There was one who had so far been his obedient son – John.
Why should he not make his heir the son who had been loyal to him? He would show traitors, be they his own sons, that he did not forget injuries.
Richard? He must confess that Richard had never been anything but straightforward. If Richard was planning to act in a certain way he did not feign otherwise. He was not like Henry had been or Geoffrey was. Those two he had never been able to trust. But he could not like Richard.
How ironical was life – and particularly a king’s life! He craved for sons and when they came they made his life a burden.
Henry had lied to him and stood by when one of his men had shot arrows at him. What had been his son’s true feeling when the arrow had merely pierced his cloak, and his horse, not himself, had been shot down?
He was a shrewd man in all but his family affections. He should have known long ago that his sons had no love for him, only for his crown.
He wished that he could love Richard. Richard was perhaps the one in whom he should have put his trust. But he was uncomfortable to be in his presence; he always feared that a subject would be referred to which would make him very uneasy, even might make him betray something which must never be told.
‘Oh Alice, my sweetheart,’ he murmured, ‘you have much to answer for.’
He longed for home … and Alice. He thought of her in Westminster or Winchester or Woodstock. Dear, beloved Alice, who never complained that he could not marry her; who was content to remain in comparative seclusion; who was content merely that he love her and keep her from Richard.
He had Alice, but he desperately wanted his sons’ affection too. He had visualised when they were in the nursery how they would grow up and work together and how happy they would be to do his bidding. He had seen them as a formidable family of strong men with himself at the head. None would have dared come against them. Four sons who would marry into Europe and bring more and more rich lands under the Plantagenet crown. How sad, how disillusioning, with his sons warring against each other and against him and making allies of the King of France!
And now Henry dead – and most ignobly had he sacked sacred shrines before dying and something must be done about that or there would be no good fortune for the family. The saints must be placated.
Henry, the most beautiful Prince in Christendom, with his charm of manner which drew men to him – dead. What a waste of a life!
My son, whom I wanted so much to love and who wanted nothing from me but my crown!
And Richard? No, not Richard! He could not have him beside him, the future King of England. How could he? And what of his marriage? It would be expected now.
I will send for John, thought the King.
* * *
John came riding in from the hunt when the news was brought to him that his father wished to join him.
John was now seventeen years old; very conscious of being the youngest son, he had been determined to exert himself. His brother Henry had been tall and handsome, so was Richard. John however took after his brother Geoffrey. They were both of small stature though their limbs were well formed. Their father, who was of little over medium height, seemed to tower above them both. Geoffrey and John were very much alike in features and also in character. Both of them could acquire knowledge without much difficulty and were more interested in book learning than either young Henry had been or Richard was. Geoffrey had always been able to express himself with lucidity and to put forward a good case when this seemed a difficult thing to do. John was like Geoffrey in this. He was bland and full of soft words when he wanted something. He was deceitful and seemed to take a delight in deceit. For the sheer joy of getting the better of someone he would go to great lengths and perhaps achieve nothing in the end but the pleasure of deceiving someone.
Gerald of Wales, the priest who had been sent to John to help further his education, realised that it was no use attempting to go against his nature. John had long been dissolute. He had been seducing women from a very early age and often rode out into the country with a band of lusty followers indulging in seduction or rape, whichever came to hand.
He was in the charge of the justiciar Ranulf Glanville, a very able man who had distinguished himself on the battlefield and won the King’s favour to such an extent that he was content to overlook his peculations which were numerous, even when they were proved against him.
That his son John should have been put in the charge of such a man was strange even though he was a justiciar of England and one of the most important men in the country.
John admired him and saw nothing wrong in his shady dealings.
At seventeen he was very much aware of being the youngest son and he never forgot the fact that when he had been born his father had called him John Lackland.
Now his brother Henry was dead and Richard was the heir with Geoffrey next and then himself. It seemed there was no hope for him with two strong brothers to stand between him and the crown; but there was this in his favour: his father was fond of him.
John was amused. Henry had perhaps been the favourite because Henry was tall and beautiful and knew how to charm people, even his father. It seemed he could shoot an arrow at him which could have killed him if it had not pierced his cloak instead and still he could talk himself out of such a situation.
John admired that in his brother, but Henry was a fool of course. He had died of a fever, and that was the end of him. Richard was always going to war so he would doubtless meet a violent end one day.
That left Geoffrey. John had a great deal in common with Geoffrey – they looked alike; their characters were similar. John was the more dissolute. He had surrounded himself with companions of similar tastes. Geoffrey was a sedate married man in comparison; he had a wife, Constance of Brittany, and a daughter Eleanor named after their mother. John, too, had inherited the Angevin temper. He was as ready to flare up as his father was and then his rage could be terrible. He was naturally not so feared as his father, but his attendants always kept well out of the way when John’s temper was about to rise. There was a sadistic streak in him, too, which Geoffrey lacked. And, although on the surface he appeared to be a pleasant young man with a charming manner, beneath that facade there were traits of character as yet unsuspected even by those who were close to him.
When he received the news that his father wished him to join him in Normandy he sent for Ranulf de Glanville to tell him the news.
‘You see what is happening, Ranulf, I am to be my father’s favourite now.’
‘Good news, my lord. Good news.’
‘The poor old man must have one son on whom to dote.’
‘And fortunate, my lord, that Richard and Geoffrey have displeased him so much that you are to be the chosen one.’
‘The chosen one! What do you think it means?’
‘It means that it depends on you, my lord.’
‘What do you mean, “depends on me”?’
‘How you play your part. You could have England.’
‘I … King of England, with two brothers to come before me!’
‘Richard loves not England. He is for Aquitaine. Geoffrey is out of favour. He stood by while someone shot the King’s horse from under him and made no move. Think you the King will forget that?’
‘King of England, Ranulf. I like that. I like it mightily. Think what sport we would have … you and I … and others … roaming the country … received everywhere with acclaim. Riding into the towns, picking the most likely women … and all coming running when I beckoned.’
‘There might be some who repulsed you.’
‘So much the better. A little resistance is amusing. One does not seek submission all the time. If that were so what would become of the delicate art of rape?’
‘My lord, you must curb your language when you are in the presence of the King.’
‘A rare one to talk! What about him? In the days of his youth no woman was safe from him and it seems he can e
ven now give a good account of himself.’
‘Alice contents him when he is in England.’
‘That makes me laugh, Ranulf. Richard’s betrothed is my father’s mistress! I have heard that she bears him children. Is it so, think you?’
‘We should not believe all we hear, but if Alice is fruitful it is no more than must be expected.’
‘Methinks he loves not Richard.’
‘And Geoffrey has displeased him.’
‘And so,’ said John, ‘that leaves his youngest son – his good and dutiful John who will love him and obey him and prove to him that he will be his very good son. Do you think I can play that part, Ranulf?’
‘My dear lord, I think you can play any part you have a mind to.’
‘I have a mind to this one. He must make me his heir, Ranulf, before he dies; and once he has done that I shall be very ready to take a tender farewell of the old man.’ John began to laugh.
‘My lord is amused.’
‘I think of my father. Great Henry Plantagenet before whom men tremble. His sons have been a disappointment to him … all but John. He does not know that John is the most wicked of them all. ‘Tis true is it not, Ranulf?’
‘It may well be. But let us please keep that interesting fact from your father.’
‘You may trust me, Ranulf.’ He fell on his knees and raised eyes moist with emotion to Ranulf’s face. ‘ “Father, I am your youngest son. I would I were your eldest. But young as I am there is time for me to show you that I will bring to you that which my brothers failed to. Your sons have disappointed you … all but John. It is my mission to prove to you that there was one in the nest whose coming shall repay you for all the ingratitude of the rest.” How’s that, Ranulf?’
‘It could be improved,’ said Ranulf.
‘It shall be, my friend. It shall be.’
* * *
Henry received his son with open arms.
‘My son John! It does me good to see you.’
He looked into the young face and John raised eyes as full of emotion as they had been when he acted before Ranulf.
‘Father, you have suffered much,’ said John. ‘I rejoiced to receive your summons. I wanted to come to bring some small comfort to you.’
‘My blessings on you. I need comfort. Your brother, John, my handsome son Henry, to die as he did! He was so young.’
‘He was twenty-eight, Father, and was it true that he had desecrated shrines before he died?’
‘We must pray for his soul, John. He repented at the end. William the Marshall has given me an account of his last hours. When he died he was lying on a bed of ashes in a hair shirt.’
‘I thank God,’ said John.
‘You know, my son, that I am sore pressed. Your brothers are warring against each other one moment, against me the next. Henry was engaged in war against me when he died. That grieves me sorely. But he sent a message to me and I forgave him. We were friends then. Would to God we had never been anything else. These battles in the family, John, they are no good to any of us.’
‘No, Father.’
‘You are now of an age to be taken into my confidence.’
‘I rejoice in that. I want to be beside you. I want to help you. I must learn quickly.’
Henry’s eyes were emotional suddenly. Could it really be that in this son he was going to find the one who would make up for the disappointments the others had brought him?
‘Your brother’s death has made great changes,’ went on Henry. ‘The King of France will now be demanding Marguerite’s dowry back. I cannot give up the Vexin, it is so important to the defence of Normandy.’
‘My brother Richard is now the heir to England, Normandy, Anjou …’ began John.
The King was silent.
‘He will have to marry the Princess Alice now,’ said John slyly.
‘We shall see,’ said the King.
‘People are saying that there is something strange about the Princess. So long she has been betrothed and still there is no marriage.’
‘People will always make mysteries where there are none,’ said the King.
‘Mysteries, yes. There are no real mysteries because someone always knows the answer to them.’
‘I have sent for your brother Richard,’ he said. ‘He is unacceptable to the people of Aquitaine and I am going to make him give up the Duchy.’
‘Who will take it then?’ asked John.
‘You, my son.’
John nodded. The idea pleased him. He was going to be King of Ireland; he had several estates in England; and now Duke of Aquitaine.
He could see that his brother’s death had benefited him greatly. He must keep his father’s good will and much more that was good would flow his way.
* * *
Richard wondered what his father could wish to say to him. The trouble in Aquitaine had been settled favourably with the King’s help, and he could now say that he had established his position there.
That there must be change, he knew. The heir to the throne was dead and he was the next. He believed that his father had many years left to him and one thing was certain: no one would be allowed to take the crown of England or have the slightest sway in Normandy and Anjou while he lived. Aquitaine was different. That had been passed to him by his mother and he could be said to have won it over the last years by the right of his own sword.
If he became the heir to the throne of England and his father’s dominions of Normandy and Anjou, what of Aquitaine?
The King received Richard with accustomed restraint and wished that it had not been necessary for them to meet.
The two brothers surveyed each other with suspicion. John felt a pang of envy, for the blond giant had an air of kingliness which he knew would never be his. He had always disliked Richard, though not as much as he had Henry, for Henry had been even more handsome, as tall, and had a charm which delighted almost everyone.
Well, he was dead now and Richard was heir to the throne and large dominions overseas, and it was better to be King of England than Duke of Aquitaine.
‘My sons,’ said the King, taking them to his private chamber where they could be alone to talk. ‘We meet at a time of great bereavement.’
‘Henry was a fool,’ said Richard in his usual blunt way. ‘He knew he had a fever and he refused to care for himself. He brought on his death.’
The King bowed his head and John said: ‘Hush, Richard. Do you not see our father’s grief?’
Richard said: ‘Since they were at war together and Henry was behaving with the utmost folly I doubt not our father remembers that.’
The King was thinking: Richard is right. I mourn my son but I cannot forget that he was my enemy. He would have seen me dead and not lamented. Yet I loved him and always hoped he would change towards me. But John is affectionate. Richard is a brilliant soldier, but John is kindly. He will be a good son to me. And that is what I need to comfort me.
‘Let us not brood on the past,’ said Henry. ‘We are met together for a purpose. Your brother is dead and that has changed so much. I have brought you here, Richard, that you may retire from Aquitaine. Your brother John will be the Duke and you will now surrender the Duchy to him.’
Richard’s eyes were as cold as ice; the ague showed in his hands.
‘Aquitaine is subdued now,’ he said. ‘Ever since my mother had me crowned its Duke I have fought for my place with my sword. I have won it. You would not ask me to give it up now.’
‘I am not asking,’ replied the King. ‘I am commanding.’
Richard did not speak. His brother Henry had been crowned King of England and had never had any power at all. He was Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou – and much good that had done him.
Young Geoffrey Count of Brittany ruled that land. He as Duke of Aquitaine would rule his territory. He would rather be a ruler in fact than have the promise of high-sounding titles which could be nothing until his father’s death. Not that the King had talked about making him hei
r of his dominions. It was presumed he must be because he was the eldest living son, but his father had not said so. And by the way in which he was beginning to dote on John, who knew what was going on in his mind?
Richard did not trust his father, particularly now that he had sent for John.
He did not therefore, as he might have done previously, give his definite refusal to hand over the land for which he had fought. He said that the proposal was such a surprise to him that he needed time to brood on it.
The King was agreeable to this but he added that he would need a reply – and the reply must be agreement … within the next week.
Richard rode back to Aquitaine. From there he sent his answer to his father.
As long as he lived he would rule Aquitaine and no one else should.
* * *
The King lingered in Normandy. He kept John with him and his youngest son played the part he had intended to. He listened gravely to his father’s advice; he feigned wonder at his wisdom; and he was determined that he was going to remain the favourite son.
Henry was no fool. He often wondered about John, but he was so anxious to be loved that he continued to deceive himself – half of himself warning him to look out for treachery while the other half assured him that at least he had one son who cared for him.
There was much to keep him abroad although he longed to return to England.
There was a meeting with Philip when they wrangled over the return of Marguerite’s dowry. They settled this by arranging that Henry should pay her an income of over two thousand Angevin pounds. Henry was never reluctant to enter into such agreements for he promised himself that if payment became difficult he would simply let it slide.
It was inevitable that Alice should be mentioned.
‘Her marriage with Richard is long overdue,’ said Philip.
‘There has been so much to occupy me and Richard,’ replied the King.
‘And now you are having trouble with him, I believe.’
‘He is a disobedient son.’
The Revolt of the Eaglets Page 28
