by Jean Plaidy
‘Henry must not be foolish. He will not be, I am sure. Louis will guide him. I doubt not that there are many who will rally to his banner. And you, my sons – yes, you too, Geoffrey, must join him without delay that he may know that he has you to support him.’
‘We should leave immediately,’ said Richard, his eyes gleaming at the thought of battle and particularly that it should be conflict against the father whom he hated.
Geoffrey was eager too. At this time he always wanted to follow Richard.
She smiled from one to the other,
‘This is the moment. Your brother will shortly be King in very truth.’
Geoffrey said: ‘Our father is a very great soldier, Mother.’
‘He was. Don’t forget that he murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury. That is something which will never be forgotten. There is a curse on him for what he did to that saint. All men know it. You will see he cannot prosper now. That is why the time is ripe to attack him. You see, the King of France who I have good reason to know is the mildest of men, is ready to help your brother against him. Louis thought highly of Thomas à Becket. He loathes his murderer. Louis will see himself as the instrument of God who is to strike down the man who has offended all Christendom and Heaven too.’
‘Our mother is right,’ cried Richard. ‘I will be ready to start for the Court of France tomorrow.’
‘Then I will accompany you,’ replied Geoffrey.
Eleanor embraced them both and they prepared to start.
Eleanor watched them from the topmost turret of the castle.
How brave they looked seated on their horses, their pennants waving in the breeze. She watched until she could see them no more.
In her chamber she wrote verses on the sadness of parting with loved ones. How she missed Richard! She wondered whether he missed his life with her. He had always been a warrior in the making. Had he forgotten the pleasant hours they had spent together? Was he content to leave her now and march against his father?
She could not settle to write. She wanted action now. She should have been riding out with her sons. She pictured herself on her horse, her standard bearer riding before her, going into battle against the man she hated.
She was laughing to think of what he would say and feel when he heard that his sons Richard and Geoffrey had joined their brother Henry against him. And that would not be all. Aquitaine was ready to rebel against him. Brittany was doubtless the same. What of Anjou? Normandy she supposed would be loyal to him.
It was so exciting. She could not stay in the castle. She sent a messenger to her uncle, Raoul de Faye, begging him to come to her as she was in need of his advice.
Eleanor was very fond of this uncle though not quite in the same way as she had been of that other uncle, Raymond Prince of Antioch who had been her lover; but she had relied very much on Raoul de Faye who pleased her by his dislike of Henry Plantagenet and who had done a great deal to arouse young Henry’s antagonism against his father.
Raoul quickly arrived in answer to her summons. He was delighted when she told him what had happened.
‘This will be the end of that arrogant husband of yours,’ he declared. ‘There is scarcely a man living who does not hold him guilty of Becket’s murder. This will be remembered against him and even those who have been his most loyal supporters until now will begin to change their tune.’
How pleasant it was to walk in the gardens with Raoul, a charming and handsome man. She forgot when she was with him – for he paid her the most delightful compliments – that she was no longer young and that her notorious beauty was considerably faded for she felt young in the company of such a man, and because she could gloat over her hatred for her husband she was happy for a while.
This would give him little time to dally with his Rosamund, she told Raoul.
‘I doubt not he will find women here and there to amuse him in the manner to which he is accustomed.’
‘He will do that, but he will not rest in peace long.’
‘I have heard that the people of England are murmuring against the heavy taxes he imposes.’
They always did. But they remember the reign of Stephen when brigands roamed the country and took from them their possessions. They prefer to be robbed by the King with his taxes than that their money should be taken from them by roaming robbers.’
‘They will forget the robber brigands and remember only the robber king.’
‘He has staunch friends in England.’
‘Never mind England. We will drive him out of Aquitaine, Anjou and Normandy.’
‘My dear uncle, you will help in this?’
‘You may be assured that I shall do my best to stir up rebellion against him from all sides. Louis will be with us. We cannot fail to win.’
‘Then my son Henry shall have England, Normandy and Anjou, Richard Aquitaine and Geoffrey Brittany in very truth.’
‘The writing is on the wall for Henry Plantagenet,’ said Raoul de Faye.
When he had gone Eleanor could not settle. She remembered the days when she and Louis had set out on their crusade to the Holy City. What excitements there had been then – discomforts too, but they only brightened the high lights. Wonderful days of youth and vitality!
But she was not so old. At least she did not feel old. She could not expect to go into battle, but she could join her sons; she could advise them. No one could say she was not a woman of experience.
Why should she not?
The more she thought of it the more she liked the idea. She would go to the Court of France. It was ironical that she should be turning from Henry to Louis when once it had been the other way round. But Louis was turning out to be more astute than she had ever believed possible. He had fathered several children so was not so much of a monk and since the birth of his son he had been quite ready to go to war for the good of his kingdom.
It would be amusing to see Louis again.
When she made up her mind to do something she became obsessed with the need to accomplish it. Now she had decided that she would join her sons.
It would not be wise to let people know that she had left Aquitaine. There might be a revolt in the Duchy so she would slip away quietly. But even then she might be seen.
Then the idea occurred to her. She would disguise herself as a man and leave Aquitaine with a party of knights. She would be dressed as one of them.
When Henry heard that Richard and Geoffrey had joined Henry he shrugged his shoulders. Foolish boys, all of them. What did they think they were going to do? Young Henry was peevish, thinking because he had been crowned King he could replace his father. If the boy had stayed with him he would have learned something of what it meant to be a king, then perhaps he would not be so ready to take on the responsibility. As for Richard and Geoffrey they had been goaded by that she-wolf of a mother of theirs. They were all children really. He would summon them and give them a few lessons in what he expected of them.
He was soon to realise the matter was more serious than he had believed. The rebellion of his sons was regarded as a call to arms to all those discontents throughout his dominions. The shadow of Becket hung heavily over him. Superstitious men believed that the martyr who was capable of performing miracles would surely help those who took up arms against his murderer.
Henry was fully aware of this and when he heard that Count Philip of Flanders had captured Aumâle and, after a siege, the castle of Driencourt he could no longer remain complacent.
Louis had marched forth with young Henry and they were besieging Verneuil. Those loyal and faithful supporters, Hugh de Lacy and Hugh de Beauchamp, could be trusted to hold fast, but when after a month’s siege food became short in the town the inhabitants threatened to surrender.
The King then decided that he must take action.
He led his considerable army to Verneuil.
The reputation of the King of England as the greatest living general still existed, and many of the men in the opposing army, particularly
those who had deserted him in favour of his son, trembled at the thought of his approach. If God and Becket were not on his side then the Devil would surely be.
Louis realised that in a face-to-face fight with Henry he could not win. From a hilltop he saw the approach of Henry’s army and he was greatly disturbed. All his distaste for battle returned to him and he sent messengers asking for a truce until the following day.
Normally Henry would not have accepted this, but his son was with the army of the King of France and he wished to teach him a lesson rather than that any harm should befall him. After all he understood the boy’s desire for power. Hadn’t he had similar desires when he was his age?
So he agreed to the truce. That night, Louis’s soldiers – out of control as they had been on the notorious occasion of Vitry-the-Burned – sacked the town; and when morning came they were already in flight.
When Henry saw the burning town his fury was great. He set off immediately in pursuit of Louis’s army but although he inflicted great slaughter on its rear he did not catch up with Louis and young Henry.
Now it became clear that revolt was springing up all over his dominions. It was necessary for him to send a force without delay to Brittany where fortunately he was quickly able to put down the insurrection.
It was a great blow to him to hear that Robert, Earl of Leicester, the son of the man who had been one of his most loyal supporters, and his Chamberlain, William de Tancarville, had left England for France and had joined young Henry.
This was serious, and when Louis, who had been greatly upset by the affair at Verneuil, suggested that they meet to discuss peace, Henry was ready.
He was considerably hurt to hear that his three sons had accompanied Louis to Gisors, the spot where the conference was to take place, and that they had come to support the King of France against their own father. He wanted to be on friendly terms with his sons and to start again to build up a pleasant relationship with them. His offer was generous considering that they had taken up arms against him. It was true, he recognised, that there was some justice in their demands, but it was none the less depressing to sit with his own sons on one side of the conference table and himself on the other. Young Henry had become defiant – perhaps he always had been – but now with the backing of the King of France he was not afraid to show it. Richard gave him cool looks of hatred; and his two elder sons were training their brother Geoffrey to follow their example. Life had indeed become sour, when those who should have loved him and worked beside him had turned against him.
He promised certain concessions. Henry could choose whether he wished to live in Normandy or England; Richard should have more revenue from Aquitaine, and Geoffrey from Brittany.
How galling that they should retire with the King of France to discuss with him their own father’s proposals!
They left Gisors without seeing him again. His terms were unacceptable, they said. It seemed nothing would satisfy them but that he, the King, at the height of his powers, should hand over everything to his sons.
Frustrated and angry he fell into a great rage and declared that if the cubs wanted war they should have it.
Eleanor, disguised as a knight, was riding towards the French frontier. She had received little news of the fighting but her hopes were high that her three sons, with the help of Louis, would be victorious over her husband. She would not deceive herself; Henry was a great general; she had not been wrong in that respect when she had assessed him all those years ago. He was one of those men who are born to command and conquer. But no man should conquer her. If he had been her good and faithful husband, they would have worked side by side and she would have brought up her children to love and respect him. But his lechery was going to prove his downfall.
What would happen now? Louis, with young Henry, Richard and Geoffrey beside him would conquer Anjou and Normandy; she felt certain that there would be traitors in England to rise against her husband. But they would not be traitors, for they would support the new King, the young King, her own son Henry.
How she would laugh at Henry the old lion. ‘Did you not crown your son, Henry?’ she would taunt. ‘Was it not at your command that the ceremony took place?’
Sly, cunning he was, but he had made two great mistakes, one when he became involved in the murder of Becket and the other when he had crowned his son while he himself still wanted to hold the crown and all that went with it in his greedy hands.
‘We must be nearing Chartres,’ she said to the knight who rode beside her.
‘It will soon be in sight.’
She had forbidden them to address her as ‘my lady’. Not until she reached Louis’s Court should her identity be guessed.
She imagined his surprise at seeing her. Poor Louis, who had loved her so devotedly once. He had never wanted the divorce even though he knew she was unfaithful to him. He would have been her creature as Henry never would.
In the distance a band of riders appeared on the horizon, and Eleanor recognised them as men in the service of her husband.
‘We will call a greeting and pass on,’ she said, ‘and if they should ask whither we are bound we will say we are travellers who are on our way to Poitiers. Let us be civil with them and elude them as soon as possible. But it may be that a mere greeting will do.’
How wrong she was! She had had no news so she did not know that war was in progress between her son Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, and his father and it would immediately be assumed that the knights were on their way to join Richard. Therefore they would be the enemies of the King of England.
The party was three times as strong as Eleanor’s and it very quickly became clear what was about to happen.
‘Halt,’ cried the leader of the party. ‘You are Poitevins, are you not?’
‘We are,’ replied one of Eleanor’s knights, ‘and on our way to Poitiers.’
‘You will not reach it. You are our prisoners. The Duke of Aquitaine is at war with our King.’
Eleanor was horrified. This could mean only one thing. She was Henry’s prisoner. And how long could she keep her identity secret?
Henry was becoming very disturbed. This was no minor revolt. Trouble was springing up in every direction. He thought he knew why. God was angry with him. This was Thomas’s revenge. Of course he was guilty of his murder. Of course he had wanted him dead. He had more or less commanded those knights to kill him. At least he had upbraided them for not doing so. What could be clearer than that? And ever since ill fortune had been his lot. His own sons were turning against him and all over his kingdom there was discontent. Everyone connected him with the murder of Becket and to make matters worse, miracles were being performed at Canterbury and the story of them was being blazoned throughout his dominions.
That traitor Leicester was in Flanders doubtless making plans to invade England with foreign help and take it from him that it might be presented to his son. And now another blow, William King of Scotland had chosen this moment – as might be expected – to cross the border. Thank God he had some loyal friends. He could trust Richard de Luci to keep the Scots at bay. They were nothing more than a parcel of savages and although they could lay waste the country in most barbaric fashion they would have no chance against a well disciplined army. But he needed Luci elsewhere.
This was a ruler’s nightmare, when his dominions were so scattered and trouble arose in several places at once.
One of his men came in to tell him that a knight was without who wished to have urgent speech with him.
He commanded that he should be brought to him. Fresh trouble? he wondered. Where would the next rebellion be?
But this man’s news was different.
‘My lord,’ he explained, ‘we were riding near to Chartres when we came upon a party of Poitevin knights. We were of the opinion that they were riding to join the enemy so we captured them.’
The King nodded. The right act but scarcely one to report to him.
‘There was one among them, my lord,
who aroused our suspicions. We formed the opinion that she was a woman.’
A woman. The King grimaced, but the knight’s next words made him stare at him in amazement.
‘She proved to be the Queen, my lord.’
‘The Queen! My wife!’ cried Henry.
‘’Twas so, my lord. She admitted it and there was indeed no doubt.’
Henry started to laugh. He stopped abruptly. ‘Where is she?’
‘We have brought her to you, my lord, not knowing your wishes.’
Henry went to the knight and slapped him heartily on the back. ‘You did right,’ he said. ‘By God’s eyes, I promise you I’ll remember you for this deed. She is here then. Bring her to me. I would have speech with my captive.’
It was indeed Eleanor. She stood there before him, anger in her eyes, defiance, hatred, everything he remembered so well.
‘Leave us,’ he commanded. Then he stared at her and gave vent to loud laughter.
‘So you have joined the army, eh?’
‘It behoves all men and women to fight against tyranny.’
‘Brave words from a prisoner. Captured, eh? Where were you going?’
‘To join my sons.’
‘And you were going into battle with them against their father?’
‘Nothing would please me more.’
‘You are a little old for such activities. These are not the days when you rode out to the Holy Land and had great sport on the way with your uncle and the infidels. You see what happens? You are captured before you reach your objective. I’ll wager you were on your way to the Court of France. Did you hope that now that you are old your first husband might be more to your taste than he was in your lustier days?’
‘It surprises me not that Henry the Lecher’s thoughts run always in one direction. My project was to gain for my sons that which is their right.’
‘You talk nonsense. I am the King. What I hold I hold by right and conquest. You are a foolish woman and you shall learn this for you are my prisoner and I swear that you shall never again be free while I live to make discord between me and my sons.’
