Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude (38 page)

The friendship between them was greater than ever.

When Henry returned to England the two were constantly together and it was noted that Henry found the society of his Chancellor more rewarding than that of any other person. The rift between himself and Eleanor had widened. She had never forgiven him for bringing the bastard Geoffrey into the royal nurseries and he taunted her by making much of the boy. He liked to escape to the domestic peace of Woodstock. His love for Rosamund did not diminish. Perhaps this was due to the fact that she made no demands. She was always gentle and loving, always beautiful. They had their little son, too, and she was pregnant once more. She gave to him the cosy domesticity which kings can so rarely enjoy, and he delighted in keeping her existence a secret; and none but her servants knew that he visited her and they realised that it would go ill with them if through them the secret was divulged.

The King was happy. His kingdom was comparatively peaceful. He was watchful, of course, but then he would always have to be that. For a time he could stay peacefully in England, and he could enjoy the company of his best friend, Thomas Becket.

Sometimes he asked himself why he loved this man. There could not have been one more different. Even in appearance they presented a contrast. Tall and elegant Thomas, the stocky, carelessly dressed King. Thomas’s love of fine clothes amused Henry. He teased him about it constantly. Why should he, the all-powerful King who could have chosen the most nobly born in his kingdom to be his companions, care only for the society of this man? Thomas was fifteen years older than he was. An old man! So much that Thomas believed in the King disagreed with; and Thomas would never give way in discussion. The King’s temper could wax hot, but Thomas would remain calm and stick to his point. Henry was amused that in spite of Thomas’s aesthetic appearance and concern with spiritual matters, at heart he loved luxury. There was no doubt that he did. His clothes betrayed him. He could also be merry at times. Henry liked to play practical jokes on his friend and Thomas responded. The King would sometimes howl with laughter at some of these, even those against himself. There was no one at his court who could divert him as Thomas Becket could.

They were together constantly. When the King made his frequent peregrinations about the countryside, his Chancellor rode beside him. Sometimes they went off together incognito and sat in taverns and talked with the people. No one recognised the tall dark man with elegant long white hands and his younger freckle-faced, sturdy companion, whose hands were square, and chapped with the weather. An incongruous pair those who met them might have thought, and few were aware that they were the King of England and his Chancellor.

Henry liked nothing better than to score over his Chancellor. He had never forgotten the affair of the Boulogne marriage.

One winter’s day when he and the Chancellor were riding through London, with the cold east wind howling through the streets, Henry looked slyly at his friend. Thomas hated the cold. He would wear twice as many clothes as other men, and although he ate sparingly his servant had to prepare beef steaks and chicken for him. His blood was thin, said the King; he was not hardy like the sprig from the Plantagenet tree. Thomas’s beautiful white hands were protected by elegant but warm gloves, and even in such a bitter wind which was now buffeting the streets of London the King’s hands were free. Gloves, he always declared, hampered him.

Suddenly the King saw a poor old man coming towards them, shivering, his face blue with cold, as he tried to hold his tattered garments about him.

Henry turned to his Chancellor. ‘Do you see that poor fellow?’ he asked.

‘Poor man,’ said Thomas. ‘He must find this wind trying.’

‘I can see his flesh through the tatters of his clothes. It would be an act of charity, favourable in the sight of God, to give him a warm cloak,’

‘It would,’ agreed Thomas. ‘And you, my lord, who have need to find favour in the sight of Heaven could win Heaven’s approval for such a noble deed.’

‘Come,’ said the King. ‘Dismount.’

They did so as the old man approached.

‘Hey, my good fellow,’ said Henry, ‘do you not find this wind hard to bear?’

The old man nodded. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I shall die of the cold if it lasts much longer.’

‘You need a good warm cloak,’ said the King. ‘What would you say if you were given one?’

‘You mock me, sir,’ said the old man attempting to pass on, but the King detained him and turning to Thomas he said: ‘I see you long to perform this act of charity. Why, look what a fine cloak
you
are wearing! It is of rich scarlet cloth and lined with fur. Give it to this poor old man.’

‘My lord,’ said Thomas, turning pale, for the thought of riding through the cold streets without his cloak horrified him, ‘you suffer less from the cold than I do. If you gave him your cloak you would not notice it as I should.’

‘That is true,’ said the King. ‘Therefore it is a more noble act for you to give him
your
cloak.’ With that he attempted to pull it from Thomas who sought to retain it and in a short time the two of them were fighting together - Thomas to keep his cloak, the King to drag it from him.

Henry was laughing so much that the old man thought they were both mad.

‘Come, you good man,’ said the King. ‘Come, Saint Thomas Becket. This poor man needs a cloak and you have it. Give it to me. You shall. You shall.’

Thomas was no match for the strength of the King and finally Henry had wrested the cloak from him.

‘Take it, my good fellow,’ said Henry to the old man. ‘It will keep you warm many a day and night. Forget not in your prayers the man who gave it to you for though he was not the owner, it is by his good graces that you have it.’

The old man, who could not believe his good fortune and thought that the two noblemen were revellers who might change their minds, wrapped the cloak about him and scuttled off as fast as he could.

Henry’s laughter rang through the streets.

‘Why Thomas, how blue your nose has become. What an icy wind! You should be thankful that I did not command you to give the poor old man your gloves. What a tragedy if those delicate white digits should have become red and chapped like those of your royal master. Praise be to God, Thomas Becket, I have made a charitable man of you.’

Henry thought it a great joke. Thomas riding through the cold streets was less amused.

But the incident was typical of the friendship between them.

Chapter X

THE VACANT SEE

F
or two years Eleanor had been free of child-bearing. She began to feel young again. Little Richard was nearly three years old - the brightest and most handsome of her children. She always thought of him as her special child. Her preference was obvious, also her dislike of the elder Geoffrey. The Princess Marguerite was in England but Louis had not wished his daughter to be brought up by the woman who had once been his wife. He felt it would have made a situation which could have its dangers. It had been agreed therefore that little Marguerite should be placed in the household of a certain Robert of Newburgh who was known as a virtuous man of the highest character.

Eleanor said goodbye to her children and joined Henry in Normandy. She wished to make a journey to Aquitaine. Whenever she appeared in her native land there was rejoicing. No matter what rumours there were concerning her she was always welcome there. Once more she set up her little court and the troubadours came to her; once more they sang of love and it seemed that Eleanor, no longer young, the mother of six living children, was as desirable as ever.

She thought now and then of Louis who had had three daughters only - and two of them by her. Marie and Alix were betrothed by now, Marie to Henry of Champagne and Alix to Theobald of Blois. Did they ever think of their mother? And how envious of her and Henry with their fine sons, Louis must have been when his little Marguerite was born. At least that child had strengthened the alliance between France and England, and the bond would be greater when she was in fact married to young Henry.

As she listened to the singing of her minstrels she ruminated that life had been interesting. Henry had disappointed her, yet oddly enough she still hankered for him. She often wondered what it was about him that attracted her so much. She so elegant; he quite the reverse. Oh, but he was a man; and his power sat naturally on him. That Angevin temper of his amused her, but her own was a match for it.

Now that she had grown accustomed to the fact that he was unfaithful to her now and then, she had enjoyed their encounters, and looked forward to them. Her only reservation was that they could result in more child-bearing. With three healthy sons she had enough, she reckoned. But she was still young enough to bear more.

She was a little jealous of the King’s Chancellor for Henry seemed to prefer his company to that of anyone else - even women’s. Becket was clever, she conceded that; and he was a good servant, so perhaps she was wrong to resent Henry’s devotion to him. A king could not have too many good servants.

She was amused to hear that Louis’s wife was pregnant once more. Good for Louis! she thought mockingly. At least he had managed to get her with child twice. She wondered if he was still rather reluctant and preferred to listen to church music instead of the music of love. Not for one moment had she regretted her escape from him.

The life of repose was not for her and whenever she was in Aquitaine she began to think of Toulouse, which had always irritated her because she believed that it should have belonged to her. She had in the past claimed that it came to her through her grandmother Philippa, and she was always hoping that she and Henry would win it back. At this time it was in the possession of Raymond the fifth Count who was a weakling, yet nothing much could be done about it because he had, very shrewdly, married the sister of the King of France.

Oh these marriages! mused Eleanor. How necessary a part of statescraft they were.

Henry came to her when she sat in the gardens with her minstrels. He clapped his hands impatiently implying that he wished them to depart. No one ignored such a signal. The King’s temper was well known and something to avoid.

Henry was clearly disturbed. He sprawled down beside Eleanor and said: ‘I have news. The Queen of France was brought to bed …’

‘A son,’ said Eleanor.

‘Nay, a daughter.’

Eleanor burst out laughing but the King said in a hushed voice: ‘The Queen of France died giving birth to the child.’

They were both silent, thinking of what this would mean. Another daughter for Louis! That was his fourth. Was it that he could not get sons? Eleanor could think complacently of her three healthy boys in the nursery. Poor Louis! What would he do now? He would have to marry again in due course.

The same thought was in Henry’s mind.

‘He’ll wait a while,’ he said, ‘and then he’ll marry. The marriage of the King of France is of the utmost importance to me.’

Henry was casting round in his mind for a wife for the King of France who would be suitable in the eyes of the King of England.

To the astonishment of all, only one month after the death of Queen Constance, Louis married Adela of Blois.

Henry and Eleanor were blank with amazement which quickly turned to apprehension.

‘So,’ cried Henry, ‘he marries Adela of Blois in most indecent haste and her brother Theobald is betrothed to Louis’s daughter. This makes a very strong alliance between the Count of Blois and the King of France.’

‘Too strong,’ said Eleanor.

‘I like it not,’ grumbled Henry. ‘Forget not that the last King of England came from the house of Blois. I like not to see that house too powerful.’

‘You are thinking that they might bring out a claim to the throne of England?’

‘And if they did,’ replied Henry, ‘would Louis withhold his support from a house with which he had such a strong alliance?’

‘It is a pity that Henry and Marguerite are too young to marry. Then with his own daughter married to the heir of England, Louis could do nothing but support you.’

‘Why should they be too young to marry?’

‘Henry is six years old. Marguerite not yet three.’

‘Her marriage portion is the Vexin,’ Henry reminded his wife. ‘If the Vexin were in my control Normandy is safe and that would give me an opportunity to turn my attention in other directions.’

‘But such children!’

‘Why not! We shall not put them to bed. But there could be a ceremony. Louis cannot object. He has agreed to the match. I will get them married and with the marriage, the Vexin. Every Duke of Normandy has known the importance of that territory.’

‘You’d have to get a dispensation from the Pope.’

‘I got one before for our Abbess’s marriage, remember. Alexander is very insecure. If I promised him my support for the dispensation do you doubt it would be mine?’

‘You are a clever man, Henry.’

‘My dear wife, I should not long be King of England and Duke of Normandy if I were not!’

She could not help but admire the manner in which he got his will.

Marguerite and Henry were married. It was a quiet ceremony but it took place in the presence of two cardinals, and since it was truly a marriage the dowry could not be withheld. The Vexin was now under Henry’s rule and he felt a good deal more easy in his mind regarding the marriage of the King of France with Adela of Blois.

Urged by Eleanor Henry decided that he was in a position to launch an attack on Toulouse and bring it where Eleanor had long decided it should be - allied with Aquitaine, in the possession of that province’s Duke and Duchess.

He had the Vexin to safeguard Normandy; England was well governed by his justiciary the Earl of Leicester, and he sent Chancellor Becket to England to raise a company of knights and bring them into France. He was sure that little effort would be necessary to subdue Raymond of Toulouse. Louis hated war; he would stand aside and all Henry would have to do was take a castle or two to assure Raymond of his strength.

Henry had underestimated Louis and it was an unpleasant surprise to learn that the King of France refused to remain aloof. He had a family tie with Raymond who had married his sister; moreover the Count of Toulouse was one of his vassals. It was a fact that Henry Plantagenet was becoming too overbearing - and in consequence it seemed too powerful. Louis was aware that a stop would have to be made to such headlong progress and declared that he would go to the help of his brother-in-law.

Henry was nonplussed. He had no desire to go to war against the King of France; he could see a major engagement developing; it would never do for him to defeat the King of France. Nor would it do for the King of France to defeat him. He could not take over France. There would be endless trouble if he did. He would be fighting in France for the rest of his life.

But what could he do? He had declared war on Raymond of Toulouse. Becket had arrived with his array of knights and the King of Scotland had offered to come to his aid.

Uncertainly he marched to Toulouse and when the walls of the city were in sight news was brought to him that Louis himself was within.

The King called a halt to his armies. He sent for his Chancellor.

‘This is a sorry state of affairs, Becket,’ he said.

‘Why so, my lord? It was your wish to make war on Toulouse.’

‘I know, I know. But the King of France is within that city.’

‘By being there he declares himself to be an enemy of yours.’

‘What if I were to kill the King of France ?’

‘I was thinking, my lord, what if he were to kill you?’

‘Bah! He never would. He’s no soldier. He’ll have no stomach for the fight.’

‘Stomach enough to place himself at the head of his armies and join Raymond of Toulouse against you.’

‘I would I had never begun this. Help me out of it, Thomas. Tell me what I can do now.’

‘The Duke of Normandy is the vassal of the King of France.’

‘Tell me not what I know already.’

‘You have sworn to serve him and accept him as your liege lord. How could you then take up arms against him?’

‘I can and would if so be I had a mind.’

‘Yet you have no heart for this because you ask yourself is it a just fight? My lord, in England many of your subjects have sworn allegiance to you. If you break your word to the suzerain of the Duke of Normandy, others might see it as a precedent and act accordingly towards the King of England. Might not those who have sworn allegiance to you break their vows in similar fashion?’

‘I see what you mean, Thomas.’

‘We can abandon this project. We can walk away from the walls of Toulouse.’