Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
It was clear what Stephen’s intentions were. He was not so much an old man as a sick and tired one. He had lost his wife and his elder son. He was in no mood to continue the fight.
If he were allowed to rule in peace for the rest of his life he would name his successor Henry, Duke of Normandy, who unlike himself was in the direct line of succession. He was sure that the people would accept Henry. He was the son of the daughter of Henry I, himself son of the great Conqueror, whereas Stephen was the son of the Conqueror’s daughter Adela. There could be no one to raise a voice against Henry’s claim.
Henry was wise. He looked intently at Stephen. How long could he live? One year. Two years. Three at most.
Let the war be called off. He was content. He would go back to Normandy but he would first have the King’s assurance that it was his wish that he should follow him to the throne.
It should be done so that there was no doubt that it was Stephen’s wish, and the two traveled to London where a conclave of archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, justiciars, sheriffs and barons should be called.
And to these people the declaration should be made and set out in a treaty after the signing of which, fealty should be sworn to Henry.
A triumph. He had achieved what he had come for and without much bloodshed. This was the kind of victory all wise rulers hoped for.
Before the gathering Stephen made his declaration:
‘I, the King of England, Stephen, have made Henry, Duke of Normandy, the successor to the kingdom of England after me, and my heir by hereditary right and thus I have given and confirmed to him and his heirs the kingdom of England. The Duke, because of this honour and grant and confirmation made to him by me, has done homage to me and sworn by oath that he will be faithful to me...’
Indeed he would, for he was wise enough to know that if he waited until the death of Stephen, which could not be long, all men would honour him.
This declaration was of the greatest value. How much more important it was for Stephen to have made him his heir than for him to have won the crown in battle. Now all men must accept him.
He wanted now to get back to Eleonore. He wanted to tell her in detail of his triumph.
First though he must go to Oxford to receive the homage of the men who would be his subjects.
Before he left for that town he heard that Hikenai had been brought to bed, and went to see her.
She smiled at him from her bed and held up her child.
‘Our son, my lord,’ she said.
‘Another boy! So I am father of another boy.’
‘I shall call him Geoffrey after your father,’ she told him,
‘so that you will never forget that he is a member of the family.’
‘I am going to be King of England, Hikenai,’ he said.
‘And that day soon. I swear to you that when I am I shall not forget our son Geoffrey.’
‘I’ll keep you to that promise, my lord,’ she answered.
Then he went on to Oxford to receive the homage of those who would in time be his subjects.
Now he was torn between the desire to go back to Normandy to be with Eleonore and see their baby son, and to stay in England and consolidate his position. The important men of England had sworn fealty to him, Stephen had given him his word that he should follow him to the throne, even so, a man should be close at hand to watch his interests.
He could not make up his mind but it was not long before it was made up for him. His enemies in Normandy were attempting to take advantage of his absence. His mother wrote to him that she thought it wise for him to return. It was April when he arrived in Normandy. What joy there was in his reunion with Eleonore. This was a little tempered by a certain anxiety which the baby was arousing. He was not as lusty as they had at first hoped he would be.
There was plenty to occupy him while Eleonore cared for the little boy and it was not long before he had settled the uprisings. He took a troop of soldiers around his entire dominions and made it clear that he expected and would have obedience.
Matilda wanted to know what had happened during the parley with Stephen, and she listened intently while he told her how friendly Stephen had been to him and so anxious for peace was he that he had been ready to pass over his son William for the sake of it.
Matilda nodded. ‘He is an old man, I believe, now.’
‘He carries himself well and has a pleasant countenance,’ answered Henry.
‘He always had,’ said Matilda. ‘He knew how to charm people. I used to mock him for it. When he was young he would go out of his way to please people who could never bring any good to him. I used to say he was practising so that it would seem natural to those who could bring him good.’
‘One could not help but like him,’ said Henry, ‘and he was very eager to be pleasant to me.’
Matilda nodded, and was quite lost in memories of the days when she and Stephen had been more than mere cousins.
They talked of the troubles in the country.
‘There is Geoffrey,’ said Matilda. ‘He will not be content.’
‘I know it, Mother.’
‘He was furious when your father left almost everything to you and nothing but three castles to him. True, your father’s wish was that when you gained England you should give Anjou and Maine to him.’
‘I doubt he would be worthy of them,’ said Henry.
Matilda laughed. ‘You like not to part with any of your possessions. You are like my father. They say my grandfather was the same. You remind me of them, Henry.’
‘There are no two rulers whom it would please me to resemble more.’
With Eleonore there had been a return to their passion.
She had missed him sorely she told him. ‘I devoted myself to our child and awaited your return.’
‘I longed for you as you longed for me,’ answered Henry, and thought briefly of Avice of whom he had tired and of Hikenai who had amused him. When they went to England he would have to bring her boy to court. He wondered what Eleonore would say to that. Would she calculate the date of his birth and know that he had been unfaithful during this early stage of their marriage? Oh, but she would understand. Had she been there it would never have happened.
Eleonore was pregnant again. This delighted them both.
Little William was so delicate, they both feared that they might lose him. If they could get another son – a healthy one
– they could better bear losing their first-born. When Henry thought of his lusty little bastards he asked himself, as many kings had before, why it was that the illegitimate offspring were so healthy and the legitimate ones so frail.
It was fortunate that they were enjoying a period of comparative peace when the messenger arrived from England.
One of Eleonore’s women had seen the approach of a rider from a turret window and hastened to inform her mistress, who looking out saw that the man was riding fast even though his horse seemed exhausted.
‘It is important news,’ she cried. ‘Go and tell the Duke.’
She was in the courtyard when Henry joined her there and they were both waiting when the messenger rode into the courtyard.
‘I come from the Archbishop of Canterbury, my lord,’ he said. ‘He begs the Duke of Normandy ride with all speed to England. King Stephen is dead. Long live King Henry.’
It was fortunate, said Matilda, that she was in the castle.
‘My hopes have been realised,’ she said. ‘And to think it had to come about through Stephen’s death. My son, we must talk at once...the three of us. It is very important that you take the right action now.’
In the private chamber of Henry and Eleonore they sat with the Empress. Henry listened intently to what she had to say. The fact that she had once had the crown within her grasp and lost it made Henry regard her advice with great respect. She was experienced; she knew the English; she had offended them in a manner he must never do. If she could live her life again she would not make the same mistakes. Therefore he must profit from her experience. It was wonderful to have these two people with him. Caught up as he was in the midst of family jealousies yet there were two whom he could trust absolutely...his wife and his mother.
He took their hands and kissed them fervently. He wanted them to know how much he relied on them. They both knew it and loved him the more because of it.
‘There should be no delay,’ said Eleonore. ‘Stephen is dead. There may be some who would want to set up his young son William on the throne.’
‘I thank God Leicester is my man,’ said Henry. ‘And you are right. I am determined to leave for England without delay.’
‘When you go,’ said Matilda, ‘you must take a company with you. It would be folly to go with too small a following.’
‘I have already summoned my leading nobles to assemble at Barfleur preparatory to sailing for England.
They are eager to come, seeing rich lands and titles awaiting them. There must be no delay.’
‘No more than can be helped,’ said Matilda. ‘Eleonore must go with you.’
‘I intend to,’ said Eleonore.
‘And you should be crowned, the pair of you, as soon as it can be arranged. A king is not a King of England until he has been crowned. I was the Queen...the true Queen but my enemies in London drove me out. If I had been crowned first...It is all over. But remember it.’
‘I shall see that the coronation takes place immediately.’
‘And your brothers. What of Geoffrey and William? What do you think they will be at while you are in England?’
‘Mischief,’ said Henry grimly.
‘And it will be necessary for you to stay there. You cannot accept the crown and run away. You will have to show the English that England is of more moment to you than Normandy. And meanwhile Geoffrey will remember his father’s will. Was he not to have Anjou and Maine when you had England?’
‘He would lose it to Louis...or someone. You know Geoffrey could never hold anything.’
‘’Tis true. And you are loath to take your hands off it. You must keep it, my son. And the only way to do this is to take your brothers with you. Make them work for you. Promise them lands...over there. But take them with you so that they cannot brew mischief here.’
‘By God, you are right,’ said Henry. ‘I shall send for them and as soon as the wind is favourable we sail.’
‘It is a good thing that he did not wait a month or two before dying,’ said Eleonore lightly. ‘Or I might have been too advanced in my pregnancy to enjoy a sea trip.’
Henry was impatient to go. He hated delays. In a short time all who were to make the journey – including his
brothers – were assembled at Barfleur. But if he could command his subjects Henry could not command the winds.
How tiresome was the weather! Stormy day followed stormy day. It was impossible to set sail in such weather.
Four weeks passed and then one day the seas were calm, the weather perfect.
And so Henry set sail for England.
However, the crossing was rough and it was impossible for the convoy to keep together. The ship in which Henry and Eleonore traveled landed near Southampton with a few others, but in a short time, to Henry’s relief, it was discovered that all had landed safely and it would only be a matter of a few hours before everyone was accounted for.
They were not far from Winchester, and as that was the home of the country’s treasure Henry decided to make for that city.
As he approached it, news of his arrival had spread, and the chief nobles of the neighbourhood came forward to greet him and give him their allegiance.
It was a triumphant entry into the city of Winchester.
Remembering the oft-told account of his mother’s brief successes Henry realised that he must have the recognition of the people of London, that city which because of its trade and riches had become the chief of England.
He therefore determined to leave for London without delay.
The bleak December weather was not to Eleonore’s liking as she and Henry set out with their retinue for the great city. She had, it was true, grown a little accustomed to it in Paris which she had always felt so cold after her own Languedoc; but this was equally chilly and she reminded herself that it was winter and not the best time to see the place. Of course there were compensations. A crown, a country which was bigger and richer and held more prospects of power and riches than that of France. It ill -
behooved her at such a prospect to object to the weather.
News of their arrival had spread over the South of England and people came from their homes to cheer the new King. They promised themselves that gone were the times when people lived in terror of robbers and murderers on the highway because of the weak rule of King Stephen.
Their grandparents remembered the days of King Henry I when such stern punishment was meted out that offenders were deterred from their crimes for fear of losing their hands, feet, ears, noses, or even having their eyes put out.
That had made life safe for law-abiding people. During Stephen’s reign many wicked barons had built castles with the sole purpose of using them as strongholds from which they might conduct their wicked plans to rob travellers and often take them to their castles to torture for their sport. That was a return of an old evil which those strong kings William the Conqueror and Henry I had put down. With the return of amiable Stephen they had begun to come back. Stephen had hated to punish offenders. If they were brought to him he would say: ‘Let it pass this time. Don’t do it again.’
So in this young man they saw new hope. He was the grandson of just Henry I and in direct line of succession. As long as he did not take after his mother Matilda but after his grandfather Henry they would welcome him wherever he went.
They had heard that he did and that when he was in England he had been admired and respected by those who had met him; everywhere there was great hope that he would bring back to England that law and order which had been instituted by the Conqueror.
He rode with his wife, one of the most beautiful women they had ever seen. A special cheer for her then. And how graciously she responded! They had never seen such grace and poise. She wore a wimple over which was a circlet of sparkling diamonds, rubies and sapphires. Her gown was fastened at the throat by a collar of jewels similar to those in the circlet. The sleeves of this were long and tight to her wrists and over this she wore a cloak which was lined with ermine, long and wide so that the tight sleeves of her gown were visible. The English had never seen such elegance and they applauded it.
Now there would be an end to senseless civil war. They would have a just king and a beautiful queen; there would be royal children, for there was already a son and the Queen was noticeably pregnant. They knew that this Queen had been the Queen of France and had divorced the king of that country to marry their Henry.
They liked her for it. It was always pleasant to score over the French. They had already adopted Henry as an Englishman. Was he not the grandson of their own Henry I, son of the Conqueror, born in England, educated there, and who never failed to proclaim himself an Englishman?
There had been rumours about the life the Queen had led on a holy crusade. It amused them that she had played false the King of France.
So the people of England were very ready to welcome their new King and Queen.
Into London they rode, there to be met by Theobald, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the chief nobles. There was no doubt of the people’s enthusiasm. Henry made himself affable, as did Eleonore. Never for one moment did he forget the disastrous impression his mother had made on the Londoners and how this had cost her the crown.
The Archbishop was of the opinion that the coronation should take place without delay. Henry agreed with him.
Until a king was crowned he was not the acknowledged ruler, his mother had warned him time and time again. Here again he had learned from her. She had never achieved the all -important coronation.
With a foresight characteristic of her, long before Stephen’s death Eleonore had sent to Constantinople for the finest material known, so that on the day of her coronation in Westminster Abbey she would be looking her most brilliant best. The materials had arrived before she left Barfleur and she had them with her.
She was therefore ready for whatever date was suggested and as Archbishop Theobald had said ‘No delay’, it was to be the 19th December.
The great day arrived. Eleonore was dressed in robes of silk and brocade of such magnificence as the people of England had never seen before. She was like a goddess.
As for Henry, he was never very eager to dress himself up.
He was a man of action and he asked that his garments should not impede him but be comfortable. However on his coronation day he made special concessions and because of this he was able to stand beside his elegant and luxurious queen without making too great a contrast. His short hair, his shaven chin and moustachios appealed to the people. His dress was a doublet and short cloak of the kind which was not usual in England although it was a common feature of Angevin fashion. His dalmatica, made of fine brocade, was embroidered in gold. The pair looked startlingly majestic and the spectators were enchanted.
‘Long live the King and his Queen,’ they cried wholeheartedly for they believed that a new era was beginning. There would be a colourful court, such as they loved and they could take a new interest in the lives of their royal family.
Stephen’s queen had been a good woman but the good were never so interesting as the naughty ones. Stephen himself though one of the handsomest men of his times was too mild.
They liked this pair.
The Queen would cease to be known as Eleonore and would become Eleanor in the English fashion, and their King was affectionately nicknamed Courtmantle on account of the shortness of his cloak.
They were accepted.
The weather was bleak; the castle of Westminster was draughty, and the Queen missed the warmth of her southern home, but the glow of satisfaction she knew from this rich acquisition, this land of mystery, the possession and holding of which had been the greatest ambition of the greatest of all Conquerors, made up for any lack of comfort.
King Henry and Queen Eleanor were the rightful rulers of England. With what pride they rode through the streets; with what joy they listened to the loyal shouts of the people. And so to Westminster Palace, there to spend their first Christmas in their new land.
HENRY AND THOMAS
PART TWO: HENRY AND THOMAS
Chapter VI
THE KING’S WILL
As soon as the Christmas festivities were over Eleanor began to consider her lying-in. Westminster Palace did not seem a suitable spot and she decided to move to the palace of Bermondsey.
This was situated in a village close to London where, a short while before, a priory had been built. It was a pleasant place and she settled into the Saxon palace with pleasure.
From the long narrow glassless windows she could see the green fields surrounding the palace and was struck by their freshness; the gardens were beautiful too and she was glad that she had come here for the birth of her second child.
Henry would not be with her during those weeks when she awaited the birth. He was very much aware of the need to consolidate his position. Although he was only twenty-one he had wisdom far beyond his years; he was a born ruler and a good judge of human nature. The cheers of the people at the coronation still rang in his ears but he was well aware how fickle the acclaim of the people could be.
He would never forget that he must never relinquish his hold on the crown.
The first thing he set about doing was to choose his chief ministers. The Earl of Leicester was an obvious choice; he had already had an indication of his friendship and he had assessed the man’s character. He knew that if he was a good friend to Leicester, the Earl would be a loyal subject to him. Therefore he was his first choice. Another he chose was Richard de Luci, a man who had had some standing under Stephen. Henry did not care that he had been a supporter of Stephen. He took to the man at once and read honesty in his face, and Henry trusted his own judgement.
These two were to be his chief advisers and he told them that he intended to go into action immediately. He was going to show the people of England that he intended to restore law and order throughout the land and this meant that he must silence any who would not accept him as their King and, popular as he had been in London and Winchester, he knew he could not hope forevery man in the country to acclaim him. There would for instance be all those barons who had profited by the laxity of the law and had built up riches by exploiting those weaker than themselves. He was going to make immediate war on such people and destroy their castles, and for this reason he would make a tour of the country that all might be made aware of the new King’s intentions.
This suggestion was acclaimed by his ministers and all right-thinking men and women, and great optimism swept over the country.
In Bermondsey, Eleanor awaited the birth of the child while Henry began his pilgrimage. He traveled in great state as became a king and with him rode not only his army but his domestic staff with all their accoutrements. His bed with clean straw for his bedding was carried in the cavalcade, with objects of furniture, his clothes and food.
Cooks, stewards, scullions, and other members of his household staff marched with his soldiers.
People turned out in their thousands to watch the procession pass and so during those early days of his reign he began to rid the country of the brigand barons, burning down many of their fortresses much to the delight of those who had for long lived in fear of them.
There were of course many who resented this but they had little chance against the King. As the days passed he grew in strength and it was clear to many that the weak rule of Stephen was over.
Meanwhile in the village of Bermondsey Eleonore gave birth to her child.
This was a cause for great rejoicing for not only was it a boy but this time a lusty one. This was a great comfort for little William’s health had not improved and it seemed hardly likely that he would reach his manhood.
‘There is only one name for this boy,’ declared Eleanor.
‘He must be called Henry after his father.’
As soon as Eleanor had risen from child-bed she joined Henry and they went about the country together in order to show themselves to their people.
‘Let us be together while we can,’ said Henry, ‘for I fear trouble either in Normandy, Aquitaine, Maine or Anjou...and then I shall have to leave you to govern here in my absence.’
Eleanor replied that she hoped he would stay with her, but if by ill-chance he was forced to go away she would use all her skill to govern in his place and according to his wishes.
‘It was a good day when we were wed,’ he told her. ‘Two sons you have already given me and it is not so long since we were married.’
‘I am anxious about William,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t seem to have the will to live,’
‘He’ll grow out of it.’
‘You could never have been like that.’
‘Oh, I would bawl for all I wanted and when my grandfather used to dandle me on his knee, he told me that his father grasped a handful of rushes when he was a few days old and that this was a symbol of what his life would be. He’d take land wherever he found it. And it seems I took after him. You can’t expect everyone to be like us.’
‘I’d expect it of your son,’ replied Eleanor. ‘Henry is more like you. He has more life in him already than our poor little William.’
‘William’ll change. He’ll be a scholar most likely. Forget not he has two learned parents.’
Although he was smiling he was thinking of his illegitimate son by Hikenai and of his promise to bring him to court.
Not yet, he comforted himself. The boy would be too young for a few years.
During one of his visits to Bermondsey his brother Geoffrey came to the palace and demanded an audience.
Geoffrey’s looks were sullen.
‘How like you England?’ asked Henry.
‘How could I like a land in which I am a pauper depending on my brother’s whims?’ demanded Geoffrey.
‘What an impatient fellow you are!’ retorted Henry. ‘I have not had the crown long enough to dispose of land and castles.’
‘I believe some have been favoured by you.’
‘Those whose support it was necessary to have, yes. I expect yours, brother, without payment.’
‘Perhaps you expect too much,’ grumbled Geoffrey.
‘Be patient, brother. Great good will come to you if you will but be patient.’
‘Great good should have come to me by now. Did not my father leave me Anjou and Maine in his will, to be mine when you gained the crown of England?’
‘All in good time,’ parried Henry.
And he thought: How long would this boy hold Anjou and Maine? To give them to him would be to throw them to our enemies.
‘In whose good time?’ demanded Geoffrey. ‘Mine or yours?’
‘In that of the King’s,’ answered Henry; and Geoffrey went away grumbling.
Very soon afterwards Henry heard that his brother had left England and had returned to Anjou.
It was as he had expected. Geoffrey had gone back to raise men to his standard. He was declaring that he had right on his side. His father had left him Anjou and Maine which were to come to him when his brother secured the crown of England and now Henry refused to hand them over. There was only one thing to do and that was fight for them.
As Henry was occupied in England there were men ready to flock to Geoffrey’s banner.
Matilda, the Empress, had come to England. She wanted to see her son in the crown which she had always believed should have been hers. He was delighted to see her for her single-minded devotion to him had endeared her to him, and he believed she had never really cared for anyone but himself, and that he could rely on her advice.
He told her of Geoffrey’s fury and pointed out that he could not give him the land his father had promised him.
She saw the point at once. Only her eldest son was worthy to rule. All her hopes were in him. His brothers, she, believed, should have been contented to serve him.
The more possessions in the hands of the King of England, the more powerful he would be and that was for the good of the House of Plantagenet.
‘You will never get my brothers to see that,’ sighed Henry ruefully. ‘There is also William. How shall I satisfy him? He will soon be wanting territory to rule over. I have been talking over with Eleanor a plan for conquering Ireland and setting up William as its king.’
Matilda was thoughtful. ‘That’s well enough for later on. First you must make sure of your position here, and what of Anjou and Maine? What do you think would happen if you took a war into Ireland? Geoffrey would immediately revolt and take your possessions over there. Perhaps even Normandy. Nay! You have secured the crown of England. Now make sure that you lose nothing that you have before you seek fresh conquests. You should go. and see what mischief Geoffrey is making.’
He talked this proposition over with Eleanor and she was sure that Matilda was right.
‘I shall miss you bitterly,’ she said. ‘But you must go and save Anjou and Maine.’ She grew pale. ‘Perhaps even Aquitaine is in danger. Nay, you must go. You can leave me here with Leicester and Richard de Luci. You know you can trust us.’
‘Aye, I know,’ answered Henry; and he thought: They are right. This is what happened to my grandfather and my great-grandfather. Their lives were spent between England and Normandy because being in possession of one there was always the need to keep the other.
Eleanor was pregnant once more. He must leave her.
She would be capable of ruling with the help of men whom he could trust.
And so he set sail for his troubled possessions across the sea.
There was much to occupy her.
She had set about making a court in England to compare with those which had delighted her in Aquitaine and Paris.
Already troubadours from Provence were coming to her court. They were singing their songs of love and often she was the heroine of the romantic stories they portrayed.
Whenever she rode out her clothes were admired by the people who gathered to stare at her and raise a loyal shout.
She set new fashions. She was often seen with her hair loosely plaited covered by fine gauze; her gowns with their long hanging sleeves were the delight and wonder of the citizens of London, a city of which she was becoming very fond.
She delighted in the Tower of London at the east end of the city; she liked to pass under the gateway of Ludgate and enter the old cathedral; she loved the river down which she sailed to Westminster past the Strand with the beautiful gardens running down to the river’s edge. It was the power of the city that she loved for it was the richest city in England, and she liked to remind herself that these people were her subjects and that she with Henry ruled over this land.
There were times though when she sighed for the warmer breezes of Aquitaine and she longed to be there again, Henry and her troubadours beside her; but she realised that the destiny which had made him a king decreed that they would often have to be parted from each other, as now when it was her duty to watch their interests in England while he made sure that his turbulent brother did not succeed in his ambitious schemes.
Since she was pregnant she did not miss him so sorely.
Her children occupied her time. It seemed that after all she was meant to be a mother for she changed when she became pregnant and when her babies were young. She often thought of Marie and Alix and wondered if they missed her. She thought too of Louis with his new wife and whether he had forgotten her.
But there was too much near at hand and in the present for her to concern herself with far-off days.
There was the new baby, the mischief which little Henry was constantly brewing and the growing weakness of little William.
That was her main concern. His nurses shook their heads over him. He grew more pale and listless every day; and very soon before the new baby was born she knew for sure that when she gained one child she would lose another.
