by Jean Plaidy
Thinking of Philip of Flanders he wondered whether he too might go on some sort of pilgrimage. Anything to escape from his father.
He remembered the stories his mother had told him of how her father, desirous of getting a male heir, had decided to take the road to Compostella and ask help at the shrine of St James. The road was rough, the conditions terrible and the Duke had fallen sick of a virulent fever. He had known his end was near but had been carried in his litter and was buried before the main altar in the Church of St James at Compostella.
What more natural than that his grandson feel the need to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St James and the grave of his maternal grandfather?
He told his father what he wished to do.
‘Why so?’ asked the King.
‘I have committed the great sin of taking up arms against my father.’
‘Your father has forgiven you so God will.’
‘It weighs heavily on my conscience.’
‘Then,’ said the King, ‘I rejoice, for so it should and you can best expiate that sin by working hard and learning quickly all that I would teach you.’
‘I feel the need to go to Compostella.’
‘And I, my son, feel the need to keep you here, and I can assure you that my need is greater than yours.’
‘I am treated as a child,’ said Henry sullenly.
‘Behave then like a man and earn the right to be treated as such.’
‘Others make such pilgrimages.’
‘Mayhap, they do not have kingdoms which they must learn to govern.’
‘Philip of Flanders plans to go to Jerusalem.’
‘Let him. It will keep him out of mischief.’
‘He will thereby earn remission of his sins.’
‘Doubtless it is necessary, for I believe he has committed many. Now I will hear no more. You cannot go to Compostella. You are to stay close to me that I may make you ready for the crown when it comes your way.’
‘But, Father …’
‘I have spoken,’ roared the King; and when the angry lights sprang into his eyes it was no time to continue the argument.
The King was disturbed as he always must be when he heard news of Richard.
His son was coming to England as he was alarmed by the risings in Aquitaine and he wished to consult his father.
It was almost certain that he would demand that his bride come to him and that was something the King would not allow to happen. He was frequently with Alice now and his passion for her did not abate. He loved the girl and as she grew a little older the deeper was his devotion. He was determined not to part with her, yet could he go on saying that she and Richard were too young?
If Richard came to England Alice would have to go away. He could have sent her to the Bower again, but Rosamund was not there now. He could not bring her out of Godstow to care for his mistress. Still he could send Alice to the Bower and those good attendants who had served Rosamund well and whom he, with some foresight, had kept there, could take care of Alice. Of one thing he was certain: Richard and Alice must not meet.
He would be pleased to see his son, for he had some admiration for him. The boy was proving a valiant commander, an excellent fighter and one who had genius for battle. He was different from young Henry and Geoffrey who thought only of pleasure and of getting power the easy way.
And now Richard was due to arrive in England with his brother Geoffrey and the King decided that he would show his subjects in what amity he lived with his sons. The feast of Easter was approaching, and they should spend it all together, and where better than at his castle of Winchester? However, young Henry wished that he might leave for Normandy and as the need arose for some member of the family to show himself there, the King said he might go. Young Henry was overjoyed at the prospect of escape from his father and made immediate preparations to depart.
The winds, though, were against him and as Easter was upon them the King commanded him to join the festivities at Winchester so that the original intention of all being together could be carried out.
Thus the King had his four sons with him which pleased him well. He had advice to give Richard and Geoffrey, and he looked forward to having young John with him – the only one of Eleanor’s sons in whom he could hope to breed affection. He had come to the conclusion that he must allow young Henry a certain freedom or the young man would break out and rebel. It was for this reason that he had agreed to send him to Normandy, but while he was there a stern watch should be kept on him that he did not get into any mischief.
What pleasure it would have given him to have discussed his affairs with them, with no reservations because there need be none. If they had been loyal sons that should have been the case. Now, although they feigned friendship, suspicion was there.
Richard was the most frank of them all. He said what he meant without subterfuge and what he wanted was help in Aquitaine. He was not as popular with the people as he would like to have been.
‘The fact that you and I are friends,’ he said bluntly, ‘turns them against me. They think that I am my mother’s enemy.’
‘They surely know that not to be the case.’
‘They reason that if I am your friend I cannot be hers. I have a request to make.’
Henry felt a fearful apprehension. Now he was going to ask to see Alice and demand when his marriage was to take place.
But he was wrong. What Richard said was: ‘I want to see my mother.’
‘Your mother is at Salisbury Castle.’
‘We are all gathered here. She should be with us.’
‘You forget that she has been a traitor to me.’
‘Could you not say that of your sons?’
‘I could – to my misfortune.’
‘Yet you have forgiven us. Why should you not forgive her?’
‘Because she it was who turned you from me. She fed you slander against me with her mother’s milk. But for her there would not have been these troubles. I should have been a father with good and loyal sons.’
‘She did not change our natures.’
‘What mean you by that?’
‘We rose against you because you gave us titles and then refused to make them meaningful. My mother had nothing to do with that.’
‘You may go to Salisbury to see your mother but you shall not be alone with her.’
‘Nay,’ said Richard. ‘She must come here. If you invite her here and she comes, then in Aquitaine they will know that it was I who demanded to see her and that I am her friend. Only then will they receive me.’
The King was thoughtful.
‘Let my mother return to Aquitaine with me,’ went on Richard.
‘Never,’ said the King.
‘I should go back with her and my bride.’
The King’s lips tightened. He said suddenly: ‘Your mother shall come here to Winchester. She shall stay for a few days and then be returned to Salisbury. The people of Aquitaine will then see that she has been brought here because you pleaded for her. They cannot then say that you are not her friend.’
Richard bowed his head.
‘There is the matter of my bride,’ he went on.
‘Subdue Aquitaine,’ said the King, ‘and then it will be time for you to think of marriage.’
‘I would see the Princess Alice. She will be of marriageable age now. My brother Henry tells me that the King of France is asking why the marriage has been so long delayed.’
‘The Princess is touring in the North. If she returns while you are here of a certainty you shall meet. Settle your affairs in Aquitaine and then we shall see whether there shall be a marriage. In the meantime I promise you this: You shall see your mother and it shall be here at Winchester.’
Eleanor laughed aloud when she heard that she was to travel to Winchester. What joy to see her beloved Richard! She would be pleased to see Henry and Geoffrey too, and perhaps young John. Best of all perhaps would be meeting her husband. Already vituperations were forming in her m
ind. She longed to tell him what she thought of him, to have one of those verbal battles which had always excited her.
She sent for her seamstresses. It was her good fortune that she lacked none of the amenities of life here in Salisbury; if she was a prisoner she was a queenly one. There was little to do in her prison and her attendants made gowns for her and as she had always been noted for her elegance she doubted anything at the King’s court could compare with garments of her designing.
In high spirits she set out on the journey from Salisbury to Winchester surrounded by the King’s guards. She was exultant when she saw the towers of the palace and as she rode forward she laughed aloud in her triumph.
The King received her and for a few moments they regarded each other appraisingly. She tilted her head and laughed.
‘So at last we meet, my lord,’ she said.
The King waved a hand to those who stood in his chamber. ‘Leave us,’ he commanded.
‘Well, we are alone,’ she said. ‘By God, Henry, I see grey hairs and deep lines on your countenance.’
‘I have had much to concern me as you well know.’
‘I know that your sons do not love you.’
‘Their thoughts having been poisoned by their mother.’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘It is their father’s own actions which have turned them from him. Why did you allow me to come here?’
‘That you might see your sons.’
‘So indulgent! Come, Henry, there is a reason other than the love you bear them … or me.’
‘I bear none to you.’
‘I feared it,’ she mocked.
‘But you are the mother of my sons and they have asked to see you.’
‘So we shall meet. I rejoice. And you brought me here to please my subjects of Aquitaine, did you not? If they learn that I am here this Eastertide they will hate you the less and realise that Richard is my friend. That is statecraft, Henry, my husband, and I will say that you are very crafty at it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And now that Richard is here we have a matter to discuss ...he, I and perhaps you.’
‘And that matter?’
‘His marriage of course.’ She was studying him closely. ‘And where is our dear little Princess? I confess I expected to find her here.’
‘She is gone to the North … for her health.’
The Queen raised her eyebrows. ‘She is sick then? Not sick of love … for Richard? But she has not seen him in the prime of his youth, has she?’
‘She had already departed when he arrived.’
‘Churlish of her! Is she not eager to see her bridegroom?’
‘I should have thought that after your seclusion you would have had other matters to discuss than this betrothal of Richard’s.’
‘I might ask for my freedom. Would you be prepared to give it?’
‘If I did, how should I know that you did not plot against me as you did before?’
‘It is something you could never be sure of.’
‘Then you see why you must remain my prisoner.’
‘I thought we might strike a bargain.’
‘Why should I bargain with a prisoner?’
‘You want a divorce.’
‘Who tells you this?’
‘There are rumours.’
‘You should not trust rumours.’
‘Oh, it depends on the source. And suppose I agree to a divorce, would you release me?’
He said: ‘There is to be no divorce.’
‘I have heard that you have already decided on your next Queen.’
‘Tell me who gave you such news? I’ll cut out their tongues for I’ll not suffer such lies to be told of me.’
‘So ’tis true, is it not?’
‘If it were true that I wanted a divorce why should I not bargain with you as you suggest?’
‘I doubt not you have your reasons.’
‘Nay,’ he said. ‘I have not asked for a divorce.’
‘You presented Cardinal Huguzon with rich gifts. Was this merely to settle the dispute between York and Canterbury?’
‘I did not bring you here to discuss my actions with you.’
‘Nay. I know full well why you did that. You act always out of ambition. It is necessary for Richard to show my people that he is my friend and not yours. So you allow it to be known that he has prevailed upon you to let us meet here. Do not think that I am not aware of your ways, Henry Plantagenet.’
Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘I would have you know that if you do aught to harm me here you shall be sent back to even more rigorous imprisonment.’
She nodded slowly. ‘What do you plan to do to me, husband? To murder me? That would leave the way clear without complications, would it not? But you must wait of course until Aquitaine is subdued and accepts Richard as the Duke. Then if you can keep him as your vassal – which I doubt – Aquitaine will be yours as you always intended it to be. It is a long time to wait and time is important to you. What do you hope to do? To get an heir by her? You have your heirs, Henry, and look you, what trouble they have brought.’
‘You talk nonsense,’ he said.
‘Nay, nay, good sense and you like it not. What think you the King of France will say when he hears his daughter has been debauched?’
‘What is this?’
‘Such ignorance! Poor child. Scarce out of the cradle. But they say ageing men whose senses are satiated look for new excitements. Children, is it?’
He advanced towards her, his hand upraised.
‘That is it, Henry. Strike me. That will be good hearing for Aquitaine. I will let it be known that I goaded you, taunted you with seducing the daughter of the King of France.’
He paused, fighting to keep control of his rising temper.
‘Get out of here,’ he shouted. ‘Before I kill you with my own hands, get out.’
‘I wonder how I should feel if you laid hands on me. You once did in most tender fashion. Do you remember?’
‘I know only that I curse the day I ever met you.’
‘That was before the Princess of France was conceived. But there was Fair Rosamund, was there not? I shall never forget her terror when her skein of silk led me to her lair. And you were the traitor. It was attached to your spur. But are you not a traitor to us all?’
‘If you do not leave me I shall not answer for my actions.’
He was right. She could see that although he had fought hard for control, his temper was getting the better of him.
He would forget diplomacy. All wisdom would desert him if once that demon rage got the upper hand.
She had no wish to die yet; she gave him a mocking bow and retired.
When his rage had worn itself out he faced the facts.
So she knew. The she-wolf knew that Alice had been his mistress. What would she do? He could be certain that whatever she did would bring him the greatest mischief.
The King of France would hear of it. Richard would know and soon the whole world would be against him. He had had some experience of what condemnation he could expect. He had so recently emerged from the trouble his connection with the murder of Thomas à Becket had given him. And at what cost to his kingly dignity! It must not be known that he had taken Richard’s bride and that she had had a child by him. But Eleanor knew, and Eleanor’s great joy in life was to work against him.
What could he do?
Alice must not go to Richard. It was not only that he wished to keep her for himself. She was too young, too lacking in guile to be able to keep her secrets. Alice must remain and he must find some means of staving off Richard. If Eleanor started rumours he would declare that she had invented them out of her venom.
He believed he had made headway with young Henry; the boy had seemed almost affectionate to him in the last months. Richard would always be his enemy, he knew. He was too much his mother’s son for anything else. Geoffrey was inclined to follow his elder brother. They could both be more easily swayed than Rich
ard.
He must do everything in his power to stop her passing on this information to Richard and if she attempted to turn Henry and Geoffrey from him he would let them know that she herself had led a far from exemplary life. After all, when he considered the scandals Eleanor had created in her youth how could she judge him because he had fallen in love with a young girl who happened to be affianced to one of his sons?
It was a pity it had seemed necessary to let her out of her prison. Although he realised that it was good policy, he deeply regretted the need for it.
Her period of freedom should soon be at an end, and he would be very slow to allow her to emerge again.
Eleanor quickly found an opportunity of being alone with Richard. They met in the new herb garden where they could enjoy a certain amount of privacy.
She said: ‘My dearest son, we must say what is in our minds in some haste because I do not think your father will allow me my freedom much longer. I have spoken with him and he has made me aware of his hatred. He is particularly wary of you, my son. It is because of Alice.’
‘The Princess Alice? My betrothed.’
‘I have news for you, Richard. She has become your father’s mistress and it is for this reason that he keeps her from you.’
‘He is welcome to her. I do not want his cast-off mistress.’
‘Nay, nor do you. But, my son, he must think you do. You must ask him where your bride is. You must give him no peace. The King of France must agitate for your marriage with the Princess Alice. It is the best way of harassing him. I never saw him so put out as when I mentioned her. He is crafty. He can outwit his enemies. He will lie, make promises he has no intention of keeping; but he could not hide his lust for that girl. And he is more alarmed at what the betrayal of his relationship with her could mean than he would ever be at going into battle.’
‘How long has it been going on?’
‘A year or two, I believe. I have heard a rumour that she has had a child by him.’
‘By God, and all the saints! I will let the whole world know of this.’
