Текст книги "The Plantagenet Prelude "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

‘Never fear. It shall be mine.’

‘I doubt it not. But your mother has led us a fine dance. Her father grew to understand her. But he was determined that you should inherit the throne. He used to call you Henry the Second of England.’

‘That is what I shall become.’

‘It must be so.’

‘Doubt it not. No man shall put his will in the way of mine. No one.’ And he thought: That means you, too, Father. For I shall be King of England and Eleonore shall be my Queen.

‘Beware of priests, Henry. They will seek to govern you. You stand for the State, and the State and Church are struggling for supremacy now as they ever did.’

‘I know it well and will have no masters. None,’ declared Henry.

‘I say goodbye now, my son. Bernard’s prophecy is coming true. A pig killed the son of the King of France and a dip in a river killed the son of Fulk of Anjou; and both prophesied by Bernard.’

‘Heed not such prophecies, Father. You invite death by believing them.’

‘Nay, my son. Death is in this room. Can you not sense his presence? Farewell. You will rule wisely. Marry well and soon, and get fine sons. A man needs sons.’

Geoffrey Plantagenet lay still and by the morning he was dead. Bernard’s prophecy had come true. Riding to his mother, Henry thought of what this would mean to him. He was master of great possessions and one obstacle to his marriage had been removed by death. He was only eighteen years of age. He could be patient a little longer.

That indomitable priest, the Abbé Suger, whom Louis the Fat had instructed to guide his son, was no longer there.

His passing was deeply mourned by the people for all knew him to have been a good man, and he was buried with great pomp at Saint-Denis. After the funeral Eleonore knew that now nothing could stand in the way of her divorce. It was only a matter of getting agreement from Louis. He was weary of the argument. Perhaps he too was beginning to be reconciled to a parting. Perhaps he realised that he would be happier married to another woman, for marry he must, since he still had to get a male heir.

Eleonore was not the woman for him. Although he might divorce her on grounds of consanguinity everyone knew that he could have done so for adultery. Her reputation was well known. There had been many to witness her light behaviour during the crusade and the names of the Plantagenets, father and son, were mentioned in connection with her.

Eleonore cared nothing for this. She was still beautiful; nor was she old; she would have many childbearing days ahead; moreover she was the richest heiress in Europe.

With the opposition removed by the hand of Death, Louis’s resistance did indeed crumble. It was no longer a question of whether there should be a divorce but on what grounds.

Louis’s feelings for Eleonore were so mixed that he could not entirely understand them himself. He knew in his heart that had she been contrite, had she given him her word that she would abandon her immoral way of life, willingly he would have taken her back. She had fascinated him; she still did; he could easily have forgiven her lapses from virtue if she had become a loving wife. He did not care for women generally, only Eleonore. He had loved her for herself, and the rich lands of Aquitaine had not influenced his feelings. But he did want a quiet, peaceful life and he knew he would never have that with Eleonore. He must divorce her, but if only she had given one little sign of contrition how happy he would have been to meet her halfway!

Again and again he would think of her with her lovers. Her own uncle! That was even more criminal than the others. Then a rare anger would arise in him. I will divorce her for adultery, he thought, and it was in such a mood that he approached his ministers.

But he was the King of France. He should not think of revenge, or his own personal feelings. He must only think of what was best for France.

If he divorced her for adultery he could not re-marry, for according to the laws of the Church, once married its members were always married. It was his duty as King to marry again. He had only two daughters and the Salic laws of France would prevent their inheriting the throne.

On the other hand if the marriage was ended because of consanguinity there would be no hindrance to remarriage because, since their close blood ties prevented their marriage being legal in the first place, they had never really been married, and either was free to marry again. As for the little girls Marie and Alix, they could be legitimised easily enough.

It was the answer. The marriage would cease to exist because of the close blood ties of Louis and Eleonore. It was the solution most satisfactory to all.

Eleonore was eagerly awaiting the outcome of the meeting of the council under the direction of the Archbishop of Bordeaux. She had taken up residence in the château close to the church of Notre-Dame de Beaugency where the decision was being made. She sat at the window, her eyes on the road. At any moment a messenger would come riding to the château and then she would know whether or not she was free.

Once she had the news she would lose no time in meeting Henry and they would be married without delay.

She would have to say goodbye to her daughters Marie and Alix. That had been her only regret. She had surprised herself by the depth of her feelings for her children; but she knew that even they could not compensate her for the loss of Henry, and she shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of her days with Louis for the sake of girls who would in a few years’ time marry and leave her.

No, she was too full of vigour, too sensuous, too egotistical to devote her life to others.

Henry was the man for her. She had known it in the first few weeks of their acquaintance. Strong, egotistical himself, and a sensualist, his nature matched hers. She had known from the first that even though she had a husband and Henry was eleven years younger than she was, he was the man she would marry.

Now, in a fever of impatience, she waited for the messengers. At last she saw them. Two bishops attended by two gentlemen were riding into the castle courtyard.

She ran down to meet them.

‘My lords,’ she said, ‘your answer.’

‘May we enter the castle?’ asked the Bishop of Langres reprovingly.

‘Nay,’ she cried imperiously. ‘I will wait no longer to hear the verdict. I command you tell me instantly without delay.’

The bishop hesitated; then he looked resigned.

He said: ‘It is the Council’s decision that on account of the close blood relationship between yourself and the King they declare the nullity of the marriage.’

Eleonore waited for no more. A great joy had come to her. ‘Come into the château, my friends,’ she said. ‘I would refresh you.’

Free! she was thinking. At least free of Louis. No more would she have to endure the boring company of the King, no more would she fret against a restriction on her freedom. She could go to her lover now.

There should be no delay. As soon as she had listened to this tiresome deputation, she would make preparations for her journey. Her first task must be to let Henry know that she was coming to him.

‘Ride with all speed,’ she told her messenger. ‘Tell the Duke of Normandy that Eleonore of Aquitaine sends greetings. Tell him she is on the way to her own town of Bordeaux, that she will look for him there, and that she is eager to waste no more time.’

Oh, the joy of riding in the fresh spring air! It was Easter time, the most beautiful time of the year, and how rich and fertile were the lands of the South!

As she rode south the country people came out to greet her. They cheered her. There had been stories of the immoral life she had led while married to the King of France but to the people of the South these seemed like romantic adventures. Seated on her palfrey with her hair flowing and in her gown with the long sleeves which fell to the hem of her skirts, she was a beautiful sight. A queen in very truth and she was back among them. She had brought colour to her father’s court. Songs had been written about her; she herself wrote songs and sang them, and they were about love and chivalry. It was small wonder in their eyes that she was not appreciated in the cold land of the North.

Now she was coming back and it was an occasion for rejoicing.

One day when she was riding through the domain of the Count of Blois, a party of horsemen came riding towards them. As they approached, Eleonore saw that they were led by a young man of pleasing appearance.

He pulled up before the Queen, doffing his hat and waving it in a gesture of gallantry as he bowed before her.

‘It is indeed the Queen of Queens,’ he said.

She inclined her head, pleased to be so addressed.

‘Journeying from the court of France to Bordeaux,’ he went on. ‘You will need to rest for the night at some worthy castle. Yet knowing mine to be unworthy I offer it to you. My castle of Blois is close at hand. It is the finest shelter you could find in these parts. I should be honoured indeed if you would allow me to entertain you there.’

‘We should be delighted,’ replied the Queen; and added,

‘You are Theobald, Count of Champagne.’

‘I am honoured that you should know me.’

‘I knew your father well,’ said Eleonore and thought grimly: He had a great influence on our lives. It was our conflict with him over Petronelle’s marriage that led to the burning of Vitry and our crusade.

That elder Theobald had been dead for some two years. This was his son, and he was clearly not only young and good-looking but ambitious.

As they rode side by side towards the castle of Blois he was congratulating himself on the prospect of having such a notorious lady under his roof. She was a beauty too. Eleonore was aware of his admiration but it pleased her only mildly. She longed for one man and one man only – Henry, Duke of Normandy.

When they reached the courtyard of his castle Theobald leaped from his horse and commanded that a goblet of wine be brought. He stood by her horse while the goblet was brought; then sipped it and passed it to her. Their eyes met over the cup; his were bold, and he could not hide from her the speculative gleam in them.

Foolish man! she thought. Did he think that she was ready to accept any man, and that the only qualifications he needed to accept her favours were those of his manhood? Did he think he could compare with Raymond of Antioch, Saladin, and chief of all, Henry of Normandy? She would be delighted to teach him a lesson.

‘How honoured I am that you should come to my castle,’ he said as he helped her to alight. ‘I warn you I shall do everything in my power to make your stay here a long one.’

‘My lord is gracious,’ she said. ‘But we are but passing on our way to my town of Bordeaux and I am in some haste to reach it.’

‘You will at least rest here the night.’

‘Indeed I will and it is good of you to play the host so kindly.’

‘I would give all the kindness of which I am capable to such a gracious lady.’

He himself conducted her to her bedchamber.

‘The finest in the castle,’ he said. ‘It is my own.’ She looked startled and he added: ‘I shall occupy one close by to make sure that you are well guarded through the night.’

I must be careful of my lord of Champagne, thought Eleonore. He is too ambitious. It was easy to see what was in the young braggart’s mind. He would indeed need to be taught a lesson.

She ordered that her baggage be brought to the chamber and there her women dressed her in a gown of velvet with long hanging sleeves lined with miniver; she wore her beautiful hair loose about her shoulders and thus she sat almost in state in the hall of the castle of Blois.

Theobald had ordered that the choicest meats be prepared for the banquet; he had instructed his troubadours to make songs to celebrate the Queen’s stay at his castle.

Nothing that could be done to make her stay memorable was forgotten.

She sat in the great hall of the castle, enthroned as a queen, and beside her was Theobald his eyes growing more and more caressing, and more bold, as the night wore on.

She was amused and a little cynical.

Can it be that he wishes to marry me? she asked herself.

She was free now. Men, had courted her when she was Louis’s wife because of her reputation. Now they would court her because of her fortune.

She decided to amuse herself a little with Theobald.

‘This,’ he told her passionately, ‘is the finest hour my castle has ever known.’

‘Let us hope,’ she answered, ‘that it will know many more.’

His eyes lit with pleasure. Could she really mean that she would stay here?

He answered: ‘That could only be if you consented to stay here.’

‘How could I do that, my lord, when I have my own castles beyond Blois?’

‘’Tis true you have many fine castles. I would like this castle of Blois to be one of yours.’

‘You are over-generous with your castles, my young lord. Is it because they have been such a short time in your possession? What would your noble father say if he looked down from heaven and heard you giving away what he has left you.’

‘He would be happy indeed for he would know what went with the castle.’

‘And what is that?’

‘My heart, my hand, all that I possess.’

‘Is this a proposal of marriage?’

‘It is.’

‘Ah, I doubt not you are one of many. When a woman is possessed of many rich lands it is amazing how ready men are to fall in love with her.’

‘You know you are the most beautiful woman in the world. The fact that you own Aquitaine is of no importance.’

‘I could never marry a man who was not sensible of the power of lands and riches. It seems he would be a poor helpmeet to me in the governing of my possessions.’

‘Nay, I am well aware of them. What I tell you is that were you the humblest serving-maid I would be willing to sacrifice all for your sake.’

‘What you mean is you would be ready to take me to your bed for a night, perhaps two, if I proved worthy. I could never marry a man who thought me such a fool that he must tell me blatant lies.’

‘I see you are too clever for me.’

‘You realise that then. A man should never marry a woman who is too clever for him. It is not the key to happy marriage.’

‘Oh, Eleonore, you are known throughout the land of France as the Queen of Love. Have done with banter. I would marry you. I beg of you consider my proposal.’

‘I do not need to consider it. I could not marry you. You must look elsewhere for your wife.’

‘I shall not give up hope.’

‘It is always comforting to hope,’ she said. ‘Now I would listen to your excellent minstrels.’

She was amused by the young man. His wooing was almost abrupt. She had been in his castle not more than a few hours and he had asked her to marry him. Nay, my little man, she thought, you must do better than that. Do you think you could compare with my Henry?

She would tell Henry about the brash young fellow. How they would laugh together. Perhaps she would make a song about it. Oh, she could not wait to be with Henry!

She was thoughtful as her women undressed her, combed her hair and helped her to the bed which had been made ready for her.

‘Four of you will sleep in this room tonight,’ she said, ‘and one of my esquires will sleep across my door. It has occurred to me that we may have a visitor.’

Her women laughed. ‘Surely the Count would not be so bold.’

‘I am here in his castle. He has hinted and I have seen some purpose in his eyes. I think I should take these precautions.’

How right she was. As she expected the young Count attempted to come to her bedchamber. Her trusted esquire who lay across her door sprang to his feet, his sword unsheathed. When commanded to stand aside he said that he acted on the orders of the Queen and any who crossed the threshold would do so only over his dead body.

‘A fuss about nothing,’ grumbled the Count and went fuming back to his bed.

How Eleonore laughed in the morning when she heard the account of this.

She decided that she would not spend another night in the castle of Blois and secretly ordered that preparations be made to leave.

Theobald came to her. He was very suave. He begged her to stay another night for he had heard that there was a band of robbers in the neighbourhood, and by the next day he could get together an escort to accompany her and her party.

A twinge of alarm came to Eleonore then. She knew what means ambitious young men adopted with heiresses. He could make her a prisoner in his castle, force her to submit to his attentions and keep her there until she agreed to marry him. She had no doubt that plans along this line were formulating in the Count’s mind.

She was not really afraid and half amused. How dared he! He had been in possession of his estates only two years and he was behaving like a brigand.

She would teach him a lesson.

She pretended to believe him.

There was more feasting that night, more songs were sung. She noticed how he endeavoured to fill her goblet. Did he think she was an innocent? It was she who contrived to make him drink as much as to fuddle his mind. She knew that he spoke truth when he said he was sending for guards. They would not be to conduct her on her way but to guard her in the castle.

She had planned what she would do. She had ordered that every member of her party be prepared to leave that night in secret. As soon as the castle was quiet they would creep down to the stables where everything would be in readiness. They would slip away and when the Count awoke in the morning he would find his guests had gone.

She was an intrigant by nature.

She amused herself by giving a little encouragement to the Count, implying that she might consider him, providing he behaved in a manner which she considered due to her dignity. She would be hurried into nothing and an attempt to effect this would meet with her disapproval.

She managed to instil into his somewhat fuddled mind that he must give her time and that she would be rather amused by his methods to coerce her.

Thus he decided to leave her in peace for that night and her plans were successful. Very quietly she and her party left Blois, and in the morning when the ambitious young Count awoke he cursed himself and all who served him because they had allowed this prize to slip between his fingers.

How she laughed as she looked back at the far distant castle of Blois in the early morning light. If he sent the fleetest riders after her he would never catch her now.

‘We will make for Anjou,’ she said. ‘There we shall be safe for that is the Count of Anjou’s land, and the Count of Anjou is the Duke of Normandy and were I to fall into his hands it would be with the greatest of pleasure for he is the man I am going to marry.’

So they made for Anjou and as they crossed into it she was exultant.

Her complacency was short-lived. As they crossed the meadows they saw a rider in the distance, a young man who begged to speak to the Queen.

He told her he had been in the employ of Henry Plantagenet, now Duke of Normandy, and had been passed into the service of Henry’s young brother, Geoffrey Plantagenet.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I still serve the Duke of Normandy and so I come to tell you that four miles ahead lies an ambush.

Geoffrey Plantagenet plans to abduct you, to take you to his castle, and to keep you there until you promise to marry him. He hates his brother because he has inherited much while he has but three castles in Anjou.’

Eleonore laughed aloud.

‘Take this young man,’ she said, ‘give him food and from henceforth he shall serve me. I promise you, my good fellow, that ere long you shall find yourself in the service of the Duke of Normandy for any who serves me will serve him also. We will now change course. We will leave Anjou and go south to Aquitaine. We will ride to Poitiers and I promise you it will not be long before we have reached my city.’

Warily they rode. There had been two indications of what ambitious men would attempt to win the hand of an heiress.

‘None shall take by force what is mine to give,’ said Eleonore.

They came to her city of Poitiers and she took up her lodging in the château; there she sent a messenger to Henry to tell him that she would await him there and when he came they would be married without delay.

How long the waiting seemed and yet she knew he came with all speed! It was necessary for them to marry quickly and that no hint of who her bridegroom was to be should reach Louis’s ears. As Duchess of Aquitaine she was his vassal and he had the right to forbid her to marry a man of whom he did not approve, and it would not be only Louis who disapproved of a match between Normandy and Aquitaine.

At length he came. She was in the courtyard waiting to greet him. With great joy they embraced and eagerly discussed the arrangements for the wedding which must take place without delay. They would not wait for the ceremony of course, although each realised the importance of it. They had been lovers before and were impatient for each other.

The wedding was to take place on Whit Sunday and it would not be celebrated with the pomp which had accompanied that of Eleonore to the King of France for it was most important for it to take place before anyone could stop it.

However spies had already conveyed to Louis that Henry of Normandy had joined Eleonore in Poitiers and that arrangements were going on to celebrate their marriage.

Louis was furious. Not only was he jealous of Eleonore’s obsession with young Henry, but if Aquitaine and Normandy were joined by the marriage of these two, then Henry of Normandy would be the most powerful man in the country.

He demanded that his vassal, Henry of Normandy, come to Paris immediately. That was a summons which Henry could only ignore.

Instead of obeying the King he went to the cathedral with Eleonore and there, on that warm Whit Sunday, Eleonore of Aquitaine became the bride of Henry of Normandy.