‘You mean that you are in truth dismissing me?’
‘I do mean it. Get out before I am tempted to do you some harm.’
William the Marshall bowed with dignity and left.
Before the day was out he was on his way to England.
* * *
Marguerite was sad and angry.
‘To dismiss William,’ she cried. ‘You are mad. He is the best friend you have.’
‘You would surely think so.’
‘Of course I do. As you must if you think sensibly about the matter.’
‘I know he is very friendly with you.’
‘He is the friend of us both. I know he loves you well and always has. He has tried to bring about a better relationship between you and your father. He is a better friend to you than ever Philip of Flanders would be. That man thinks only of his own advancement.’
Henry began to feel uneasy. The Count was more or less telling young Philip what to do. And there lay Louis powerless to help. The Queen’s brothers had already been forbidden to come to Court and the Queen herself was being treated churlishly.
Feeling that he had been foolish he sought to blame Marguerite.
‘I know full well what has been going on between you and the Marshall.’
Marguerite looked puzzled.
‘He is your lover … or aspires to be.’
‘Henry! You are indeed mad.’
‘Nay. I have seen.’
‘What have you seen?’
‘You both together.’
‘When?’
‘Well … there was the other day in the garden … when you were upset about your father. He comforted you.’
‘Why should he not? I will not stand and hear the Count and my brother speak of my father as though he is dead. I thought you might have expressed some resentment. But you did not. Instead you imagine … nonsense … about me and William.’
Henry said: ‘He is gone. I will not have him here. I have no intention of playing the cuckold.’
‘Oh, Henry, how can you say such things? You know them to be false. William is your very good friend. I am your faithful wife. You are misled by wicked people.’
Henry did not like to feel that he had been so deluded so he pretended to believe that there was some truth in the rumour concerning William and his wife. He felt it would be too humiliating to ask him to return and offer him an apology. He was sulky and went on with the pretence that he was a suspicious husband, much to Marguerite’s exasperation.
He was relieved when Queen Adela asked if she could speak with him privately.
She told him she was very anxious and she believed he could help her if he would.
‘With all my heart,’ he said. He went to her private chamber and there she told him that she was a very unhappy woman.
‘My husband is dying,’ she said, ‘and my son has turned against me. My brothers are refused permission to come to Court and they – and I – are threatened with confiscation of our lands.’
‘The King will not allow that,’ replied Henry.
‘How could I go to the King in his present condition and tell him what his son is trying to do and that he is listening to evil counsel?’
Henry bit his lip in mortification. Philip was not the only one who had done that.
‘If I could do aught to help you …’ he began.
‘You can and it is for that reason that I have asked you to come.’
‘What do you wish of me?’
‘Slip away to England. Seek out your father. Tell him of the position in which I find myself. He will help me, I know.’
Henry considered. He would be pleased to leave the Court of France, for he was feeling more and more ashamed of himself.
If he went to England to see his father that would be a way of escape from a delicate and embarrassing situation.
* * *
The King was in good spirits when he went to Westminster. There was dear little Alice eagerly waiting to greet him.
‘The news is mixed, good and bad, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘For your father is grievously ill.’
Alice tried to look dismayed but it was so long since she had seen her father that she could not remember what he looked like.
‘So sick,’ went on Henry, ‘that it seems he will not last long. That is the bad news. The good is that while he is in this condition there can be no question of a marriage between you and Richard.’
‘It is as though God looks after us,’ said Alice, forgetting that while He cared for them He was being rather unfair to the pious Louis.
‘I know that St Thomas à Becket is my friend. Now, sweetheart, we can put aside our fears.’
He wished that he could put her into Rosamund’s Bower, but that was not possible, for she was a princess and recently there had been so much talk of her marriage.
He stayed with her awhile and when he left to make a tour of Oxfordshire a messenger came to tell him that his son was in the country and on his way to see him.
Father and son met at Reading and there young Henry told the King why he had come in such haste.
‘The Queen of France is asking your advice, Father. The King lies near to death and young Philip is in the hands of the Count of Flanders who seeks to rule France through him.’
‘The foolishness of youth!’ said Henry in a way which made his son redden. ‘No doubt the Count is flattering young Philip as he well knows how to.’
Remembering it was the Count who had been responsible for his dismissal of William the Marshall which he now saw was folly, he said: ‘The Count is in fact ruling France at this moment, for Philip obeys him in all things and now that Philip has filched the seal he is in command.’
‘This cannot be allowed to go on,’ said the King. ‘For all I know they may be planning an invasion of Normandy. It is just the thing which would occur to them. Philip of Flanders would doubtless like Normandy. By God’s eyes, the upstart shall never have it.’
‘The Queen of France asks for your help.’
‘She shall have it.’
‘She will be very grateful to you if you go to her aid.’
‘She should be, for Flanders will make of young Philip nothing but a puppet to serve his ends. It is a sorry thing when a son flouts the authority of his father.’ Young Henry looked uncomfortable because it was a similar state of affairs which had arisen in France to that which had existed in England when the sons of Henry Plantagenet sought to take the power which their father would not give them while he lived. So was Philip taking power while his father was still on his sick bed.
The King was determined to bring home the lesson.
‘When my sons turned against me,’ he said, ‘they went to the King of France for aid and he gave it to them. Yet when the son of the King of France seeks to rob him of his authority, his wife the Queen asks my help. I am prepared to give it.’
‘It is noble of you, my lord,’ said young Henry.
His father burst out laughing. ‘Noble! Kings cannot afford to be noble. Kings must consider what is good for their kingdoms and if nobility is, then so much the better. If not, then that king who served his country ill in order to be noble would be a fool. Nay, I shall go to the aid of Louis and Adela, because I am determined to curtail the power of the Count of Flanders and his minion the King of France. I am going to make sure that Normandy is safe. So I will go to the aid of my erstwhile friend Louis and forget the ill service he did me when I was in like case. Your hold on the crown must be your first consideration, my son. Keep it firm. Then you will be a good king and however noble you are, consider it not.’
‘Shall we set out at once then?’
‘We shall. Alas, you will not be accompanied by your good friend, William the Marshall. You sent him back to England when you could ill afford to lose his services.’
Young Henry was silent. As usual his father succeeded in humiliating him.
* * *
When Philip of Flanders heard that the King of England h
ad landed he took fright. This was not what he had wanted. He knew very well that he and young Philip could not stand out against that doughty warrior. Another thing he knew was that Louis’s ministers were becoming a little uneasy and that if it came to war they would not be ready to support him.
The Count cursed young Henry for going to his father; it was some sort of revenge he supposed, because he had advised him to get rid of William the Marshall. Ill luck again. He had failed to dominate young Henry and if he were not careful he would fail with Philip. Once Henry Plantagenet arrived with his armies in defence of Queen Adela and her brothers, he would find no one ready to face them with him. One thing was certain, the Count must not lose his influence over Philip.
The boy was foolishly blustering when he heard that the King of England had set sail.
‘Let him come,’ he cried. ‘He will find my armies waiting for him.’
The Count nodded but he was very uneasy. But he did see a way in which he could keep his influence over the King.
There was never any event which secured an alliance more firmly than marriage. Count Philip had often cursed the barren state of his wife but never more than at this time. If only he had a daughter whom he could marry to Philip. Then he would be the father of the Queen of France and could in truth call himself the King’s father.
He did, however, have a niece. She was only a child but then Philip was not very old.
‘Now you are indeed King of France you should have a queen,’ he suggested.
Philip considered the idea. It appealed to him.
‘My niece Isabel is a very charming girl. What would you think of such a marriage? You would have Flanders in due course and Vermandois.’
Philip said he would like to see Isabel.
‘You shall,’ said the Count.
When the meeting was arranged, Philip expressed himself agreeable to the prospect, for Isabel had been well primed by her uncle to behave in a manner to please the young King, which was of course to be overawed by him and behave as though she were in the presence of a young god.
It was not difficult then for the Count to arrange an early marriage and coronation.
Here there was a difficulty, as naturally the one to perform the ceremony should be the Archbishop of Rheims, Queen Adela’s brother, who was in the same position in France as the Archbishop of Canterbury was in England.
Count Philip found himself getting deeper into a troublesome situation. With the two Henrys of England on the march, and the people of France becoming restive, young Philip might soon begin to realise that he had not been as wise as he thought he had in placing his fate in the hands of the Count of Flanders.
The Archbishop of Sens must be made to see that it would go ill with him if he did not perform the coronation of Queen Isabel and no sooner had he done so than the Archbishop of Rheims saw his chance of breaking the influence of the Count of Flanders. The right to crown the Queen of France was his and although his sister Queen Adela and his brothers were being treated so badly, the Pope could not fail to support him over this last piece of folly.
In the midst of the upheaval caused by this matter, Henry of England arrived.
Such was the reputation of Henry Plantagenet that when he came at the head of an army terror filled the hearts of all those whom he considered his enemies.
It was therefore with great relief that Philip of Flanders received a message that the King of England wished to speak with him and Philip of France before he went into battle against them.
‘We should meet the King of England,’ said the Count.
‘Why so?’ demanded young Philip. ‘How dare he come over here threatening me! I am the King, am I not?’
‘You are, but soon might not be if Henry moved against us. Louis still lives and we have many enemies. Let us be cautious. We should certainly not go to war against Henry Plantagenet if we can help it.’
‘Young Henry is with him. I thought he was my friend and he is false … quite false.’
‘Do not think too harshly of him. He will one day be the King of England, it will be well to keep on good terms with him.’
‘My father never really trusted the King of England.’
‘Nor should you. We will meet them and outwit them, which is a cleverer way of dealing with an opponent than fighting in battle.’
But Henry refused to allow the Count of Flanders to join them. He now wished to speak to young Philip alone, he insisted, and the Count was forced to accede to the wishes of the King of England.
When the meeting took place Henry studied the young King of France. A poor creature, he thought, and could not help comparing him with his own sons. There was not one of them who was not handsome. Poor Louis! He had staked everything on this boy and what had he got? A stripling so eager for power that he was snatching the crown from his father’s head before he was dead. His own were as bad, he knew; but at least they looked like men.
And Philip of Flanders … an ambitious man! Well, he could understand that. The Count would have liked to be a king, and since he was not he was doing his best to make himself one. He would have to be watched. Henry had more respect for him than he had for the young King.
‘My lord King,’ he said kindly, ‘I would speak to you as a father. I beg of you take care how you act. Your mother is sorely distressed. Your uncles too. These people wish you well. You cannot treat them churlishly as you have been doing. This is not worthy of you.’
Young Philip glowered. Who was this man? To whom did he think he was talking?
He said: ‘The Duke of Normandy is somewhat bold.’
The King burst out laughing. ‘I come not to you as the Duke of Normandy to pay homage to my overlord, but as the King of England who is brother to the King of France and at this time sees that brother in sore need of help.’
‘I understand you not,’ replied Philip.
‘Then let me explain. My good friend King Louis of France lies on his sick bed. While he lives there can only be one King of France in fact although another – and rightly – bears the title too and when the time is ripe should take the crown. There are worthy men in your kingdom who do not care to see the Queen and her family humiliated.’
‘Is it for them to like what I do?’
‘Kings rule by the will of the people.’
‘It surprises me to hear the King of England speak so.’
‘A strong king rules his people and if he does it well, however strict his laws, if they be just the people will accept them and welcome his rule. A strong good king is respected by his people and without that respect the crown sits uneasily on his head.’
Philip lowered his eyes. He knew that he was no match for the King of England.
‘Now,’ went on Henry, ‘you should become reconciled to your mother. The people do not like to see you harsh with her. The mothers of the nation will turn against you and they may persuade their sons to do the same. You need the services of men such as your uncles. Bring them to Court. Listen to what they say. A king does not necessarily take the advice of his ministers but he listens to them.’
It was not easy for young Philip to withstand Henry’s arguments and before the interview was over he had decided to call back his mother and receive his uncles at Court.
When the Count of Flanders heard what had taken place he knew that he had lost and must temporarily retire from the field.
It was at this time that Louis’s illness took a more serious turn.
On a September night he became very ill and it was obvious that the end was not far off. Adela was with him at the end and that seemed to comfort him. Philip knelt by his bedside and wept with remorse, for now that he had been obliged to accept the return of his uncles and was friendly with his mother again he realised how rash he had been and what a bad impression he had made on his subjects by trying to take the crown while his father still lived.
As for Louis he lay back with a smile of serenity on his face.
This was the end. He was
not sorry, for it had not been an easy life. Ever since he had known that his destiny was to wear the crown he had been afraid, often he had longed for the peace which he believed would have come to a man of the Church. The way had often been stormy. He would never forget the cries of men and women dying in battle. He had been haunted by them throughout his life. There had been good moments – with Eleanor in the beginning; with his children and particularly with Philip.
But it was all over.
‘My son …’ he murmured.
Philip kissed his hand.
‘God bless you, my son. A long and happy reign. Farewell, Philip, farewell France.’
Then Louis closed his eyes and died.
Chapter XIII
BERENGARIA
Side by side with his good friend Sancho, Prince of Navarre, rode Richard, Duke of Aquitaine. It was rarely that he took time off from the continual battle to hold the Dukedom, but he considered this a political mission for he had a favour to ask of the King of Navarre.
Sancho, that Prince known as the Strong, had invited him to a tournament which was being held in Pampeluna and Richard was noted for his skill in the joust; moreover, he and Prince Sancho had a good deal in common, for besides being brave warriors they were also poets.
In the court of Sancho the Wise – father of Sancho the Strong – the troubadours flourished as they did in Aquitaine. So as the two young men rode south they had much to talk of.
Richard made a fine figure on his horse, being so tall and with those blond good looks which were rare in this part of the country. Although he suffered periodically from a distressing disease known as the quartan ague he was otherwise very strong and healthy. He had picked up this ague when he was in his early teens and it was no doubt due to sleeping so often on the damp ground when in camp. His limbs would tremble and the effect was extraordinary for the fierceness of his cold blue eyes belied this trembling. It was said among his soldiers that when the ague was on him he was at his most fierce, and those who did not know him well, thinking it might be the outward sign of some inner weakness, soon learned to the contrary. There seemed to be a compulsion within him to belie the trembling. His ruthlessness increased, and he became noted for his cruelty. If a prisoner was brought before him and showed signs of believing he might take advantage of him because he was seen to tremble, that man would be condemned to have his eyes put out that he might never more look on Richard’s trembling. The people of Aquitaine were beginning to fear him, and he had not yet understood that, although they were not by nature warlike and their love of soft living and poetry and song was their main characteristic, they were not of a nature to accept tyranny; and resentment, fanned by the verses of their poets, was smouldering and ready to burst into flame. There was trouble brewing in Aquitaine. The people did not want this Norseman to rule them – for although his mother might be their own Eleanor and his father the son of Geoffrey of Anjou on his mother’s side he was descended from the Conqueror and those barbarians who had sailed from the Northern lands to pillage and conquer.
The Revolt of the Eaglets Page 23
