by Jean Plaidy
And there he lay in his bed, a broken man, worn out by a way of life which had been thrust upon him because of the antics of a wayward pig.
So he lingered on.
The situation in France was now more interesting to me than that in England. It was not so easy to hear gossip of another country, but messengers were always coming to and from the Courts and news slipped through. Amaria was an avid gleaner of such items. It may be that they were not entirely accurate, but with my knowledge of the two countries I was often able to sift the truth from the distortions, and that gave me a very good picture of what was going on.
What a mistake to crown young boys!
Louis, of course, had had no alternative; Henry was the fool. Every turn in events seemed to point to the greatness of this mistake. So now there was a young King of England—although there was an old one still very much in possession of the throne, and an even younger one in France with a man, still the King, lying paralyzed in his bed. The menace of youth was greater in France than it was in England.
From what I knew of the Count of Flanders, he was flamboyant and extravagant, although with the means to indulge his tastes. He was hungry for power, just the man to appeal to a boy as young as Philip Augustus, as he had to my son Henry.
Louis had been lucky in his wife Adela. She was a wise woman and anxious to protect her son. Seeing the effect the Count was having, she wanted to call in her brothers to help guide her son. These were Henry, Count of Champagne, and Thibault, Count of Blois, and each of them had married a daughter of mine—Marie and Alix. It was reasonable that Adela should call in members of her family, but it was not difficult to picture the fury of the Count of Flanders at such a suggestion.
The information came to me in such scraps that I could not see the whole picture until later . . . years later in fact, but I tell now the story as I have been able to piece it together long after it happened.
The Count of Flanders was, as was to be expected, a very ambitious man and he saw himself in a unique position. He knew exactly how to flatter the two young Kings and by carefully manipulating them he could become the ruler of the two countries. It was not easy in the case of England, where the elder Henry was very much in command, but the Count was building for the future. How different it was with the King of France! But first he must prevent the arrival at Court of the King’s uncles.
How could he do this? Adela would have told Louis of her decision, and Louis was still King. Philip Augustus, like his young friend Henry, was King in name only while his father lived. But Louis was only half alive, Henry entirely so.
Young Philip Augustus was at odds with his mother, and when she told him she had asked his uncles to come and help him rule, the boy, egged on by the Count of Flanders, told her that he would not have them, at which she reminded him that he was not King while his father lived.
Adela told Philip Augustus that God was not pleased with those who did not respect His commandments, and one of those was “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” Because of his exalted position, this applied particularly to Philip Augustus, who could not give orders without the stamp of the Great Seal which was in his father’s possession.
The Count of Flanders must have been desperate. If those uncles arrived, it would be the end of his dreams. He would lose his influence over the young King. I believe that Philip Augustus, in spite of his youth, was not as easy to handle as my son had been. He was already showing an independent spirit.
The Count of Flanders, who had always been on good terms with my son, turned to him for help. Marguerite did not share her husband’s admiration for the Count. He had, I heard, talked disparagingly of her father, from whom Marguerite had had nothing but kindness. This turned her more from the Count, who feared she might have some influence with her half-brother. He was a scheming man, this Count, and he sought to break Marguerite’s position with her husband by arousing young Henry’s jealousy, for Marguerite was an exceptionally beautiful young woman. What he did was diabolical.
One of the most honored men in England was William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke and Striguil. He had a reputation for bravery and honor. Long ago, at the time when I had told Henry I wanted to leave him and it had been decided that I should remain in Aquitaine, he had come with me to quell the rebellion there. I had almost fallen foul of an ambush set for me by Geoffrey and Guy de Lusignan. In the skirmish my bodyguard, Earl Patrick, had been slain. Earl Patrick was William Marshal’s uncle, and William Marshal, who had been riding with him at the time, had been wounded and taken prisoner. I was very much impressed by both uncle and nephew and took an early opportunity of paying a ransom to Geoffrey and Guy de Lusignan for the release of William Marshal.
He was a young man who had delighted me. He fought with such courage and was so handsome and honorable—the kind of man I had always liked to have around me. I gave him arms and money and did all I could to further his career; and when he went to England, Henry, always quick to recognize a man’s worth, put him in charge of young Henry. It was true that when the rebellion broke out Marshal was on the side of the young King, but in spite of this he did not lose Henry’s favor, and he allowed him to remain in charge of his son.
William continued to distinguish himself. He was a success at the tournaments which young Henry so loved to organize, and this won him fame. He had great influence over Henry and Marguerite, and they were both very fond of him. He viewed with disfavor the influence the Count of Flanders had over young Henry. The Count knew this and decided to break Henry’s friendship with Marshal. Insidiously he poured poison into Henry’s ears. Wasn’t Marguerite a beautiful lady? He had seen many admiring glances go her way. Even the virtuous William Marshal had rather a special way of looking at her which was quite revealing . . .
It must have gone something like that.
Henry was very proud of Marguerite; she was much admired for her beauty and her charm. Marshal was a handsome fellow. One could imagine the words . . . sounding so innocent and being far from it. Women would admire Marshal. He had a certain maturity.
I wondered whether the Count of Flanders told Henry what he had done to his wife’s lover. Not at that stage perhaps. That would come later when he was not discussing Marguerite, perhaps, but talking generally of the frailty of women. I had heard the story and despised the Count for it. He had the man flogged severely until he was almost dead and then hung him over a cesspool. The lover in question was Walter du Fontaines, who had won fame for his chivalry. He would doubtless point out that there were men who lost all sense of honor when it came to women.
I could imagine my son’s jealousy being whipped up. He had the Angevin temper. He would have watched William Marshal jealously and misconstrued those glances which passed between him and Marguerite.
Eventually he could contain his jealousy no longer. He summoned William Marshal and accused him of being intimate with the Queen. I could picture William’s amazement, his cold disdain of the blustering boy. I could imagine his pouring scorn on the sly insinuations of the scheming Count of Flanders with such dignity that Henry would quail before him. If he had any ideas of flogging William Marshal and hanging him over a cesspool, they must soon have been dispersed. William’s calm conduct would put him at a loss. Henry was always inclined to bluster and remind people of his high office in case they forgot it.
All he could do now was stammer that William was dismissed.
William of course took his dismissal coolly and prepared to leave for England.
When Marguerite discovered that he had dismissed William and for what reason—for he could not keep it from her—she was angry. How could he have been so foolish? He ought to have known that the Count was lying. William Marshal had been a good friend to her and more so to Henry. This was nonsense, and the Count only wanted Marshal out of the way so that he could rule Henry as well as Philip Augustus.
Meanwhile the Count had induced Philip Augustus to steal the Great
Seal from Louis’s bedchamber and make an order forbidding the uncles to come to Court.
My son was ready to be swayed this way and that, and Marguerite had always had great influence over him. He must have felt rather foolish in dismissing Marshal because Marguerite could make him see how absurd the accusation was. I imagined that he hated to be compared with Philip Augustus, for they were in such similar positions: but he always remembered that Philip Augustus must very soon become the one and only King of France, and he would have to wait years before he was King of England.
I think it must have been Adela who asked for his help; that would please him. He liked to be thought powerful and then he could be magnanimous. Adela would have asked him to come to see her and told him how beset she was by her enemies, how she feared for her son. Her husband was no longer able to take care of his kingdom; her son was but a boy; there were warring factions all around the throne. Her brothers, whom she relied upon to help her, were forbidden to come to Court; she needed help and was asking Henry for it.
How he would swell with pride. He liked to see himself as a knight of chivalry; naturally he would help a lady in distress.
What Adela needed was help from Henry’s father, and she wanted young Henry to go to him and tell him of her need. Perhaps he was a little piqued that it was his father whose help was wanted and his only indirectly. However, she was pleading and that was pleasant. Moreover, it was embarrassing being at the French Court where Philip Augustus was so much more important than he was; and there was all the unpleasantness over the Count of Flanders and the dismissal of William Marshal.
So young Henry quietly left the country and went to his father. They met at Reading. I heard that the King was delighted to see him, even after all the trouble he had caused. That faithfulness always amazed me. It must have been the only faithful feeling he ever had for anyone. He so wanted Henry to be a good and worthy son, preparing for his destiny, that I believe he continued to deceive himself that he would make Henry this in time.
He would have listened to what was happening at the French Court, and the thought of the Count of Flanders guiding the destiny of the King of France was something which needed his immediate attention.
With Flanders in control, Normandy would not be safe. Henry would have to leave England at once.
I did hear something of what happened at that interview, for there were people present during it and there followed the inevitable whispers.
Henry had expressed his fear for Normandy. He chided his son for sending Marshal away. A foolish act. He should be grateful to have such a man with him and not dismiss him for some frivolous reason. He would never be a great king if he could not recognize the value of men . . . those to keep with him, those to discard. It was a part of kingship to surround oneself with the faithful. The King of France was dying. His son was nothing but a boy. His Queen in despair had sent to him. Now young Henry would see the tables were turned.
“When my sons would make war on me, they went to Louis and he gave them support. Now that the Queen of France is in danger the King of England is ready to go to her aid.”
Henry said it was noble of him.
That brought a fresh homily. Kings were not noble where their countries were concerned. They served the needs of their countries. And if a country needed nobility, then would he give nobility and if a lack of nobility then would he give that?
“We have to curtail the ambitions of this Count of Flanders. We have to make Normandy safe. A king’s first consideration is his own crown. Remember it.”
When he was with his sons, Henry had a habit of making every discourse an object lesson. He would make young Henry feel insignificant, humiliated. I doubt that encounter endeared the son to his father. It was rather pathetic, for what Henry wanted more than anything was the love of this son.
Henry set out for France. I was sure that news of his coming must have struck terror into the heart of the Count of Flanders. Louis on his deathbed; the King of France, a mere boy, and Henry of England, the greatest warrior of his day, on the march.
Henry, however, had no wish to do battle. He said he would first speak with Philip Augustus and the Count, and speak to them separately. The Count would naturally have liked to refuse to leave the young King and Henry alone, but he dared not.
I could well imagine that meeting. Philip Augustus a little sullen, trying hard to imply that Henry was Duke of Normandy and his vassal and Henry stressing that he came not as Duke of Normandy but as King of England. Henry could be impressive and Philip Augustus was but a boy, and it was no use trying to play the great King when he was in the presence of one.
Henry would be gentle. He would point out the delicate position Philip Augustus was in. His father could not recover; they had to face the fact that he would soon be gone. When a king died, dangers invariably sprang up in a country and they needed dexterous handling. The situation was always tricky. The King should not be alienated from his mother and his uncles. They wished to help him. The people would not be pleased if there was friction within the royal family.
Philip Augustus would try to bluster that he was King and he must do as he wished, and Henry would point out that kings ruled by the will of the people.
Philip Augustus could not stand out against the experience and power of such a man. He began to see that Henry was right, and because he was fundamentally sensible he began to come around to Henry’s way of thinking.
Adela was delighted and grateful to Henry as gradually her son began to turn to her and away from the ambitious Count of Flanders.
Meanwhile Louis became weaker and weaker, and it was clear that the end was not far off.
Philip Augustus was overcome with grief. He was going to be a clever ruler, and a sign of that is to be able to recognize and admit one’s faults. He saw that he had been led astray by flattery and that it would be better for him to listen to the advice of people who had his good and not their own interests at heart.
On a September night Louis passed away. I was glad to hear that Philip Augustus was at his bedside to the last and Queen Adela with him. Louis deserved to go in peace. Philip Augustus kissed his hand as Louis murmured a blessing on his son and wished him a long and happy reign.
I was touched and a little sad when I heard. I had despised him at times; I had wanted to get away from him; but we had lived intimately together and I had many memories of him.
I had always thought of him as “Poor Louis.” He had tried so hard to perform the duties which had been thrust upon him. He was a good man but life had been too much for him.
Now he was gone forever. But we must go on. A new reign had begun and we had to learn what this would mean to us.
There was trouble in Aquitaine. In fact, there had been since I had been captured and imprisoned. The people wanted me as their ruler—no one else would do, not even Richard. Richard was a Plantagenet. He was a Norseman descending from William the Conqueror and bearing some resemblance to his famous ancestor. Tall, reddish-haired, a great warrior, ruthless in battle, restless, never so happy as when the sword was in his hand. He was, I was beginning to realize, not a ruler my people would have chosen. True, he had a love of music and surrounded himself with troubadours, but that cold disciplinary rule would never be accepted by my people.
It was being said that there would never be peace in Aquitaine until I returned.
I heard these reports and, although I was gratified, they worried me a great deal. For all his strength and energy—and he was becoming known as one of the greatest military leaders in Europe—Richard had one physical weakness. He had not inherited it, I was sure, but during his battles he had slept in damp and unhealthy places and it had left him with a kind of ague which made him tremble. He must have found that most distressing. Although he did not fly into the kind of rages in which his father indulged, when the trembling was on him he could become quite ruthless and find a reason for punishing with the utmost severity any who had witnessed his disability.
Richard was wise enough to know this. He told me about it afterward, how he had vowed that he would force his father to release me. He was in this frame of mind when he went to Navarre as a guest of King Sancho. There he discussed the advisability of bringing me out of prison so that I could return to Aquitaine. He wanted the friendship of Sancho, for he believed he might intercede with Henry and make him understand the need for peace in Aquitaine, whose state was a cause of anxiety to its southern neighbor Navarre.
There were tournaments and jousts in honor of his visit, and in those Richard naturally shone as the outstanding hero. He enjoyed the tournaments of course, but being Richard, he would rather be involved in a real war.
Two important matters emerged from this visit. The first was that Sancho agreed to impress on Henry that in his opinion it was unwise to keep his wife captive for so long, particularly when she could be of use in bringing peace to one of the family dominions. The other was Richard’s meeting with Sancho’s daughter, Berengaria.
Richard was not one, I was to learn later, to be drawn to women, but he did become attached to Sancho’s little daughter. She was very pretty and played the lute most excellently; she was gentle and sweet and adored the handsome warrior, hero of all the tournaments, so different from the men she saw at her father’s Court, he being so tall with dazzling blond looks and piercing blue eyes.
Richard told Sancho of his feeling for Berengaria. Sancho was pleased but pointed out that Richard was already betrothed to Princess Alais, daughter of the late King of France. Richard said that he had no intention of taking his father’s mistress. Had Sancho not heard of the scandal concerning his father and the young Princess? It seemed common knowledge.
Sancho may have kept his promise to write to Henry. If so, nothing came of it. Henry would resent interference in his affairs; he knew well enough that I might bring peace to Aquitaine, hut doubtless he thought I might stir up strife with his sons against him.
