fear neither of his parents was.

He looked more handsome than ever. The English must be proud of him. The people like a handsome king.

I told him what progress I had made and how I had prepared the way for his popularity.

He said: “I knew you would do well. What a fool my father was not to appreciate you.”

“Oh, he had to have his Alais         .         .         .         his Rosamund. He needed docile women and he certainly got what he wanted in those two.”

“What of Alais?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I suppose she will go back to France in due course. You will not have her.”

“Most certainly not. My father’s leavings! Never!”

“It would be most repulsive,” I agreed. “But do not let us concern ourselves with her. She is quite insignificant now. We have to think of your coronation.”

“Yes, I suppose that is necessary.”

“Indeed it is. A king is not a king until he is anointed.”

“Then we will get it over as soon as we can.”

“We shall do it as it should be done. The people need to be wooed, Richard. You do not know them. You have seen so little of them. They need treating with care. With the people of Aquitaine one saw the way they were going. Their anger or their love was apparent the moment they felt it. These people are different. They show nothing though they are filled with rage. They must be watched. You have to woo them, Richard, and you must begin with a grand coronation.”

“As soon as it is over, I shall make my plans to go to the Holy Land.”

“Now that you have become King?”

“I have taken the cross. So has Philip Augustus. We are going together.”

“But it is different now, surely. You have a kingdom to govern.”

“I am blessed with a mother who can do that better than I.”

I was gratified but disturbed. It was unwise to leave the country. Henry had made that mistake. No, that was not quite the truth. There had been little else he could have done, for he had had his dominions overseas to keep in order. I often thought how much easier it would have been for him if he had been merely King of England. But that was not the case with Richard. He would be leaving his country to go to the defense of another.

He said: “I shall have to raise money.”

“How?” I asked.

“There is only one way. Taxation.”

“The people will not take kindly to that from their new King.”

“But this is a holy cause. Any who cannot undertake the crusade should be glad to help those who can.”

“They don’t see it like that. The Holy Land is far away. They do not like paying taxes to keep Normandy safe. How do you think they will feel about faraway places?”

“It is our Christian duty.”

There was nothing I could say. He was determined and I had always known that once Richard had made up his mind there was no changing it.

The coronation was to take place on September 3, which some people said was unlucky. But I wanted to get it over as quickly as possible. A king is not truly a king until he is crowned.

Just before the coronation John returned to England. He was married to Hadwisa of Gloucester on August 29. In spite of the fact that their father had tried to set John up in that place which rightly belonged to his brother, Richard received him graciously when he came to England. He granted him the county of Mortain, gave him 4,000 a year from land in England and agreed to the marriage to the heiress of Gloucester, which would greatly enrich him. Richard was determined to be magnanimous, thinking, I suppose, that, if he bestowed his bounty on John, his brother would be loyal while he, Richard, went off on his crusade. He was most generous, giving him the castles and honors of Marlborough, Ludgershall, Lancaster, Bolsover, Nottingham and the Peak among others. John expressed his delight, but even so, it occurred to me that he would have to be watched.

There was a slight hitch for a time when it seemed that the wedding might not proceed, for Archbishop Baldwin brought up the point about the couple’s being related in the third degree. This however was overcome and the ceremony continued. After all, it was well to have those close ties to fall back on if the time came when the couple wished to part, I thought cynically.