by Jean Plaidy
‘You are but a child, Berengaria.’
‘I shall soon grow up.’
‘Then we shall meet again.’
‘You will not forget me?’
‘Never will I forget you. I shall return and will you be waiting?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘until I die.’
‘Long before we die we shall be together.’
‘Richard, I have heard that you are betrothed to a French Princess. Is it true?’
‘I was betrothed to her in my cradle.’
‘She is very beautiful, I have heard. Do you find her so?’
‘I cannot find her beautiful for I know not what she looks like. Although we were betrothed she has been withheld from me.’
‘Does that cause you sorrow?’
‘Now it causes me nothing but joy.’
‘What if your father arranges a marriage for you?’
‘It will not be the first time he has found me a disobedient son.’
‘You will in truth refuse to marry her?’
He smiled and nodded. ‘There is only one whom I would marry.’
‘And who is she?’
‘Her name is Berengaria and she lives at her father’s court of Navarre.’
‘Can it really be so?’
He took her hand and kissed it.
‘Does my father know?’
‘We have spoken of this.’
‘And what says he?’
‘That when you are of an age and I am free of my entanglements it could come about.’
‘I am so happy,’ she said.
He pressed her hand and took up his lute again.
When he rode away she was at the turret watching him.
‘His coming has changed my life,’ she told Blanche. ‘I shall pray for the day when we can be together.’
He turned and waved a piece of silk – a scrap from one of her gowns. He knew she would be watching.
‘Soon he must come back,’ she whispered.
Chapter XIV
THE DEVIL’S STRAIN
Henry could not help congratulating himself. Louis was dead, and therefore the controversy over Alice’s marriage must necessarily be put aside. He knew of course that it would only be a temporary respite, and that young Philip would probably very soon be wanting to know what was happening to his sister.
But Philip was only a boy, and Henry had already implied that he wished him to look upon him as a father. That he was a headstrong boy was clear, but Henry had an uneasy feeling that when he had a little experience he would not be as weak as his father had been. Henry would have to keep a sharp eye on what was happening in France.
There was news from Aquitaine that there was revolt everywhere. The people wanted Eleanor freed, and sent back there. That should never be.
Sancho of Navarre had sent him a message telling him that he was disturbed by events in Aquitaine and how it was his belief that there would never be peace until Eleanor returned.
He had thanked Sancho for his advice and had told him that although he could not free Eleanor at this time, for Sancho must understand how dangerous to him that would be, he would allow her a little more freedom. For instance if visitors came to England she could come to Court to see them, or they might visit her. But to have her roaming the world free to harm him, was something to which he could not agree.
While he was pondering these matters, a message arrived from the young King of France to tell him that Philip of Flanders had turned traitor and had made a pact with the King’s uncles who were now threatening to march against him and take the throne from him. As Henry had assured him that he might regard him as his father, that was what he was doing now. He begged a father’s help.
Henry smiled. Of course he would help young Philip. The Count of Flanders had too big an idea of himself. There was a man who must be watched.
Henry would send his sons to the aid of the King of France. Young Henry should go with Geoffrey and because military skill would be needed he would send Richard too. Young Philip must be shown that he could trust Henry Plantagenet and then perhaps he would not make demands for the marriage of his sister.
Young Henry arrived in Paris followed shortly by his brothers Richard and Geoffrey.
With Richard came a troubadour warrior, Bertrand de Born. He was the castellan of Hautefort and a man whose reputation as a poet was beginning to equal that of Bernard de Ventadour.
His songs, it was said, were an inspiration to any who were about to go into battle and were considered to be an important part of any campaign.
Young Philip welcomed them warmly and there was a feast in the great hall followed by songs of love and war. Philip had changed already from the petulant boy he had been at the time preceding his father’s death. It was as though a sudden realisation had come to him of the hazards of his position, and he seemed to have grown wise in a few months. He listened intently to Richard’s advice for he realised quickly that Richard was the one who knew how to succeed in battle. None could deny the social graces of the young Henry and Geoffrey too, who was a shadow of his elder brother, but it was Richard whom he needed now.
What a man Richard was with those cold blue eyes and that wonderful light-coloured hair! Most of all he was to be admired for his great stature, and the fact that he was sometimes in the grip of that strange ague rather added to his essential virility.
Philip was attracted by Richard.
While Philip was admiring Richard, Bertrand de Born was watching Henry. Bertrand thought he had never seen such a magnificent specimen of manhood as the young King of England.
Henry was known as the handsomest Prince in Christendom and rightly so. His countenance was as fair as any woman’s; his manners were graceful and charming. He was not a fighter as his brother Richard was. He was a man to win through his charm rather than his sword.
How much better for Aquitaine, thought the troubadour, if Henry had become its Duke instead of Richard.
Richard was animated, talking of the campaign they would wage against Philip of Flanders and the house of Blois.
Philip listened gravely.
‘I give you command,’ he said, ‘for I have complete trust in you.’
He was right to be trustful. They went into action riding side by side and it was as Philip had known it would be. Philip of Flanders, driven to his castle, remained there besieged until he was forced to beg for mercy.
The revolt was put down.
There was no doubt whose military genius was behind this.
Bertrand de Born found an opportunity of talking with Henry.
‘I have written verses to you, my lord. May I have your permission to sing them to you?’
Henry, who could accept any amount of flattery without suspecting an ulterior motive, was ready enough to listen.
He knew he was handsome, but it was pleasant to see himself through the eyes of the poet. The poet was in love with him. That was amusing, but Henry had never been interested in passionate attachments with members of his own sex. He liked women.
Then Bertrand made a remark which immediately caught his attention.
‘How different you are from your brother Richard. The people of Aquitaine will never accept Richard, but they would accept you.’
‘How so?’ asked Henry.
‘If you were their Duke …’
‘I am the Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and King of England. Richard was given Aquitaine.’
‘The people of Aquitaine prefer to bestow themselves.’
‘Do you mean they would bestow themselves on me?’
‘If you came to take Aquitaine they would give it to you.’
‘How could I take what is my brother’s?’
‘How can Aquitaine be your brother’s, if the people reject him?’
‘It is my father they reject … and his sons with him.’
‘They do not reject your mother.’
‘Richard is her son. She chose him for this inheritance.’
&n
bsp; ‘And where is she now? A prisoner! The people would accept you if they were led to it.’
‘Who would lead them?’
‘There is something more powerful than the sword. You may not believe me. But I know that my people are swayed more by poetry than by battle cries.’
‘It could be so.’
‘It shall be so, my lord, if it is your wish.’
Henry was excited. He wanted the thrill of adventure without the discomfort. It would delight him if the people of Aquitaine begged him to come to be their Duke. He would say, ‘What can I do? We must have peace in Aquitaine. The people want me. They are demanding me. They will not have Richard.’ How amusing! Richard who was the great fighter! Richard, who could not keep Aquitaine in order!
Bertrand de Born crept a little nearer and touched Henry’s sleeve.
‘You could try it,’ said Henry.
‘I will do it,’ cried Bertrand de Born. ‘I will have all Aquitaine in arms, demanding that Henry be their Duke.’
Henry hesitated a moment.
‘Why do you do this?’ he asked.
The poet bowed his head. ‘Because I love you,’ he said.
Henry smiled – not entirely displeased.
Philip said to Richard: ‘So now will you go away?’
‘I am needed in Aquitaine.’
‘They are still in revolt against you?’
‘It is ever so. While I am there I can keep some sort of order. When I go away they become overbold.’
‘They say you are ruthless, Richard, a cruel ruler. Is that so?’
‘I am determined to keep order if that is what you mean.’
‘Ever after I shall regard you as my brother. You have saved my throne for me.’
‘I do not think you will have more trouble with your rebellious subjects.’
‘Nay. Philip of Flanders knows himself for a defeated man.’
‘Beware of him.’
‘Indeed I shall.’
Philip raised his eyes to those of Richard. How tall he was, how magnificent! he thought. He had never seen a man who gave such a feeling of power.
‘It grieves me,’ said Philip, ‘that you must go. I would have banquets, tournaments to entertain you.’
‘Alas, my lot is not for such entertainments.’
‘You must protect your Duchy. But know this, I am your friend and brother.’
‘I shall remember it.’
The King laid his hand on the Duke’s arm.
‘I shall look to see you soon,’ he said; his voice shook a little. ‘Nor shall I be content until I do.’
Their eyes met and for a few seconds they looked at each other. Then Philip took Richard’s hand and kissed it.
The King had no wish to leave England, but when had he ever been able to follow his own wishes? His presence was needed across the water and he must say farewell to Alice. How she had grown up in the last year! She was no longer a child. He had loved her fresh young innocence but in one way he was glad to see her mature; he was as enamoured of her as ever which might be a sign that he was growing old. Even the lustiest men were slowed down by the years, and fidelity to one woman was something which came with age.
His determination to keep her was as strong as ever. He told himself that he could not in honour allow a woman who had borne his child to become the wife of his son. Moreover, he could be sure that someone would have discovered the secret and be prepared to use it against him. The truth was that he wanted to keep Alice for himself. He wanted to settle down with Alice. He wanted his family around him – a loving gentle wife as Alice would be to him and his sons eager to support him in all he did. Those were the family joys which all men – be they kings or serfs – had a right to. Was he asking too much?
Always statecraft came between him and his desires. He must always ask himself what was good for England or for his dominions overseas before he considered his own personal needs. Now he wished to stay with Alice and he must cross the sea, for there was work to be done. It was imperative that he keep on good terms with her brother, the King of France, and he could best do this by bringing about some sort of treaty between young Philip and the Count of Flanders.
Flanders was in no position to dictate terms and it proved to be not difficult to get a promise from him to make good the damage he had caused.
Aquitaine was very much on the King’s mind and while he was dealing with the French agreement Geoffrey arrived from Brittany. Geoffrey was suave and noted for his gracious manners and it occurred to the King that he would be a good mediator between Richard and those knights who were making trouble in Aquitaine.
‘Go to Aquitaine, my son,’ said the King. ‘Talk to these nobles, study their grievances and try to bring about some understanding between them and your brother Richard. Point out to them that only if there is friendship between them can there be peace in Aquitaine.’
Geoffrey set off. He was a born intriguer and was constantly considering how everything could be turned to his advantage. He had heard some of Bertrand de Born’s songs and believed that the people of Aquitaine would not have Richard but would be willing to set up his brother Henry as their Duke in Richard’s place, so it seemed to Geoffrey that Henry had a good chance of triumphing over Richard and he, Geoffrey, wished to be on the winning side. So instead of following his father’s commands, he intrigued on behalf of Henry, extolling his brother’s virtues and explaining to the nobles of Aquitaine how much happier they would be under Henry than Richard.
The King, meanwhile, having completed the treaty between the King of France and the Count of Flanders turned his attention to Aquitaine. He marched into the Duchy, and called a meeting of those who were in rebellion against Richard for the purpose of coming to terms with them. Since these rebels believed that they were about to depose Richard and set up Henry in his place they refused to come to the meeting.
So it was that because of the intrigues of young Henry and Geoffrey neither side knew what the other was aiming at and there was complete confusion. In the meantime, young Henry had arrived at Limoges where he was greeted as the new Duke. He accepted the people’s homage and then marched on to join his father and Richard, who had no idea what he had done.
Face to face with his father Henry found it impossible to explain that he had been accepted as Duke and when the King told him that he had arrived in time to take part in suppressing those who were in revolt against Richard, he could not find the courage to do anything but join with them.
The people of Aquitaine were naturally bewildered. Henry, whom they had believed was to be their new Duke, was now fighting with his father and brother Richard whose object could only be to put Richard in command.
Young Henry knew it would always be thus. He could never stand up to his father and it was only when the King was far away that he believed he could. He was in a state of great anxiety fearing what would happen when his father discovered his perfidy.
It seemed like a miracle when news reached them that his sister Matilda, who was married to the Duke of Saxony, was on her way to Normandy.
She was in great distress because her husband had been involved in a dispute with the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa who had confiscated his lands and sent him into exile. She and her family had nowhere to go and she implored her father to come to her aid immediately.
The King, desperately seeking affection from the members of his family, was happy to be called on.
He sent for his sons. ‘The rebellion in Aquitaine is crushed,’ he said. ‘There should be little trouble now. I will leave you here and go to Normandy to see what can be done for Matilda and her family.’
Young Henry congratulated himself that he had slid out of a very awkward situation. The King had left for Normandy and young Henry was now free to indulge in secret negotiations with the knights of Aquitaine whose passions and resentments were being whipped up by the songs of Bertrand de Born.
The King was briefly happy to be reunited with his daughter. She need
ed him, and he longed to be needed. She and the Duke of Saxony had three children – Henry, Otto and Matilda. The King grew sentimental watching them. He played with his grandchildren, and they crawled all over him, tweaked his hair and called him Grandfather. He remembered his mother’s telling him how his grandfather King Henry I had loved him and his brothers – but particularly him; and how men trembled in his grandfather’s presence while he, the baby grandson, had pulled the great man’s nose and had no fear of him.
I would, he thought, my sons had loved me.
As he played with the children he thought of the days when his sons and daughters were in their nursery. What a beautiful child young Henry had been! And he was still very handsome. In spite of all that had happened Henry was his favourite son. How could he help but be proud of such a handsome young man? Henry could charm him when they were together to such an extent that he would forget the promptings of common sense against his better judgement and believe in his son’s affection. Geoffrey was the same in a slightly less charming way but still a boy to be proud of. Richard? Well, there had always been animosity between them, but Richard too was a son of whom any man must be proud. And there was John – no longer so young, being nearly fifteen.
He was growing sentimental with the years. He wanted to believe in them and as he had made a habit of getting what he wanted he kept this belief. But his shrewdness often got the better of his great desire for affection. Then he would ask himself which of them was going to betray him next, and whether, when John grew older, he might not be as false to his father as his brothers had been.
He needed this short respite with his grandchildren. They were too young to be aught but honest with him.
When his father had gone, young Henry’s ambitions grew.
He was no longer a boy. It was twenty-eight years since he had seen the light of day. Oh, God, he cried, shall I be treated as a child until I die?
Bertrand de Born was singing songs describing Henry’s beauty and valour. He wrote of the yoke under which the people of Aquitaine suffered. Richard the ruthless and cruel had put that there, this harsh son of a harsh father, this Viking man, with his yellow hair and steely blue eyes. Yet there was one whom the whole world loved, a beautiful gentle man, who hated wars and loved song and poetry. Richard did too, but this man would sing of love not war. Henry loved pleasure. He was generous hearted; he excelled at the tournament – Richard did too but Richard would rather indulge in actual warfare. He could see no glory in the mock battle. Henry was waiting to take Richard’s place. Let them welcome him with open arms.
