The Revolt of the Eaglets (11 page)

‘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

I
n 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.