The Revolt of the Eaglets (19 page)

Then came the news of the siege of Rouen. How like Louis! she thought.

She talked to her women of the old days when Louis had turned away from a fight because he had no stomach for it.

‘He could have faced the King of England, fought with him. But he had to run away. He was always more of a monk than a man. Though in the early days of our marriage I made almost a man of him. And my sons … Henry and Geoffrey? What of them? They should have stayed to fight. But to give in, to call a truce … and then be content to listen to his terms. And what will those terms be, I ask you? Henry Plantagenet will never take his hands from land or castle. Once his greedy claws have seized it, he will never let it go. My son Richard had more spirit than his brother. You may depend upon it, he will never give in.’

But he did give in. She pictured his cold anger when he realised that he was no match for his father. The people of Aquitaine had not trusted so young a boy and they feared the rage of Henry Plantagenet. So the war in Aquitaine had petered out even as it had outside Rouen.

‘It would seem he has but to appear and people are afraid of him. Why should they be?’ she asked, but she knew. He had a quality which she would never forget. She wished that he would come to see her in this prison in which he had placed her. How she would have enjoyed a verbal battle with him.

She railed against fate. He was too strong, he still retained the vigours of youth; and the boys were too young. In time it would not be so and as they matured so would he grow old. She must wait till the years clouded the lion’s eyes; then his cubs would savage him.

If she could but be there with them, to advise them, perhaps to cajole Louis. Could she do that now? How she longed to be free!

She was excited by an unexpected piece of news.

It was given to her in a song. A great king loved a young girl … a very young girl … who was betrothed to his son.

She listened. It could not be so.

Alice!

Why, she was but a child. But not too young to satisfy his lust.

So it had come to children! And the betrothed of his son! Richard’s bride!

What did he plan? To pass the soiled beauty over to Richard when he had finished with her?

That must not be.

Then another thought came to her. He wanted a divorce. He had suggested as much.

Oh, my God, she thought, does he want to marry Alice?

She had satisfied herself that he would not marry Rosamund. The people would not want her as their Queen and he was king enough to know that he must above all things keep the approval of his people. But Alice, the daughter of the King of France! That was another matter.

Dallying with Alice! The lecher! She could picture his face clearly; the speculation in the tawny eyes, the nostrils flaring suddenly as they did in moments of intense emotion.

How much does he want to marry Alice? she wondered. Enough to murder his wife?

How simple it would be. Who would miss her? Her children? But they were his also and he was the master. What was going on behind the lion’s mask? How safe was she?

She felt she must act quickly.

She would get a message to Richard. She had friends enough to be able to do that.

She was framing it in her mind.

‘Demand that the King sends your betrothed to you. It is time you and Alice were married. He must do this. Tell the King of France that you want your bride.’

She was alert.

She would have to take very special care now.

It was the last day of September – mild and misty – when Henry sat at the conference table facing his sons, Henry, Richard and Geoffrey.

In his heart was triumph tinged with a certain sadness. It was unseemly that a father should be called upon to make peace terms with his sons; on the other hand it was gratifying that he had brought them all to heel – every one of them – Henry, with his grandiose ideas of what belonged to him, because his father had had the magnanimity to allow him to be crowned King; Richard, cold hatred gleaming in his blue eyes, too young and inexperienced to realise how unwise he was to show it; and Geoffrey who seemed still a boy. Fine lads all of them – and all here because they had conspired against their father.

He could not help being proud of them. They were all good looking. Henry was the most handsome; it had been said of him that he was the most beautiful prince in Christendom; Geoffrey was almost as good looking, taking after his grandfather of Anjou who had borne the same name. Richard was different. None the less good-looking but in a different way. Taller than his brothers and more skilled in equestrian arts; one day when he was more experienced he would be a formidable foe to meet on the battlefield.

These boys he had sired; the thought filled him with some emotion and the sternness faded from his eyes. All the same he was going to let them know who was the master.

‘My sons,’ said Henry, ‘it grieves me that we should be sitting here in this way. I remember well those days when you were in the nurseries of my castles and what joy I took in your growing up. You have been ill-advised and have offended against the laws of God and man in taking up arms against your father. But I do not forget that you are my sons and because of this I will be lenient. First we will make a solemn vow that we all forgive our enemies and restore to their rightful owners those castles which we have taken during the conflict with each other. You may have made promises to my enemies to join with them against me. You must now declare yourselves free from all promises and undertakings.’

He watched them quietly. Henry and Geoffrey faintly sullen, Richard a little defiant. But all of them – even Richard – knew that they had no alternative but to agree to the King’s terms.

‘Henry,’ he went on, ‘you shall have two castles in Normandy and an allowance of £15,000 Angevin money. Richard shall have two in Poitou and half the revenues of that land.’ He turned to Geoffrey. ‘And you, my son, are soon to marry Conan’s daughter, Constance. You shall now have half the marriage portion and when the ceremony takes place the whole of it.’

Inwardly the brothers were dismayed because they knew that the castles offered to them were of no strategic importance and in making these gifts their father was in fact taking from them every vestige of that power for which they had been fighting.

‘You have a young brother,’ went on the King, his voice softening a little. Young John was the best of the bunch.
He
had not risen against his father. At eight years old he was an engaging little fellow. Thank God, he had escaped his mother’s influence. ‘He is my son too,’ went on the King. ‘From him I have had no sign of disobedience. I gave him three castles as you know well.’ He permitted his lips to curve in a sardonic smile. Was it not these three castles over which there had been all the trouble? ‘A poor inheritance for the son of a king. Now I shall give him one thousand pounds a year in England and the castles of Marlborough and Nottingham. He shall have two hundred and fifty pounds a year from his Normandy lands and the same amount from his property in Anjou where I shall give him one castle. He shall also have one in Touraine and another in Maine. You would not wish your brother to be a pauper, I know, simply because he had the misfortune – or as it has turned out it may be the good fortune – to be born after yourselves.’

They were dismayed. The trouble with their father had started because he wished to take from them to give to John – although the cause went deeper than that – and now they were worse off than when they had begun. But they could not protest, they knew. They could see the purpose in his face; and no matter how they might fulminate against him in his absence, face to face with him they knew his strength, and they feared it. He had had no hesitation in putting their mother into prison. They knew full well that any resistance to his wishes and they would end up in similar circumstances. He was, after all, according to his standards, acting very leniently towards them since they had all taken up arms against him.

‘There is one thing more,’ said the King, ‘I must have an assurance from you that you will not ask any more of me and that you will not withdraw yourselves or your service from me.’

This was perhaps the most important part of all but they knew it was impossible to evade it. They were here in this little village of Mont Louis near Tours and he could, if he wished, seize them. They were virtually his prisoners, for he was their master.

He was smiling at them.

‘Then we are friends,’ he said. ‘Richard, Geoffrey, you will do homage to me which will show that you are indeed my loyal sons and I your liege lord.’

His two sons knelt and swore allegiance to him and when this was done young Henry prepared to do the same.

His father smiled at him quizzically. ‘Nay, Henry,’ he said. ‘Are you not a king and a king of England? You could not then pay homage to me.’

A great fear touched the young man then. He said in a sudden panic: ‘You are my father. I will swear allegiance to you as my brothers have done.’

But the King shook his head. ‘Nay, my son.’ He laid his hand on young Henry’s shoulder and pressed it hard. ‘I shall expect loyalty from you and you will give it, for if you did not there could be terrible consequences … for you. But you will keep your vows. You will remember that I am your father, that it is from these hands that your good fortune flows. You shall be beside me. You shall be taught how to become a king in very truth and I shall be your tutor.’

Young Henry smiled faintly, but he was uneasy.

Now that he had made peace with his sons the King decided that he would keep them with him for a while that he might instill into them the need to keep to their promises.

Ruefully he reminded himself that they were his sons. He had not always kept his promises. What if they had taken after him in that respect? He imagined they had. They were fighters all of them; whether they would make good kings he was unsure. But they could doubtless be tutored. He wanted young Henry to carry on in the way he had, for he had followed to some measure the rules laid down by his two great predecessors. Could he rely on Henry to do the same? Not at this stage. Henry was too easily led; he gave too ready an ear to flatterers. That was a trait which was of no use to any king. One of his best men had been Richard de Luci, his Chief Justiciar; he could trust that man as he would few others and never had his trust been misplaced and never had Richard de Luci flattered him. Sometimes his frankness might have angered the King but only momentarily. He thanked God he was too good a ruler to run from his best friends because of a bit of plain speaking. Young Henry must learn this. He was constantly in the company of men who fawned on him. He was turning from William Marshall who was a good friend and a worthy knight. People like Philip of Flanders attracted him. Henry would be the first to admit that such men could be attractive, entertaining, amusing, but one did not attach too much importance to their friendship.

Young Henry had much to learn and where better could he learn it than at his father’s side?

And as yet he would wait and see where he would send his sons. Perforce for a time they should ride with him. It was good to make them think of him as a father, to repair some of the damage that she-wolf had done. He should have barred her from the nurseries. What an unnatural woman! How different it would have been if Rosamund had been his Queen … or Alice. Alice was young yet for bearing children. Sooner or later he would get her with child he doubted not. And then … ? That could take care of itself when the matter arose.

They had ridden through Anjou to Normandy. He had wanted the people to see his sons riding with him. Henry on one side, Richard on the other and young Geoffrey a pace or two behind. ‘See, we are united.’ That was what he was saying to the people. ‘Any who have rebellion in their minds get rid of it quickly. I am invincible … but with my sons beside me I am to be feared more than ever.’

Yes, it was good to ride through his dominions with his sons as companions.

In December they came to Argentan.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘we shall spend Christmas. It is good that we should all be together.’