Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Chapter XIV

ROSAMUND’S BOWER

There was a great rejoicing in France for Louis’s wife had given birth to a son. A male heir for France when it had been despaired of. Louis was delighted; all over France the bells rang out and the news was proclaimed through the streets of Paris. He had feared that he could beget only daughters.

Henry heard the news with despondency. His son Henry was married to Marguerite of France and he had hoped that on the death of Louis, since the French King had then no male heir, young Henry might take the crown. He would after all have a certain claim through his wife and with the King of England and Duke of Normandy behind him, his power would be great.

Alas, fate had decided against him.

Eleanor shared his chagrin and she herself very shortly afterwards gave birth to a daughter. They called her Joanna.

The birth of his son seemed to add a new dimension to Louis’s character. He cast off much of his meekness. He had a son to plan for now. This showed immediately in his reception of Thomas Becket to whom he accorded a very warm welcome.

‘It is one of the royal dignities of France to protect fugitives, especially men of the Church, from their persecutors,’ he said. He would do everything in his power to help Thomas reach the Pope.

Henry’s feelings were incomprehensible even to himself.

He was half pleased that Thomas had escaped. He could have arrested him in the council chamber. Why had he not done so? he asked himself many times. Because he did not want Thomas’s blood on his hands. The man exasperated him beyond endurance; he set the hot blood rushing to his head; and yet at the same time he could not entirely suppress a tenderness for him. Often memories of the old days would come crowding into his mind. What fun they had had! No one had ever amused him quite as much as Thomas. What a fool the man was! If only he had been ready to do what the King wished, their friendship would have gone on and on to enrich both their lives.

He sent his envoys to the court of France with gifts for Louis and congratulations, which Louis knew were false, on the birth of his son.

They had come, they said, to speak of the late Archbishop of Canterbury.

Louis with surprising spirit answered that he had not known that Thomas Becket was the late Archbishop of Canterbury. ‘I am a King even as the King of England is,’ he went on, ‘yet I have not the power to depose the least of my clerics.’

They realised then that Louis was not going to be helpful and that Thomas had indeed found a sanctuary with him.

They asked him if he would write to the Pope putting the King of England’s grievances to him. They reminded him that during the conflict between England and France the Archbishop had worked assiduously against France.

‘It was his duty,’ said Louis. ‘Had he been my subject he would have worked so for me.’

There was nothing Henry could do now to prevent the case of Thomas Becket being put before the Pope, and he made sure that his side of the case should be well represented; that old enemy of Thomas’s, Roger, Archbishop of York, was among his emissaries.

The friends Thomas could send, headed by Herbert, were humble in comparison; they had no rich gifts to bring to the Pope. The Pope in his Papal Court at Sens received them with affection however and was deeply moved when he heard of the suffering of Thomas Becket.

‘He is alive still,’ he said. ‘Then I rejoice. He can still, while in the flesh, claim the privilege of martyrdom.’

The next day the Pope called a meeting and the King’s embassy and those who came from Thomas were present.

Carefully the Pope listened to both sides of the story and later sent for Thomas.

When he was received by the Pope and his cardinals, Thomas showed them the constitutions he had brought from Clarendon. The Pope read them with horror and Thomas confessed his sin in that he had promised to obey the King and that only when he had been called to make the promise in public had he realised that the King had no intention of keeping his word. After that he had determined to stand out against Henry no matter what happened.

‘Your fault was great,’ said the Pope, ‘but you have done your best to atone for it. You have fallen from grace, but my son, you have risen stronger than you were before. I will not give you a penance. You have already expiated your sin in all that you have suffered.’

Thomas was determined that they should know the complete truth.

‘Much evil has fallen on the Church on my account,’ he said. ‘I was thrust into my post by the King’s favour, by the design of men, not God. I give into your hands, Holy Father, the burden which I no longer have the strength to bear.’

He tried to put the archiepiscopal ring into the Pope’s hands, but the Pope would not take it.

‘Your work for the Holy Church has atoned for all that has happened to you,’ he said. ‘You will receive the See of Canterbury fresh from my hands. Rest assured that we here

shall maintain you in your cause because it is the Church’s cause. You should retire, my son, to some refuge where you can meditate and regain your strength. I will send you to a monastery where you must learn to subdue the flesh. You have lived in great comfort and luxury and I wish you to learn to live with privation and poverty.’

Thomas declared his burning desire to do so and it was arranged that he should for a while live at the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny which was in Burgundy.

Eleanor was once more pregnant and a few days after Christmas in the year 1166 another son was born to her.

They called him John.

Soon after the birth of this son Eleanor began to wonder why the King’s visits to Woodstock always raised his spirits. There was a lilt in his voice when he mentioned the place.

What, she asked herself, was so special about Woodstock? A pleasant enough place it was true, but the King had many pleasant castles and palaces. She determined to find out.

When Henry was at Woodstock she joined him there and she noticed that he disappeared for long spells at a time, and that when she asked any of her servants where he might be, she could get no satisfactory answer.

She decided she would watch him very closely herself and all the time they were at Woodstock she did this. One afternoon she was rewarded for her diligence. Looking from her window she saw the King emerging from the palace, and hastening from her room she left by a door other than the one which he had used, and so before he had gone very far she came face to face with him.

‘A pleasant day,’ she said, ‘on which to take a walk.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ he answered somewhat shiftily she thought, and was about to say that she would accompany him when she noticed attached to his spur a ball of silk.

She was about to ask him how he had come by this when she changed her mind.

She said that she was going into the palace and would see him later. He seemed relieved and kissed her hand and as she passed him facing towards the palace she contrived to bend swiftly and pick up the ball of silk.

He passed on and she saw to her amazement that a piece of the silk was still caught in his spur and that the ball unraveled as he went.

She was very amused because if she could follow the King at some distance she would know exactly which turn he had taken in the maze of trees by following the thread.

It was an amusing incident and if he discovered her they would laugh about her shadowing him through the maze of trees.

Then it suddenly occurred to her. He had been visiting someone earlier. It must be a woman. From whom else should he have picked up a ball of silk.

A sudden anger filled her. Another light of love. He should not have them so near the royal palaces. She would tell him so if she discovered who his new mistress was.

He was deep in the thicket, and still he was going purposefully on. She realised suddenly that the end attached to his spur had come off and he was no longer leading her. Carefully she let the end of her silk fall to the ground and followed the trail it had left. There was no sign of Henry.

She would leave the silk where it lay and retrace her steps to the Palace. When the opportunity arose she would explore the maze and see if she could discover where Henry had gone.

She was very thoughtful when he returned to the palace for there was about him a look of contentment which she had noticed before.

The next day Henry was called away to Westminster and she declared her intention of staying behind at Woodstock for a while. Immediately she decided to explore the maze.

This she did and found that the thread of silk was still there.

She followed it through the paths so that she knew she was going the way the King had gone. Then the silk stopped but she could see that the trees were thinning.

It did not take her long to find the dwelling-house.

It was beautiful – a miniature palace. In the garden sat a woman; she was embroidering and in a little basket beside her lay balls of silk of the same size and colour as that which had attached itself to the King’s spur.

Two young boys were playing a ball game on the grass and every now and then the woman would look at them.

There was something about the appearance of those boys which made Eleanor tremble with anger.

The woman suddenly seemed to be aware that she was watched for she looked up and encountered the intent eyes of the Queen fixed on her. She rose to her feet. Her embroidery fell to the floor. The two boys stopped playing and watched.

Eleanor went to the woman and said:

‘Who are you?’

The woman answered: ‘Should I not ask that of you who come to my house?’

‘Ask if you will. I am the Queen.’

The woman turned pale. She stepped back a pace or two and glanced furtively to right and left as if looking for a way of escape.

Eleanor took her by the arm. ‘You had better tell me,’ she said.

‘I am Rosamund Clifford.’

The elder of the boys came up and said in a high-pitched voice: ‘Don’t hurt my mother, please.’

‘You are the King’s mistress,’ said Eleanor.

Rosamund answered, ‘Please...not before the children.’ Then she turned to the boys and said: ‘Go into the house.’

‘Mother, we cannot leave you with this woman.’

Eleanor burst out laughing. ‘I am your Queen. You must obey me. Go into the house. I have something to say to your mother.’

‘Yes, go,’ said Rosamund.

They went and the two women faced each other.

‘How long has it been going on?’ demanded Eleanor.

‘For...for some time.’

‘And both of those boys are his?’

Rosamund nodded.

‘I will kill him,’ said Eleanor. ‘I will kill you both. So it was to see you...and it has been going on for years, and that is why he comes so much to Woodstock.’ She took Rosamund by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You insignificant creature. What does he see in you? Is it simply that you do his bidding? You would never say no to him, never disagree, never be anything but what he wanted!’

She continued to shake Rosamund. ‘You little fool. How long do you think it will last...’

She stopped. It had lasted for years. There might be other women but he kept Rosamund. He would not have kept Eleanor if it had not been necessary for him to do so.

She was jealous; she was furiously jealous of this pink and white beauty, mild as milk and sweet as honey.

‘Do not think that I shall allow this to go on,’ she said.

‘The King wills it,’ answered Rosamund with a show of spirit.

‘And I will that it should end.’

‘I have told him that it should never have been...’

‘And yet when he comes here you receive him warmly. You cannot wait to take him to your bed. I know your kind. Do not think you deceive me. And he has got two boys on you has he not! And promised you all kinds of honours for them I’ll swear! You shall say goodbye to him for you will not see him more, I promise you.’

‘You have spoken to the King?’

‘Not yet. He knows not that I have discovered you. He is careful to hide you here, is he not? Why? Because he is afraid his wife will discover you.’

‘He thought it wiser for me to remain in seclusion...’

‘I’ll warrant he did. But I found you. One of your silly little balls of silk led me here. But I have found you now...and this will be the end, I tell you. I’ll not allow it. And what will become, of you, think you, when the King has tired of you?

’Twere better then that you had never been born. Why did you lose your virtue to such a man? You should have married as good women do and brought children to your lawful husband. Now what will become of you? The best thing you can do is throw yourself down from the tower of your house. Why don’t you do that?’

Rosamund stared at her in horror.

‘Yes. I wish to see you do it now.’

‘I could not.’

‘It is best for you. You are a harlot. It is better you were dead. I will bring you poison and you shall drink it. Or I will bring you a dagger and you can pierce your heart with it.’

Rosamund thought the Queen was mad. There was such a wildness in her eyes.

‘Wait...wait,’ begged Rosamund. ‘Wait until the King returns. If you killed me he would never forgive you.’

‘Do you think I want his forgiveness! He is a hard man. A selfish man. A man who will have his way. Go into your house. Think of your sins. I should repent if I were you, and the only way you can receive forgiveness is to go and sin no more. Tomorrow I will come again and by then you will have decided what you are going to do. Tonight say your prayers, ask forgiveness for your harlotry, and tomorrow be prepared to die.’

Eleanor threw Rosamund from her and ran back through the maze of trees. A madness was on her. She hated him. Why should she care so fiercely that he had deceived her? Why did it matter so much? It mattered because this was the woman he wanted. She knew how gladly he would have set Eleanor aside for her.

Back at the palace she shut herself into her bedchamber. She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

She hated Henry and she loved him.

I am ageing and she is young, she thought. Once he cared for me, but now he sees me as an old woman. Did they not shake their heads over us because I am nearly twelve years older than he is? When we were younger it did not seem to matter. I had so much to offer. Would he have wanted me if it were not for Aquitaine? Would he? As much as he now wanted Rosamund Clifford?

For all those years he had gone to her. She could tell the age of the liaison by the age of the boys. And he went to see them and was happy there – happier than he was in his royal palaces!

I will kill her, she thought. I will take to her a phial of poison and force her to drink it. When he comes to see her he will find a corpse. She shall not live to mock me.

Fortunately for Rosamund Henry returned to Woodstock the next day. Eleanor came to him while he was preparing to leave, as she knew now, for that little house in which he had installed his mistress.

‘So you came back early. Were you so eager to make love to Rosamund Clifford?’

He stopped short to stare at her. Caught! she thought with grim satisfaction. She saw the redness come into his eyes. He was now going to fly into one of his notorious tempers because she had found him out.

‘What know you of Rosamund Clifford?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not as much as you, I admit. But I did discover the lady’s bower.’

‘Who took you there?’

‘You, my lord, with your little skein of silk.’

‘What nonsense is this!’

‘No nonsense. The pretty lady’s skein of silk was attached to your spur. I found it and trailed you there...or almost. Yesterday I paid a call on her. She did not welcome me as eagerly as she must welcome you.’

‘You went there!’

‘What a haven! And two fine boys too! Henry, what a man you are for getting boys on harlots! I declare your reputation will soon be that of your grandfather and mine.’

‘So you have discovered this.’

‘Yes, indeed. You are found out.’

‘Know this. I will do as I will.’

‘We all know that, my King. But while you may do as you will with low-born maidens, you may not with the Queen of England and Duchess of Aquitaine.’

Henry laughed but it was not pleasant laughter.

‘You should know me well enough by now to realise that I will not be told what I must do by those two.’

‘Neither of them will tolerate a mistress here in the palace even though she is hidden in a maze. You fool, Henry, did you think you could keep the woman’s existence a secret from me forever?’

‘I did not and I care not.’

‘Yet you did not wish me to know.’

‘I thought it kinder to you not to know.’

‘Do you think I want your kindness? Do you think I shall fret because you have a mistress or two?’

‘Nay, you are too wise. You know full well that if I want a woman I will have her.’

‘How long has this one been your mistress?’

‘Suffice it that she is.’

‘You have a special fondness for this one, eh?’

‘I have.’

‘She is as a wife to you, is she?’

‘She is.’

‘And you would to God she were.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘I would to God she were.’

She struck at him; he caught her hand and threw her from him.

‘You she-wolf,’ he said.

‘And you are the lion. Henry the Lion, King of the Forest.

But forget not the she-wolf has her fangs.’

‘If she dares show them to me or mine they will be torn from her. Doubt that not. And know this. If you harm Rosamund Clifford I will kill you.’

‘All Aquitaine would revolt against you if you dared.’

‘Do I care for Aquitaine? I will subdue Aquitaine as I have all my territories. Do you forget that I am the King and master of you all...every one of you. Don’t be a fool, Eleanor. You are the Queen. Does that not suffice? You have borne my heirs. We have a nursery full of them. Four fine boys. Henry will be King to follow me – your son. Is that not enough?’

‘No. It is not enough. I will not have you sport with your mistress a stone’s throw from the palace. She must go. Get rid of her.’

‘I’d liefer get rid of you.’

‘If you go back to that woman I never want to share your bed again.’

‘So be it,’ he said. ‘You are no longer young. There are others who please me far more.’

She struck out at him as she had done before but he seized her and threw her on to the bed. In the old days there would have been a rising of sexual passion on such occasions. Not now. There was now hatred for her. It was clear to her that the two youngest children, Joanna and John, had come into being through custom or the need of a king to get as many children as he could to ensure the succession.

Suddenly she felt defeated. She was an ageing woman. She had lived an adventurous life; she had had her lovers, but that was over now. She still had power though. She was still ruler of Aquitaine. In that fair land her troubadours still sang to her beauty. She had a great desire then to be there.

‘I am going to Aquitaine,’ she said.

‘Your people are ever glad to have you with them,’ answered the King. ‘It is well that you should go. They grow restive when their Duchess is not among them.’

‘I will take Richard with me and young Marguerite.’

Her anger had left her. He would be free to dally with Rosamund Clifford. Perhaps now he need not keep her in her secret house – unless the lady was coy.

Eleanor had discovered the secret of Woodstock and it had brought to her some understanding of herself. The King was tired of her. He no longer loved her. She was merely the mother of his children and the ruler of Aquitaine. Let her go. He would be free of her. Let him alone that he might give himself to those two passions which consumed him – his love for Rosamund Clifford and his battle with Thomas Becket.

As she knew she would, Eleanor found her children at their books. Matilda, the eldest daughter, was a year older than Richard who with his fair good looks and elegant figure was her favourite. It was not only his charm and good looks which made him so, but the fact that his father seemed to dislike him. Why? Because Richard more than the others resented the intrusion into their circle of the bastard Geoffrey – and Henry knew that more than anything on earth Eleanor loved this son.

She loved his brother Geoffrey too, and when she came into their quarters and called his name there was never any confusion because of that other. She never spoke to him if she could help it and if she was ever obliged to she never looked at him when she spoke and never called him by a name.

Richard called him Geoffrey the Bastard. There had been many a fight between them. She suspected that the sly little bastard complained to his father about the unkindness of Richard.

Her son Geoffrey was beautiful. Strangely enough he had inherited the looks of his grandfather of the same name, Geoffrey of Anjou who had been known as Geoffrey the Fair. There was little Eleanor, too young as yet to show much character, adoring Richard because he was by his very nature the leader.

Joanna and baby John were too young to join the schoolroom but John was already showing signs of having inherited the famous Angevin temper. Rarely, she was sure, had a child screamed so much when he was displeased as Master John.

As she watched them in those few seconds before they were aware of her, she was overwhelmed by her emotions.

She had always been fond of children. Even her two daughters by Louis had been important to her during their early life. It was difficult for a Queen who had so many calls upon her time to be as much with her children as a humbler mother might have been – and in the days of her marriage to Louis she had craved adventure because she had been so bored with her marriage.

She had never been bored with Henry. Now that she hated him, for she was sure she did, he could still arouse in her an emotion which was far from boredom. She was of a nature to prefer hatred to ennui.

Richard looked up and saw her. The pleasure in his eyes compensated her for the King’s contempt of her. Henry might find her ageing, no longer an inspiration to love, but Richard loved her with a love which did not depend on years. He was her beloved son; there was an understanding between them. They were all ies against the King, for Richard was fully aware that for some reason his father did not like him.

Richard rose from the table and ran to her. He knelt and kissed her hands.

‘Mother,’ he said, raising his beautiful eyes to hers.

‘My dearest boy,’ she answered, and her son Geoffrey was already clamouring for attention.

She thought: They love me. They truly love me. Is it like this when the King comes to their schoolroom?

Geoffrey the Bastard stood up and bowed stiffly. She looked past him as though she were unaware of his existence.

Another child had come into the room. This was Marguerite, the little French Princess, who was married to Henry and was now being brought up in the royal household. Marguerite curtseyed to the Queen and greeted her in her pretty accent.

Eleanor drew them all about her and asked questions about their lessons. They answered eagerly, but Richard was the cleverest she noticed with satisfaction.

‘We are going to Aquitaine,’ she said. ‘That is my own country.’

‘Are we all going?’ asked Richard.

‘As yet I am unsure, but one thing I know. You, my son, will go with me.’

Richard laughed aloud to show his pleasure.

‘That pleases you, my boy?’ she asked ruffling his fair curly hair.

He nodded. ‘But if they had not let me go...’ They meant his father. ‘… I should have followed you.’

‘How would you have done that?’

‘I would have ridden to the sea and got into the boat and then I would have ridden on to Aquitaine.’

‘You will be an adventurer, my son.’

Then she told them about Aquitaine and how the troubadours came to the court and sang beautiful songs, for Aquitaine was the home of the troubadours.

‘Listen, Marguerite,’ commanded Richard. ‘Does not my mother tell beautiful stories? Is she not better than your old Becket?’

‘What is this talk of Becket?’ asked the Queen.

‘Marguerite always talks of him. She says that she and Henry cried when he went. Marguerite loved him...so did Henry. They said they loved him better than anyone, better than our father...better than you...That was wicked wasn’t it, my lady, for he is a wicked man.’

‘You listen to gossip,’ said the Queen. ‘You will not mention this man. He was wicked because he offended the King. That is an end of him.’

‘Is he dead?’ asked Richard, at which Marguerite burst into tears.

‘He is not dead,’ said the Queen to pacify Marguerite.

‘But he is not to be spoken of. Now I will sing you a song from Aquitaine and you will understand then how happy we shall be there.’

And there with Richard leaning against her knee and Geoffrey looking at her with wondering eyes, and Matilda and Marguerite sitting on their small stools at her feet, she thought, Here is my future, in these beautiful sons and particularly Richard. What care I for you, Henry Plantagenet, when I have my sons? I will bind them to me and they shall be truly mine. They will hate those who do not treat me well – even though that be you, King Henry.

When Eleanor left England the King was relieved. He decided now that he would live openly with Rosamund and brought her out of seclusion. She was a great solace to him but he was a worried man. He thought constantly of Thomas Becket, and try as he might he could not get the man out of his mind. Thomas would be living now in poverty in his monastery. Thomas who had loved luxury and needed comforts. Henry remembered how cold Thomas had been when the wind blew and how he had laughed at him for his weakness. But Thomas was by no means weak. He had a strong spirit and was of the stuff that martyrs are made.

There was not room for us both in England, thought Henry.

He could not long enjoy his solitude in England, peaceful as everything was there. Fresh trouble had broken out in Brittany which meant crossing the seas again. He said a fond farewell to Rosamund and left.

‘The fate of all our kings, since my ancestor William the Conqueror took this land and added it to his estates of Normandy,’ he mused.

In September news came to him that his mother, still known as the Empress Matilda, was grievously sick at Rouen; and before he could get to her side she was dead.

That saddened him. There had been affection between them, and she had loved him as dearly as she was capable of loving anyone. Now that she was dead he thought of all she had done for him; how, when she had known that the English crown could not be hers she had schemed for it to be his. He had been her favourite. His brothers – now both dead – had been nowhere with her.

In a way she reminded him of Eleanor – both strong women, both brought up with the idea that they would be rulers. It was a mistake to bring up women so. Matilda’s married life had been stormy from the start. At least he and Eleanor had started by loving each other.

As mothers he compared the two women. Eleanor seemed to be developing an obsession concerning that young cub Richard. And I never took to him – mine though he undoubtedly is. He’s his mother’s boy. Ready to defend her against any – including me. A fine sportsman. It did a man good to look at such a boy and know he was his son.

But he could not like him – not as he could young Geoffrey, the whore’s son. Strange, he had begun by making much of the boy because Eleanor hated to have him in her nurseries, and it had grown from that. And Henry, his firstborn since they had lost William, Henry was a fine boy.

Charming and handsome. A son to be proud of. There was an estrangement between them now for the boy had been put under the tutelage of Becket, and the man had somehow weaned him from his natural affections and taken them himself. Thus when there had been a quarrel between Becket and the King, the boy would take the side of his tutor rather than his father.

Becket. It all came back to Becket.

The King had been thinking about his eldest son and some time before it had occurred to him that if young Henry were crowned King of England during his father’s lifetime there could be no doubt of the succession.

Some of his ministers thought that it would be unwise to have two crowned kings.

‘My own son!’ cried Henry. ‘What should I fear from him?’

True, young Henry was but a boy, but that would not always be so.

The more he thought of the idea the more he liked it. It would bind young Henry to him. Surely he would be grateful to a father who had done so much for him. Surely that would wean his allegiance from Becket.

Then again his ministers reminded him, it was a law that a king must be crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and as the Archbishop was in exile who could perform this important ceremony?

There was Roger, Archbishop of York and the King’s servant. But the Archbishop of York was not the Primate, though the king had done everything in his power to make him so.

In the privacy of his apartments he thought: What if I made my peace with Thomas? Then he could come back and crown young Henry. He had to admit that he wanted Thomas back. He wanted to renew the fight. He couldn’t help it. The man had been close to him. Young Henry mourned for Thomas and so in a way did his father.

Fortunately for Henry, Pope Alexander was a man of devious ways and when such a man was in difficulties, as Alexander undoubtedly was, it was not an insuperable task to make him agree to something which was outside his rights.

In a weak moment Alexander agreed that the coronation of young Henry should be performed by Roger, Archbishop of York.

Knowing that having been forced by Henry to make such a concession Alexander would immediately attempt to rescind it, Henry put preparations for the coronation into progress.

He sent word to Eleanor that Henry, who had joined her and the other children in Aquitaine, was to be brought to Caen with his wife, young Marguerite, and wait there until he sent for him.

Eleanor had written to the King telling him that Marguerite had declared that the coronation could be no coronation unless it was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and this so angered the King that when he sent for his son he commanded that he come alone. If Marguerite thought she must be crowned by her beloved Becket she should have no coronation at all.