The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine

by Jean Plaidy

  I stayed in London only for a few days, showing myself to the people as often as I could, smiling graciously and benignly, willing them to love me.

  Then I decided to make a tour of the countryside. I wanted the people to welcome Richard as their King. They had been aware of the virtues of his father, which would have naturally increased in their eyes since his death. Henry had brought law and order to the country where there had been none, but recently the taxes he had imposed had alienated them, and I always believed that what they had resented more than anything were the stringent forestry laws.

  William the Conqueror had been a great hunter; it was his main recreation; he had created forests and had had game placed there so that there would always be plenty of hunting grounds. Whenever he traveled around the country, the journey was broken by hunting trips. Most of his successors had been the same; hunting was their passion—and Henry had been no exception. He had added to the forest lands and made new ones. There had been strict laws. No one was allowed to deface trees; moreover, cutting them down was a major offense; no one must touch the game. In fact, the forest was sacrosanct.

  Infringement of the laws brought dire penalties: a man could have his hands or feet cut off, his tongue cut out, his eyes gouged. The King’s forest must not be touched. There were wardens in the forests looking for offenders; even trespassers were thrown into prison, and they never knew whether they were going to be robbed of some vital part of their bodies.

  I always thought that such laws should never have been. There was nothing like such to stir up strife, to underline the subservience kings expected of their people, and to arouse those bitter feelings which, when the opportunity arose, would come bursting forth.

  I knew that the prisons were full of people awaiting condemnation. So I ordered that they should all be freed.

  “Life will be different under King Richard,” I told the people. “He wishes all his subjects to be as happy serving him as he will be to serve them.”

  This was a very worthwhile move. King Richard’s health was being drunk all over the country. Life was going to be good. He was a benign King; he cared about his subjects. He was going to make England a merry place to live in.

  I had only a few weeks to prepare them, but I flatter myself I did so thoroughly, and by the time Richard arrived at Portsmouth the people were ready to welcome him as their King. They anticipated great celebrations. Coronations always won popular approval. A new reign could herald a new era, and people were always ready to believe that what was to come was better than what had gone before.

  Richard greeted me with great affection. Such demonstrations were particularly touching when they came from him because he made them so rarely and when he did they were heartfelt. He was not the man to dissimulate. I could never understand how Henry and I could have had such a son; he was so different from us both; he was entirely straightforward, which I fear neither of his parents was.

  He looked more handsome than ever. The English must be proud of him. The people like a handsome king.

  I told him what progress I had made and how I had prepared the way for his popularity.

  He said: “I knew you would do well. What a fool my father was not to appreciate you.”

  “Oh, he had to have his Alais . . . his Rosamund. He needed docile women and he certainly got what he wanted in those two.”

  “What of Alais?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I suppose she will go back to France in due course. You will not have her.”

  “Most certainly not. My father’s leavings! Never!”

  “It would be most repulsive,” I agreed. “But do not let us concern ourselves with her. She is quite insignificant now. We have to think of your coronation.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is necessary.”

  “Indeed it is. A king is not a king until he is anointed.”

  “Then we will get it over as soon as we can.”

  “We shall do it as it should be done. The people need to be wooed, Richard. You do not know them. You have seen so little of them. They need treating with care. With the people of Aquitaine one saw the way they were going. Their anger or their love was apparent the moment they felt it. These people are different. They show nothing though they are filled with rage. They must be watched. You have to woo them, Richard, and you must begin with a grand coronation.”

  “As soon as it is over, I shall make my plans to go to the Holy Land.”

  “Now that you have become King?”

  “I have taken the cross. So has Philip Augustus. We are going together.”

  “But it is different now, surely. You have a kingdom to govern.”

  “I am blessed with a mother who can do that better than I.”

  I was gratified but disturbed. It was unwise to leave the country. Henry had made that mistake. No, that was not quite the truth. There had been little else he could have done, for he had had his dominions overseas to keep in order. I often thought how much easier it would have been for him if he had been merely King of England. But that was not the case with Richard. He would be leaving his country to go to the defense of another.

  He said: “I shall have to raise money.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “There is only one way. Taxation.”

  “The people will not take kindly to that from their new King.”

  “But this is a holy cause. Any who cannot undertake the crusade should be glad to help those who can.”

  “They don’t see it like that. The Holy Land is far away. They do not like paying taxes to keep Normandy safe. How do you think they will feel about faraway places?”

  “It is our Christian duty.”

  There was nothing I could say. He was determined and I had always known that once Richard had made up his mind there was no changing it.

  The coronation was to take place on September 3, which some people said was unlucky. But I wanted to get it over as quickly as possible. A king is not truly a king until he is crowned.

  Just before the coronation John returned to England. He was married to Hadwisa of Gloucester on August 29. In spite of the fact that their father had tried to set John up in that place which rightly belonged to his brother, Richard received him graciously when he came to England. He granted him the county of Mortain, gave him 4,000 a year from land in England and agreed to the marriage to the heiress of Gloucester, which would greatly enrich him. Richard was determined to be magnanimous, thinking, I suppose, that, if he bestowed his bounty on John, his brother would be loyal while he, Richard, went off on his crusade. He was most generous, giving him the castles and honors of Marlborough, Ludgershall, Lancaster, Bolsover, Nottingham and the Peak among others. John expressed his delight, but even so, it occurred to me that he would have to be watched.

  There was a slight hitch for a time when it seemed that the wedding might not proceed, for Archbishop Baldwin brought up the point about the couple’s being related in the third degree. This however was overcome and the ceremony continued. After all, it was well to have those close ties to fall back on if the time came when the couple wished to part, I thought cynically.

  And when he was safely married, none could call my son “John Lackland” anymore.

  I had lavished great care on organizing the coronation. I wanted to make it a day everyone would remember. I knew the people loved such spectacles.

  I was glad that it was a bright and sunny day; that would help dispel the gloomy prognostications of some Egyptian astrologer who had said that any important matter undertaken on this day would be disastrous. The ceremony went well from the moment the archbishops and bishops arrived in Richard’s bedchamber to conduct him to the abbey.

  The clergy chanted as they walked along. John came immediately behind them. I wondered what he was thinking, his head lowered, his eyes veiled. After all, he had at one time believed that the crown would be his. He must be seeing himself in the position which was now Richard’s.

  How magnificent Richard
looked as he walked with the royal canopy poised on lances carried by four barons and held over his head. The people were awestruck; and then they cheered. Slowly he came through the nave to the high altar, where Archbishop Baldwin awaited him. Baldwin would still be smarting over the controversy over John’s marriage and no doubt wondered whether this new reign would bring conflict between Church and State as the last one had.

  Relics had been placed on the altar—bones of saints and phials of their blood. Richard must swear on these to honor God and the Holy Church. Then he was stripped down to his shirt and hose for the anointing after which he was dressed in the tunic and dalmatica. He took the sword of justice in his hand; the golden spurs were placed on his heels and the royal mantle was put about him.

  None could have denied he was one of the handsomest kings England had known. Tall, impressive with his Viking looks, the great warrior, he was the perfect monarch in appearance. How different from his stocky father, inclining to be fat toward the end, those bow legs, that careless mode of dress, those reddened hands. Oh, so different! Richard was like a god from a Norse legend. My heart swelled with love and pride as I watched the anointing and with emotion saw them place the crown on his head; and the sound of the Te Deum echoing in my ears was wonderfully inspiring.

  Richard was in truth King of England.

  Feasting followed. I thought the day had gone well. There had been no discordant note, although there had been one uneasy moment when Richard and Baldwin came face to face at the altar. But that had passed and all had gone smoothly.

  This was not to continue.

  There had always been trouble between the citizens of London and the Jews. The Jews were a hardworking race and in their business deals always seemed to get the better of a bargain. This was resented by their gentile rivals. It was a form of envy, which seems to be at the root of most trouble.

  Richard had ordered that there were to be no Jews at the coronation, giving the reason that this was a Christian ceremony and the Jews were not Christian.

  Whether the Jews decided to defy the command or whether they had not been aware of it, I was not sure. Perhaps they thought that, if they brought costly presents, their presence would be welcomed.

  There was one very rich Jew called Benedict of York. He brought a valuable gift for the King, but as he was making his way to the palace, he was recognized and the crowd immediately set upon him.

  He protested: he had a valuable gold ornament which he wanted to give to the King. All he was doing was delivering it at the palace. The people would not listen to him. “No Jews,” they screamed, and dragged him to the ground.

  The poor man realized that his life was in danger. He had a quick mind. It was the Jews they were attacking. Killing was against the law . . . providing it was not a Jew, of course; so he had the brilliant idea of changing his religion on the spot.

  “I am about to become a Christian,” he cried. “If you kill me, you are killing one of your own.”

  Some did not believe him, but others did. They did not want to face trial for murder. They knew what happened to murderers. The late King had been fanatically set on bringing law and order to the country, and he had done so by severely punishing violent acts.

  “If he is a Christian,” said one of them, “let him be baptized.”

  This was a new turn to the revelry. The mob forced Benedict to go into the nearest church and insisted on his immediate baptism.

  Meanwhile there was rioting throughout London. The shops and houses of the Jews were full of valuables. They were Jewish goods and therefore they belonged to Christians.

  So what began as a day of rejoicing turned into a nightmare of horror for many people.

  Richard was angry. What a beginning to his reign! He wanted peace. It was imperative that he have peace for he must go off to the Holy Land with an easy conscience.

  I was with him when he sent for Ranulf de Glanville, one of the most able of his ministers and the man who had very often been my jailer during my imprisonment. Neither I nor Richard felt any rancor toward him; he was a far-seeing man; he had always been respectful to me, looking ahead to the day when Richard would be King and his mother would be beside him.

  Richard commanded Ranulf to put an end to the rioting. The people must be told that it was his intention to have no such disturbances. People must live in peace side by side, though they had differences of opinion on certain things, including religion.

  Ranulf was certainly efficient. Very soon he had quelled the rising in London, and then Richard sent him off to stop it elsewhere, for when the news of what had happened after the coronation spread through the country, people in provincial towns thought they could enjoy a few pickings from the wealthy Jews.

  There was a sequel to the story of Benedict of York. A few days after the coronation he begged an audience with the King.

  Richard permitted him to come. He knelt before him.

  “So you are the new Christian,” said Richard. The man was silent.

  Richard went on: “Were you not baptized on the day of my coronation?”

  “I was, my lord,” the man replied.

  “Are you a true Christian?” asked Richard. “And will you abjure your old faith and cling to your new?”

  Benedict raised his head. “My lord King,” he said, “I lied. I was in fear of my life. I was baptized. But I am a Jew and as such can never be a true Christian. In a moment of terror I renounced my faith. Now that has passed, I wish to tell the truth. I am ready to die for my faith.”

  “Why are you so ready to die today when you were not a few days ago?” asked Richard.

  “I spoke in a moment of panic. Now I have had time to reflect, I see what this means and I would rather die honorably than live ignobly.”

  Richard said: “You are an honest man and an honorable one. I respect these virtues. Forget your baptism and return to the faith of your fathers.”

  Benedict was overcome with gratitude; he fell on his knees and kissed Richard’s feet.

  When I heard of this, I was filled with emotion. I knew my son could be a great king . . . if he would.

  Once the coronation was over, Richard was obsessed by one thing: the need to raise money for the crusade.

  I was beginning to be alarmed: he was proposing to sell all his castles; if anyone wanted a special favor, they could have it for cash. William Longchamp paid him 3,000 for the office of Chancellor. Was that wise? I wanted to know. Could such an important post be a matter of money? And why Longchamp? Just because he had been prepared to pay! Henry had said that Longchamp was the son of a traitor. His father had been deep in debt and disgrace not so long ago, and his grandfather was nothing but a French serf who had taken the name of Longchamp from the Norman village where he was brought up. First he had been in my son Geoffrey’s service and, seeing an advantage in transferring to Richard’s, he had done this. He was rather uncouth, slightly deformed, lame and by no means handsome. Moreover, he did not speak English and showed no desire to learn. He was certainly not going to find much favor with the people.

  There were many anomalies. Charters were available to cities for certain sums of money; privileges were taken from monasteries and retrieved on payment The people were amused at first, then outraged. It seemed as though an auction sale was being conducted throughout the country; and not for its own good either, but so that the King might raise an army to fight far away from home. There would have been a great outcry, I was sure, but for the fact that the money was sought to fight a holy war, and people were afraid to protest too much for fear of heavenly reprisals.

  I protested to Richard that these acts could undermine his future as King. He had begun so well by releasing the people from prisons. He reminded me that that was my act. I said I had done it for him and he had seen how it had enhanced his popularity. The people had been ready to welcome him when he came home; but there were murmurings now. If there was one thing calculated to alienate the people, it was excessive taxation.
r />   His reply alarmed me. He said: “I would sell London itself if I could find a buyer.”

  It might be that the people were more disillusioned because they had expected so much. They had believed they were getting a more benign sovereign than Henry; now they were beginning to see that what they had thought of as Henry’s harsh rule was for the good of the country, whereas everything Richard wanted was for the good of his crusade.

  Preparations went on with speed. Richard’s methods were bringing in the money. There was talk of little else but what military equipment would be needed. The fleet was being assembled.

  I could not help comparing this with the crusade in which I had joined. Whenever I was with Richard, he would insist that I talk to him of my adventures. He was determined that the Third Crusade should be the one to bring final victory. He did not want to return until Jerusalem was in Christian hands. I was anxious about him, for, in spite of his magnificent looks, he was not as strong as might be expected. He had suffered from that distressing ague for a long time. He had tried to hide it but it was not always possible to do so; and I remembered the hardships I had suffered during my adventures in that inhospitable land.

  I had always loved him so entirely—from the moment he first lay in my arms, a beautiful child even on the day of his birth—that it was hard for me to see faults in him.

  I did find myself constantly comparing him with Henry. I had to admit that Henry had had very special qualities. He had been bedeviled by his need for women. I had often noticed how preoccupation with sex can impair people’s careers. Not that Henry allowed it to interfere disastrously with his; but if it had been less important to him and had allowed him to remain faithful to me, our partnership could have brought us both much good, I was sure.

  Henry had made those two vital mistakes in his life, of course—the bestowing of an archbishopric on Becket and a crown on his son Henry. Even so, he would never have made the mistakes Richard was making now.