Текст книги "The Revolt of the Eaglets"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Normally Henry would not have accepted this, but his son was with the army of the King of France and he wished to teach him a lesson rather than that any harm should befall him. After all he understood the boy’s desire for power. Hadn’t he had similar desires when he was his age?
So he agreed to the truce. That night, Louis’s soldiers – out of control as they had been on the notorious occasion of Vitry-the-Burned – sacked the town; and when morning came they were already in flight.
When Henry saw the burning town his fury was great. He set off immediately in pursuit of Louis’s army but although he inflicted great slaughter on its rear he did not catch up with Louis and young Henry.
Now it became clear that revolt was springing up all over his dominions. It was necessary for him to send a force without delay to Brittany where fortunately he was quickly able to put down the insurrection.
It was a great blow to him to hear that Robert, Earl of Leicester, the son of the man who had been one of his most loyal supporters, and his Chamberlain, William de Tancarville, had left England for France and had joined young Henry.
This was serious, and when Louis, who had been greatly upset by the affair at Verneuil, suggested that they meet to discuss peace, Henry was ready.
He was considerably hurt to hear that his three sons had accompanied Louis to Gisors, the spot where the conference was to take place, and that they had come to support the King of France against their own father. He wanted to be on friendly terms with his sons and to start again to build up a pleasant relationship with them. His offer was generous considering that they had taken up arms against him. It was true, he recognised, that there was some justice in their demands, but it was none the less depressing to sit with his own sons on one side of the conference table and himself on the other. Young Henry had become defiant – perhaps he always had been – but now with the backing of the King of France he was not afraid to show it. Richard gave him cool looks of hatred; and his two elder sons were training their brother Geoffrey to follow their example. Life had indeed become sour, when those who should have loved him and worked beside him had turned against him.
He promised certain concessions. Henry could choose whether he wished to live in Normandy or England; Richard should have more revenue from Aquitaine, and Geoffrey from Brittany.
How galling that they should retire with the King of France to discuss with him their own father’s proposals!
They left Gisors without seeing him again. His terms were unacceptable, they said. It seemed nothing would satisfy them but that he, the King, at the height of his powers, should hand over everything to his sons.
Frustrated and angry he fell into a great rage and declared that if the cubs wanted war they should have it.
Eleanor, disguised as a knight, was riding towards the French frontier. She had received little news of the fighting but her hopes were high that her three sons, with the help of Louis, would be victorious over her husband. She would not deceive herself; Henry was a great general; she had not been wrong in that respect when she had assessed him all those years ago. He was one of those men who are born to command and conquer. But no man should conquer her. If he had been her good and faithful husband, they would have worked side by side and she would have brought up her children to love and respect him. But his lechery was going to prove his downfall.
What would happen now? Louis, with young Henry, Richard and Geoffrey beside him would conquer Anjou and Normandy; she felt certain that there would be traitors in England to rise against her husband. But they would not be traitors, for they would support the new King, the young King, her own son Henry.
How she would laugh at Henry the old lion. ‘Did you not crown your son, Henry?’ she would taunt. ‘Was it not at your command that the ceremony took place?’
Sly, cunning he was, but he had made two great mistakes, one when he became involved in the murder of Becket and the other when he had crowned his son while he himself still wanted to hold the crown and all that went with it in his greedy hands.
‘We must be nearing Chartres,’ she said to the knight who rode beside her.
‘It will soon be in sight.’
She had forbidden them to address her as ‘my lady’. Not until she reached Louis’s Court should her identity be guessed.
She imagined his surprise at seeing her. Poor Louis, who had loved her so devotedly once. He had never wanted the divorce even though he knew she was unfaithful to him. He would have been her creature as Henry never would.
In the distance a band of riders appeared on the horizon, and Eleanor recognised them as men in the service of her husband.
‘We will call a greeting and pass on,’ she said, ‘and if they should ask whither we are bound we will say we are travellers who are on our way to Poitiers. Let us be civil with them and elude them as soon as possible. But it may be that a mere greeting will do.’
How wrong she was! She had had no news so she did not know that war was in progress between her son Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, and his father and it would immediately be assumed that the knights were on their way to join Richard. Therefore they would be the enemies of the King of England.
The party was three times as strong as Eleanor’s and it very quickly became clear what was about to happen.
‘Halt,’ cried the leader of the party. ‘You are Poitevins, are you not?’
‘We are,’ replied one of Eleanor’s knights, ‘and on our way to Poitiers.’
‘You will not reach it. You are our prisoners. The Duke of Aquitaine is at war with our King.’
Eleanor was horrified. This could mean only one thing. She was Henry’s prisoner. And how long could she keep her identity secret?
Henry was becoming very disturbed. This was no minor revolt. Trouble was springing up in every direction. He thought he knew why. God was angry with him. This was Thomas’s revenge. Of course he was guilty of his murder. Of course he had wanted him dead. He had more or less commanded those knights to kill him. At least he had upbraided them for not doing so. What could be clearer than that? And ever since ill fortune had been his lot. His own sons were turning against him and all over his kingdom there was discontent. Everyone connected him with the murder of Becket and to make matters worse, miracles were being performed at Canterbury and the story of them was being blazoned throughout his dominions.
That traitor Leicester was in Flanders doubtless making plans to invade England with foreign help and take it from him that it might be presented to his son. And now another blow, William King of Scotland had chosen this moment – as might be expected – to cross the border. Thank God he had some loyal friends. He could trust Richard de Luci to keep the Scots at bay. They were nothing more than a parcel of savages and although they could lay waste the country in most barbaric fashion they would have no chance against a well disciplined army. But he needed Luci elsewhere.
This was a ruler’s nightmare, when his dominions were so scattered and trouble arose in several places at once.
One of his men came in to tell him that a knight was without who wished to have urgent speech with him.
He commanded that he should be brought to him. Fresh trouble? he wondered. Where would the next rebellion be?
But this man’s news was different.
‘My lord,’ he explained, ‘we were riding near to Chartres when we came upon a party of Poitevin knights. We were of the opinion that they were riding to join the enemy so we captured them.’
The King nodded. The right act but scarcely one to report to him.
‘There was one among them, my lord, who aroused our suspicions. We formed the opinion that she was a woman.’
A woman. The King grimaced, but the knight’s next words made him stare at him in amazement.
‘She proved to be the Queen, my lord.’
‘The Queen! My wife!’ cried Henry.
‘’Twas so, my lord. She admitted it and there was indeed no doubt.’
Henry started to laugh. He stopped abruptly. ‘Where is she?’
‘We have brought her to you, my lord, not knowing your wishes.’
Henry went to the knight and slapped him heartily on the back. ‘You did right,’ he said. ‘By God’s eyes, I promise you I’ll remember you for this deed. She is here then. Bring her to me. I would have speech with my captive.’
It was indeed Eleanor. She stood there before him, anger in her eyes, defiance, hatred, everything he remembered so well.
‘Leave us,’ he commanded. Then he stared at her and gave vent to loud laughter.
‘So you have joined the army, eh?’
‘It behoves all men and women to fight against tyranny.’
‘Brave words from a prisoner. Captured, eh? Where were you going?’
‘To join my sons.’
‘And you were going into battle with them against their father?’
‘Nothing would please me more.’
‘You are a little old for such activities. These are not the days when you rode out to the Holy Land and had great sport on the way with your uncle and the infidels. You see what happens? You are captured before you reach your objective. I’ll wager you were on your way to the Court of France. Did you hope that now that you are old your first husband might be more to your taste than he was in your lustier days?’
‘It surprises me not that Henry the Lecher’s thoughts run always in one direction. My project was to gain for my sons that which is their right.’
‘You talk nonsense. I am the King. What I hold I hold by right and conquest. You are a foolish woman and you shall learn this for you are my prisoner and I swear that you shall never again be free while I live to make discord between me and my sons.’
‘What do you mean? You will throw me into a dungeon?’
‘What I intend to do you will know ere long.’
‘Do you think your sons will allow you to insult their mother?’
‘My sons will learn, as their mother will, who is the King and ruler of them all.’
She came towards him, her arm uplifted. He caught her in his strong grip and she cried out in pain. Their faces were close, hers distorted by hatred, his triumphant. He thought: My luck has changed. This is the greatest good fortune. She can make no more trouble for me. And when the world knows that she is my prisoner they will realise that Henry Plantagenet is still the man he was and even the wrath of Heaven does not dismay him.
He shouted to the guards at his door.
‘Take this woman,’ he said. ‘Keep her in close confinement. Guard her. It will go ill with any if she escapes.’
Eleanor looked over her shoulder at him as she was dragged away, but the venom in her expression only made him laugh.
Those were uneasy months which followed. Richard de Luci with Humphrey de Bohun, now Constable of England, had held back the Scottish invasion and had been able to establish a truce with William of Scotland. Henry had held at bay the rebellions which had sprung up over Normandy and Anjou with alarming frequency.
He was constantly afraid that Eleanor would get away. He was determined to take her to England and see that she was incarcerated in a prison there from which she could not escape.
He could not help feeling that some power was against him and it occurred to him that until he confessed his guilt in Thomas’s murder and asked forgiveness for this ill luck would be his.
There was a glimmer of brightness when the Earl of Leicester who had landed in England was completely routed by Henry’s supporters. The King was exultant. This would show young Henry that he could not defeat his father as easily as he believed. And what were his sons thinking now that he held their mother captive?
While he was congratulating himself that he was going to suppress all those who rose against him, urgent messengers arrived from England.
At first the King listened to their warnings but decided that his presence was needed in Normandy, but as they became more insistent he realised that it would be folly for him to stay in Normandy to protect his possessions there while he lost England.
He made up his mind that he would cross to England without delay taking with him his captive Queen for he imagined what havoc she could cause if left behind. She might prevail on someone to release her and if she were free he could expect trouble from her direction. The safest place for Eleanor was in the stronghold of some castle and her guardian should be someone whom he could trust.
He would also take with him Marguerite, young Henry’s wife, who by good fortune was in his custody, for her very relationship with his son would make her his enemy.
He had another matter very firmly in his mind. He must stop this chain of disaster. He would no longer pretend he was guiltless of Becket’s murder, for it seemed very likely that the events of the last year were due to what had happened in Canterbury Cathedral. It seemed to him that not until he obtained absolution could he hope for better fortune.
His kingdom, as well as his soul, was in peril.
He must save them both.
He was thoughtful as he rode to the coast. He fancied that what he was about to do would be smiled on by Heaven and once it was done – distasteful as it was – he would cease to be plagued by ill luck.
A gale was blowing and he could see the fear in his companions’ faces but he was determined to delay no longer. He was going to do what should have been done a year ago and only when it was completed would he be safe from his enemies.
‘My lord,’ said his advisers, ‘we cannot sail in this wind.’
‘We are putting to sea without delay,’ he told them.
They were dismayed but they dared not disobey and when they were ready to sail it seemed that the wind changed. It was behind them and blew them across the Channel. The King was pleased.
‘You see,’ he declared, ‘you may always trust my judgement.’
Exultantly he went to see the Queen.
‘So here you are!’ he said. ‘Far from your troubadours! You will not find your jailers so ready to sing to you.’
‘Think not,’ she answered, ‘that my sons will allow me to remain your prisoner.’
‘They must take care that they may not soon be in like case. By God’s eyes, I will teach all what it means to rebel against me.’
‘Take care that they do not teach you what happens to tyrants.’
‘You are too bold, Madam, for a woman who is in the hands of her enemy.’
‘Not for long.’
‘For as long as I shall live, my lady.’
‘It was an ill day for me when I first set eyes on you.’
‘Take pleasure, Madam, in knowing that that day is even more regretted by me.’
How strong he is, she thought, with grudging admiration. Every inch a king. And her mind went back to the days when she had determined to marry him and how she had longed for the time when they could be together.
‘I can assure you that your regret could not be greater than mine,’ she told him. ‘But you are a deceitful man for you led me to believe that once I was important to you.’
‘It was before I learned to know you.’
‘Aye, and I also had bitter lessons to learn. If you had not been such a lecher we might have worked together.’
‘You, Madam, are scarce in a position to criticise others for that fault. Before our marriage you took strange bedfellows.’
‘Never such a tyrant as my second husband.’
‘We waste time, and I have none to spare. I sent for you to tell you that you are to be taken to Salisbury Castle and there you will remain until it pleases me to change your residence. But think not that you will go free. You have offended me too much. You have proved yourself to be a traitor, and though you are my wife shall be treated as such.’
It occurred to him that he might bargain with her for a divorce. Would that be wise? To have her free to communicate with his sons? No. This was not the time to speak of divorce when he was currying favour with Heaven by doing penance for his part in Becket’s murder.
He must be quiet about that matter for a while. Moreover what if he procured a divorce? Could he marry Alice? And what of Rosamund? Clearly it was better at this time to say nothing of divorce – not to think of divorce. His mind must be free to consider Becket’s murder and the fact that he deplored it and repented for any part he might have had in bringing it about.
He watched his wife through narrowed eyes. Traitor! Any king was justified in imprisoning a traitor who threatened his realm … even though that traitor should prove to be his own wife.
‘I will say farewell,’ he said. ‘The audience is over.’
‘I will not be dismissed in this way. There is much I have to say to you.’
‘You will be dismissed when I dismiss you and I have no interest in what you may wish to say to me. Say it to the walls of your prison.’ He summoned men-at-arms. ‘Take the Queen away,’ he said. ‘Let her go to Salisbury and there be placed under confinement.’
Eleanor protested vehemently. But it was useless. Her arms were seized by the men-at-arms and she was taken from the King’s presence.
Chapter V 
THE KING’S PENANCE
The King rode on to Canterbury. As he came in sight of the Cathedral the bells rang out and he dismounted from his horse, and there, on the road, he took off his kingly garments: and wrapped himself in a coarse woollen gown. He took off his shoes and walked barefoot into the city.
Into the streets the people came to see their King for once in his life dressed as a humble pilgrim and behaving as one. Looking sad, solemn and truly penitent as he came to the Cathedral. There he was received by the Bishop of London, Gilbert Foliot. Foliot was feeling very uneasy for he had always been jealous of Becket and had been one of his greatest enemies. However, the King did not remind him of this, so intent was he on his own act of penitence. The King’s feet were bleeding from the rough stones of the road and the people looked on in astonishment to see him behave so humbly.
‘Take me to the spot where he was struck down,’ said Henry and when he was conducted there he knelt, and laying his head on the stones wept that his tears might be on the very place where Thomas’s blood had been shed.
The Bishop of London then mounted the pulpit and spoke to all present explaining to them the meaning of this strange spectacle.
‘All you here present know that Henry, King of England, invoking, for the salvation of his soul, God and the Holy Martyr, protests before you that he neither ordered, wished nor wilfully caused nor desired in his heart the death of the martyr. But as it is possible that the murderers availed themselves of some words imprudently escaping him, he declares that he seeks penitential chastisement of the bishops here assembled and consents to submit his bare back to the discipline of the rod.’
The King then rose and addressed the assembly.
‘What the Bishop has said is indeed what I have commanded. I trust my humble penance will be acceptable to God and the late Archbishop. This day I have restored to Canterbury the dignities and rights of the Church; and I have ordered that lights shall be kept burning at the tomb of Thomas à Becket. A hospital shall be built at Southwark and this shall be erected in honour of God and the Blessed Martyr Saint Thomas.’
The Bishop hastened to add that he would associate himself with the building of this hospital and would grant special indulgences to any who contributed to it.
He was fully aware that he should be sharing the King’s penitence for had he not said, after the murder of Thomas à Becket, that his body should either be thrown on a dunghill or hung on a gibbet? This was a very uneasy day for the Bishop of London.
The King now indicated that he was ready for the act of penance and in the midst of bishops, abbots and the priests of the chapter of Canterbury, he went into the crypt where the tomb was situated.
There he removed his clothes and knelt exposing his bare back while each bishop took a whip and struck the King three or four blows.
‘As thy Redeemer was scourged for the sins of men,’ said each bishop as he administered the whip, ‘so be thou scourged for thine own sin.’ The bishops having whipped the King, the priests took the whips and did likewise.
When this was over Henry continued to pray for Thomas. He toured the Cathedral stopping at the shrines to say his prayers and ask forgiveness of his sins, there he remained through the rest of the day and for the night.
The next day he heard Mass and drank holy water which contained a drop of Thomas’s blood.
He then left Canterbury.
His anxieties and the effort of the last hours had affected him deeply. He was suffering from a low fever, but he wished to travel to Westminster and insisted on doing this and when he reached London took to his bed for a day.
It was in London that news was brought to him that the King of Scotland had been taken prisoner.
The King leaped from his bed. Great exultation was in his heart. This was a sign. A sign from Thomas!
‘Thomas à Becket,’ he cried. ‘So you and I are friends once more. Now you will work with me. I shall be invincible. Thomas, you will guard my kingdom for me.’
It seemed as if this were indeed the case for within a few weeks of the King’s penance rebellion was quelled throughout England.
Henry was certain that it was as he had believed. Heaven . .. and Thomas … were pleased with him.
He went to see Rosamund who was installed in his palace now that no secret was made of their relationship. He was still thinking in terms of divorce but he did not want to go too closely into that as yet. Eleanor was safely confined at Salisbury Castle. Let her stay there until his dominions were safe and he could devote his thoughts to some way of getting rid of her. It was not a situation which demanded an immediate solution. Rosamund was as always tenderly waiting to perform her wifely duties; what greater pleasure could he get from their relationship if he married her? But of course he could not marry Rosamund. He had no intention of doing so. If he obtained the divorce it would be for the sake of his dear little Alice.
And now with Rosamund and Alice to appease his sexual hungers and Saint Thomas and Heaven working for him on the battlefield he had much in which to rejoice.
Rosamund’s sons were doing well. He would find places for them that would delight their mother.
‘I think God cannot be displeased with me,’ he told Rosamund, ‘for the sons I have out of wedlock are good boys. There is Geoffrey, son of the whore Hikenia, who is more faithful to me than my sons in wedlock. And there are our two boys.’
‘Sometimes I tremble for them,’ said Rosamund.
‘Why should you? They have their father to look to their future.’
‘But bastards, my lord.’
‘A king’s bastards! Remember that.’
Rosamund sighed.
She bathed the wounds on his back made by the whips of the priests and wept over them.
‘My lord, that they should have dared do this to you!’
‘They dared not do aught else. It was at my command, remember.’
Her touch was gentle; her ointments soothing. Dear Rosamund! He thought then that if she had been his Queen he would have been a faithful husband … well, a more faithful one. But even while she tended to his wounds and later when they made love, he was thinking of Alice.
‘Now I am at peace with Heaven, Rosamund,’ he told her. ‘Thomas and I are as we were long ago when he was my Chancellor. We are good friends. He will guard my kingdom for me when I am away. He will intercede with me in Heaven. I have done my penance. My tears have touched the spot where his blood was shed. It is a wonderful feeling, Rosamund, to have admitted a sin and to have gained remission.’
‘I think of it often,’ she answered.
She was a little mournful, which made him impatient. Soon she would be talking of going into a convent. He wanted none of that. He came here to be amused and it pleased him that she should be content with the lot to which he had lifted her.
‘My sins sit heavily upon me,’ she said. ‘Methinks that I am in need of forgiveness.’
‘You, Rosamund! What have you ever done that was not gentle and loving?’
‘I have lived in sin and borne bastards.’
‘You have eased the lot of your King and obeyed him. That is your duty, my dear.’
She sighed and did not answer.
Later he thought her penitent mood was not such a bad thing. If he ever divorced Eleanor he would want to marry Alice. Then nothing could suit him better than that Rosamund should go into a convent to expiate her sins and leave him with a free conscience to marry Alice.
So he would not entirely dismiss this matter of the convent. It was as well to encourage her sinful feelings in case they could be of use later.
He smiled tenderly. He could always trust his Rosamund to please him.
From Woodstock to Westminster to see his little Alice. He was delighted with her.
‘You have grown, my little love. Why you are almost a woman.’
‘Does that please you, my lord?’ she asked anxiously.
‘You could never do anything but please me.’
How delightful she was! She was developing passion. There was no need to coax her to the act now.
‘You have missed me, little one?’ he wanted to know.
She assured him that she thought constantly of him and spent many hours at the turret window watching for him to come.
‘Never tell anyone of what is between us.’
She would not, she assured him.
But he wondered whether some of the household suspected. It was never easy for a king to keep the secrets of his private life.
How different she was from Rosamund! She had no sense of guilt, only a desire to please him. He was the King and therefore whatever he did must be right.
He told her that he had seen her father.
‘Did you tell him that we were going to marry?’
He stroked her arm gently. ‘Nay, little one. That I cannot do until I rid myself of the wicked Eleanor.’
‘Is she very wicked?’
‘More wicked than you can understand. She has turned my children against me and would go into battle and kill me if it were possible. Oh, do not fear, she is my prisoner now. No harm can come to me through her. I shall divorce her and then … you will see.’
‘There is talk,’ she said, ‘of you and Rosamund Clifford.’
He laughed heartily.
‘You must not be jealous, sweetheart. She was once my mistress.’
‘Am I your mistress?’
‘Nay, you are my wife-to-be.’
‘So I shall truly be the Queen.’
‘You shall be so, when I have rid myself of that old she-wolf.’
‘Did you love her once?’
‘Nay never. I loved her lands of Aquitaine.’
‘What will you love me for?’
‘For your beauty, your innocence and because you love me.’
That satisfied her. Children were easily pleased. She never doubted that he would marry her.
So would he if this were possible. Was she not the daughter of the King of France?
And he laughed exultantly, wondering what old Louis would say if he could see his daughter lying naked in his bed.
And Richard? It might well be that she would have to go to him one day. She was his betrothed, and if there was no way of ridding himself of Eleanor … Richard was growing up. Very soon now he would be demanding his bride and old Louis would be shaking his fist and asking what the King of England meant by holding his daughter in one of his castles.
He seemed to have conveyed something of his thoughts to her for she said: ‘My lord, what of Richard? Have you seen him?’
‘Nay,’ he answered. ‘He is my enemy. He fights with his brothers against me.’
‘Not against you!’
‘It is hard to believe that a son can so wrong his father.’ A sly smile played about his mouth at the irony of the situation. Richard wronged him in the battlefield and he wronged Richard in the bedchamber. Serve the young cub right. He wondered what he should say if it so happened that one day Henry would be obliged to relinquish Alice to him and he knew she had been his father’s mistress.
But he would not give her up. She was too delightful. Moreover she was the daughter of the King of France.
What an important figure in his life was that King of France. There could not be two men more unlike. Louis the monk, Henry the lecher – and both had been husbands of Eleanor.
He would come to some arrangement. Louis would surely prefer to see young Alice Queen of England rather than Duchess of Aquitaine.
‘I can never like Richard,’ she was saying, ‘because he has not been good to you.’
He covered her flower-like skin with kisses.
‘My little Alice,’ he whispered. ‘Do not think of Richard. He is not for you nor you for him. How could that be when I have decided that no one but myself shall ever use you in this way?’
He was content. The future could be good with Thomas watching over him from on high; he would rid himself of Eleanor; Rosamund could be by subtle hints jostled into a nunnery and this adorable Alice, daughter of the King of France, could be his Queen.
Confident that he had made his peace with Heaven and that St Thomas à Becket was guarding his realm for him, Henry set about safeguarding his overseas dominions. He could not really believe that his sons were fighting against him, and there came to him a great desire to be loved by them. If they had been good obedient boys what help they would have rendered him! That they should have banded together with his enemy the King of France against him was the basest ingratitude. Of course it was all due to the insinuations of their wicked mother. During their childhood she had done everything she could to turn them from him. What a viper! He gloated on the fact that she was in his power now. Never while he lived should she go free.
Was it some misplaced sense of chivalry which was forcing his sons into battle now? Had they some scheme for rescuing their mother? He wanted to meet them, to talk to them like a father, to make them understand. He loved the boys, particularly Henry. How proud he had been of his eldest son when he was growing up. That charm of manner, those good looks. He had wanted to tutor him into becoming a great king, for only a great king could hold these dominions together. Surely they knew what had happened under Stephen.
He must put an end to this conflict. He must win back his sons. He could not have them ranging themselves with his enemies. One thing he was determined on. Young John should never feel the pernicious influence of his mother.
