The Revolt of the Eaglets

Chapter IV CASTLES FOR JOHN

In Montferrand in the Auvergne, Count Humbert of Maurienne had arrived with little Alice who was to be betrothed to Prince John, and there, the little six-year-old Prince, who had arrived from England, was formally betrothed to the Count’s daughter.

It was a charming ceremony. Henry felt quite tender towards his youngest son. This one’s mind had not been poisoned by his mother. It shall be different with John, Henry promised himself. He was delighted with the arrangement when he considered the fine dowry John’s bride was bringing him and all for a payment of five thousand marks … and this to be paid in instalments, the last of which would not be due until the marriage.

Henry was extending his empire far and wide.

There was one discordant note. After the ceremony there were to be celebrations in several towns, for Henry wished everyone to know what good this marriage would bring by giving his family control of more provinces. They were to spend a few days at Limoges and it was while they were there that Count Humbert began to ask himself what John was bringing to his daughter. It was true that young Alice would have the King’s son for a bridegroom and that King the most powerful in Europe, but John had three elder brothers who had already been promised the cream of his father’s possessions. His fears had been roused when he had heard the youthful bridegroom referred to as John Lackland.

Being a forthright man he decided to speak to the King about this matter.

‘You have not yet told me, my lord, what possessions your son John will bring to the marriage.’

Henry was silent for a few moments. He was thinking: The ceremony has been performed. He cannot withdraw now. But he could. How often had betrothals taken place and there had been no marriage!

He had no doubt that Humbert would listen respectfully to whatever he said and if he had nothing to offer John he would go back to his dominions and make some excuse why the marriage should not take place.

He thought quickly. ‘John,’ he said, ‘shall have the castles of Mirebeau, Loudon and Chinon.’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ replied Humbert smiling and satisfied. ‘Those will be a goodly heritage, and with what my daughter brings to the marriage they will be very comfortably settled indeed.’

Henry congratulated himself that he had overcome a difficult situation with great ease.

He had in fact aroused a hornets’ nest.

The Court was talking about the portion that John was bringing to the marriage, and there was a certain amount of malice in the talk, for the three castles which Henry had designated to John had already been given to his son Henry as they were situated in Anjou which, with Normandy and England, was the inheritance of the King of England. Therefore the King had robbed Henry to pay John.

When Eleanor heard, she burst out laughing.

‘Now, my son, you understand your father’s ways. Promises to him are made to be broken. Next you will hear that he has bestowed the crown of England on someone of his fancy.’

‘I’ll not endure it,’ cried Henry, almost in tears.

‘Nor should you,’ answered his mother.

‘What can I do?’

‘Your brother Richard would know what to do. When he heard he said: “By God, if he tries to lay his hands on Aquitaine, I will place myself at the head of any army and march against him.”’

‘Go into battle against my own father!’

‘It has been done before.’

‘Oh, no!’ cried Henry.

‘You lack Richard’s spirit,’ said Eleanor watching closely.

‘I do not,’ retorted Henry. ‘I am the King of England, remember.’

‘No one will remember it if you allow your estates to be filched from you.’

‘I will go to him. I will tell him I will not have it.’

‘Go then,’ said the Queen.

He stood before his father.

‘Father, I must speak with you.’

‘Say on, my son.’

‘The castles you have given to John belong to me.’

‘You are mistaken,’ said the King. ‘These are mine. They are still mine. They always will be mine.’

‘But I am the Count of Anjou … and … and these castles are part of my lands.’

‘You have titles which I have given you. I can take them away if I wish. You must remember this, Henry. There is one King of England, one Count of Anjou, one Duke of Normandy while I live.’

‘You have given me these titles.’

‘They are titles … nothing more. If I were to die tomorrow then England, Anjou, Normandy would be yours. But I am not dead. Nor do I intend to die so that you can possess now that which if you wait long enough will in due course be yours.’

‘I am no longer a boy,’ cried Henry.

‘Then why behave like one?’

‘I am not behaving like one. I will not be told to do this and that. I want lands to govern. If you want Normandy give me England. Let me stand on my own.’

The King laughed scornfully. ‘Do you think you could hold these dominions together?’

‘I do. I do.’

‘I do not and I know. You have to learn to rule.’

‘How old were you when you became Duke of Normandy and King of England?’

‘I had learned to govern when those honours came to me.’

‘I will learn. I have learned.’

God’s eyes, thought Henry, what a mistake to crown this boy King! I never made a greater mistake in all my reign – except it were to make Thomas à Becket my Archbishop of Canterbury.

‘You will do as I wish,’ he said shortly.

‘Others think I should not be treated in this way.’

‘Who thinks this?’

‘The King of France. Some of my knights think it too.’

‘So you discuss our affairs with a foreign king?’

‘Louis is my father through marriage.’

‘And doubtless would like to see trouble in my realm. Louis is our enemy … our natural enemy. We can make truces and peace with him through our marriages, but the fact remains that he is the King of France and I am the King of England and as such we are enemies. As for your knights, I would know who these fellows are who speak and act treason. I will tell you this, son. They will no longer be your knights.’

‘I tell you I will not be treated in this way. If you are a king, so am I.’

‘Through my grace.’

‘It matters not through whose grace. I am a king and known as such.’

It was true.

The King was silent for a while. Then he said: ‘If you will be a king you have lessons to learn. You shall begin without delay. I shall keep you at my side and when you have learned your business you can be of great use to me. Mayhap then you will be left in charge of certain of my dominions when my presence is needed elsewhere. Till then you will do as I wish. Go now. I have finished what I have to say.’

Young Henry went away with a dull anger in his heart. It was not appeased when he heard that certain of his knights had been dismissed from his service and sent back to England with a warning that they had been treated with leniency on this occasion, but should they displease the King again that clemency would not be repeated.

Then the King declared that he was leaving Limoges for Normandy and that his son Henry would accompany him.

Eleanor took leave of her son for she was travelling back to Aquitaine with Richard and Geoffrey.

‘Depend upon it,’ she whispered to young Henry, ‘he will keep you at his side so that he will have his eyes on you. You will endure more restraint than ever.’

‘I’ll not endure it,’ declared Henry.

‘The King of France said he would shelter you, did he not, if you found the situation with your father intolerable?’

‘My father says he is our enemy.’

‘And who is your real enemy, pray? Is it not the one who has robbed you of part of your inheritance? Might not his enemy be your friend? You are no longer a child, my son. It is time you woke up and took what is yours.’

‘He will never permit me to have it.’

‘There are many against him. Why should you not take what he will not give you? Think about it.’

Henry did think and grew excited thinking. But the King was determined that he should accompany him to Normandy.

Marguerite went back to visit her father before she returned to England and the two Henrys left Limoges for Normandy.

Father and son rode side by side. I shall have to watch him, thought the older Henry. I believe his mother has been urging him to rebellion. I begin to believe I never had a greater enemy than my wife. But the boy is young; I will soon subdue him. At the same time he was saddened by the situation. How pleasant it would have been to have had an affectionate son, one whom he could trust. He had always hoped that would be the case with Henry. Richard he knew would never care for him. His mind had been poisoned at too early an age. But perhaps if he could make this boy see reason they could work together, side by side and he could teach him to be a great king. If England were to be a great power she needed a strong king. Surely the people realised what could happen with a weak one? They had seen what the rule of Stephen had done to the country. Many of them had lived through those years of civil war when Matilda and Stephen had wrestled for the crown and then ineffectual Stephen had followed. Men such as the Conqueror, Henry I and Henry II were what the country needed. And this boy would be the third Henry; he must match up to the first two. Could he be taught? Could he be made to see that he must curb this personal vanity for power, for that was what it was? What a handsome boy he was and one had to admit he was possessed of a great charm of manner when he was not sullen as he was now. Good looks were an asset in a king; Stephen had had them; but one could get along very well without them if one had strength and that inborn genius which gives a man some secret magnetism to arouse the respect and fear of men. When he looked back on the preceding reigns it was so easy to select those who had ruled well and those badly and the two great kings were two of a kind and he trusted he was in the same category.

He must make young Henry see this.

So he talked to him as they rode, in a friendly fatherly fashion. He tried to convey to the boy that he wanted to teach him to be a great king, and it was partly for this reason that he did not wish to put a great strain on his inadequate powers now. But even he knew that he could not bear to take his own hands from the reins. It was true that once he had acquired possessions he could not bring himself to part with them.

He curbed his temper in his effort to win the boy’s affection. He tried to joke pleasantly while he instructed him. He began to believe that at last he was making some headway.

The younger Henry listened to his father and his resentment grew every day. How strong he is! he thought. He will live for years. I shall be an old man before I have a chance to rule and while he lives he will never give way one little bit. I am a king. There are many who would rather follow me. Nobody loves him. They are afraid of him. That is the only reason why they do not revolt. But if they had a leader, a leader they loved, respected, admired … what then? When he was riding beside his father revolt seemed impossible. But when he was alone he kept thinking of his mother’s words. She was powerful. Aquitaine would rise for her against her husband if she wished it.

He began to grow excited. If he could get away he could go to the King of France, and there he could rally men to his banner. His mother would help him, for she hated her husband. Why should he wait on his father for years and years until he was an old man without ambition?

His father seemed to sense that rebellion in him. He kept him at his side and at night he insisted that they share the same room.

‘It will show all what good friends we have become,’ he said jocularly.

Young Henry said nothing. He was afraid of betraying his thoughts.

He had sounded one or two of his friends. Would they be ready to follow him? They were cautious. They greatly feared the King’s rages. Already he had dismissed certain knights from his son’s suite with dire warnings of what would happen to them if he ever found them speaking treason. And yet the young King had great charm, his mother hated his father to such an extent that she had been heard to swear that she would never live with him again. It was said that when she had gone off to Aquitaine she had declared she would never return. There was certainly some truth in this because the Archbishop of Rouen had warned her that if she left her husband the Church would blame her and this could lead to excommunication.

Eleanor cared as little for the Church as her husband did and had ignored the Archbishop’s reproof. But it showed how much she disliked his father and that she would be ready to help her son against him.

Moreover the King was still under the shadow of suspicion which had risen from the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury. There had been whispers that Heaven would not allow him to prosper.

In the circumstances there were some who were ready to support the young King against the old and the former, discovering who these were, made his plans for escape.

They had reached the chateau of Chinon. It had been an exhausting day’s ride and the older Henry was very tired. He said they would retire early and get a good night’s sleep before setting off early in the morning.

No sooner had his father fallen into a deep sleep than young Henry rose from his bed, dressed hastily and made his way to the stables. There horses were saddled and waiting and he and a few of his trusted knights rode with great speed towards the French border.

When the King awoke to find his son had gone his rage was intense. He roared at his attendants, cuffing them right and left. Why had he not been told? Who had aided his son? Who had gone with him? By God’s eyes, they should be sorry they had ever been born.

But he was quick to realise that he was wasting his time giving way to his fury. His son would have gone to the French border. He had hinted as much. He would seek sanctuary with Louis which was the last thing Henry wanted him to do.

He shouted instructions. They were leaving at once and they would change direction. They were going to the French border. He sent riders in several directions and mounting the fastest of his horses he set out on the chase.

Young Henry, however, had had a good start and although his father made every effort to catch up with him, he failed to do so and after two days Henry arrived at the Court of France.

Louis was delighted to see him. At the evening’s banquet given in Henry’s honour, he sat at the right hand of the King of France. He told young Henry that he would support him in his claim for Normandy for he thought it fair to do so. The young man had sworn his oath of allegiance to Louis his suzerain and therefore the King regarded him as a vassal. If he wished to gain territory which by right belonged to him then his cause was a just one and the King saw it as his duty to aid his vassal.

Young Henry was delighted. He had taken the first step and it had been comparatively easy.

When the King of England heard that his son was at the Court of France and being entertained with honour by the King of France, his anger flared up.

He sent a message to Louis in which he said that the King of England demanded that his son be sent back to him.

Louis’s reply was: ‘I do not understand this message. The King of England is with me. If by the King of England you mean the King’s father, then I do not regard him as the King of England. He was I know formerly King of England but he resigned his crown to his son, and is no longer King.’

When Henry received this message he bit his lips and hit his thighs with his clenched fists until he was bleeding and bruised.

He was angry as much with himself as with his son and the King of France.

He had no doubt now that his greatest act of folly had been to allow his son to be crowned King.

The news reached Eleanor of Aquitaine where she was holding one of her Courts of Love in which her troubadours sang romantic songs and brought their literary efforts for her to judge.

The messengers came from the Court of France and she stopped the singing that she might hear the news without delay.

When she heard that her son Henry had successfully escaped from his father she laughed with pleasure.

‘Rejoice,’ she cried. ‘He is my true son after all. He has decided that he will no longer endure the bonds of tyranny. Ah, how I wish I could have seen my husband when he received that news. I doubt he ever fell into a greater rage. No more singing. I wish to be alone with my sons.’

When the troubadours had left in a somewhat crestfallen manner she turned to Richard and said: ‘You know what this means?’

‘It means that we are going to war against my father.’

‘Henry must not be foolish. He will not be, I am sure. Louis will guide him. I doubt not that there are many who will rally to his banner. And you, my sons – yes, you too, Geoffrey, must join him without delay that he may know that he has you to support him.’

‘We should leave immediately,’ said Richard, his eyes gleaming at the thought of battle and particularly that it should be conflict against the father whom he hated.

Geoffrey was eager too. At this time he always wanted to follow Richard.

She smiled from one to the other,

‘This is the moment. Your brother will shortly be King in very truth.’

Geoffrey said: ‘Our father is a very great soldier, Mother.’

‘He was. Don’t forget that he murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury. That is something which will never be forgotten. There is a curse on him for what he did to that saint. All men know it. You will see he cannot prosper now. That is why the time is ripe to attack him. You see, the King of France who I have good reason to know is the mildest of men, is ready to help your brother against him. Louis thought highly of Thomas à Becket. He loathes his murderer. Louis will see himself as the instrument of God who is to strike down the man who has offended all Christendom and Heaven too.’

‘Our mother is right,’ cried Richard. ‘I will be ready to start for the Court of France tomorrow.’

‘Then I will accompany you,’ replied Geoffrey.

Eleanor embraced them both and they prepared to start.

Eleanor watched them from the topmost turret of the castle.

How brave they looked seated on their horses, their pennants waving in the breeze. She watched until she could see them no more.

In her chamber she wrote verses on the sadness of parting with loved ones. How she missed Richard! She wondered whether he missed his life with her. He had always been a warrior in the making. Had he forgotten the pleasant hours they had spent together? Was he content to leave her now and march against his father?

She could not settle to write. She wanted action now. She should have been riding out with her sons. She pictured herself on her horse, her standard bearer riding before her, going into battle against the man she hated.

She was laughing to think of what he would say and feel when he heard that his sons Richard and Geoffrey had joined their brother Henry against him. And that would not be all. Aquitaine was ready to rebel against him. Brittany was doubtless the same. What of Anjou? Normandy she supposed would be loyal to him.

It was so exciting. She could not stay in the castle. She sent a messenger to her uncle, Raoul de Faye, begging him to come to her as she was in need of his advice.

Eleanor was very fond of this uncle though not quite in the same way as she had been of that other uncle, Raymond Prince of Antioch who had been her lover; but she had relied very much on Raoul de Faye who pleased her by his dislike of Henry Plantagenet and who had done a great deal to arouse young Henry’s antagonism against his father.

Raoul quickly arrived in answer to her summons. He was delighted when she told him what had happened.

‘This will be the end of that arrogant husband of yours,’ he declared. ‘There is scarcely a man living who does not hold him guilty of Becket’s murder. This will be remembered against him and even those who have been his most loyal supporters until now will begin to change their tune.’

How pleasant it was to walk in the gardens with Raoul, a charming and handsome man. She forgot when she was with him – for he paid her the most delightful compliments – that she was no longer young and that her notorious beauty was considerably faded for she felt young in the company of such a man, and because she could gloat over her hatred for her husband she was happy for a while.

This would give him little time to dally with his Rosamund, she told Raoul.

‘I doubt not he will find women here and there to amuse him in the manner to which he is accustomed.’

‘He will do that, but he will not rest in peace long.’

‘I have heard that the people of England are murmuring against the heavy taxes he imposes.’

They always did. But they remember the reign of Stephen when brigands roamed the country and took from them their possessions. They prefer to be robbed by the King with his taxes than that their money should be taken from them by roaming robbers.’

‘They will forget the robber brigands and remember only the robber king.’

‘He has staunch friends in England.’

‘Never mind England. We will drive him out of Aquitaine, Anjou and Normandy.’

‘My dear uncle, you will help in this?’

‘You may be assured that I shall do my best to stir up rebellion against him from all sides. Louis will be with us. We cannot fail to win.’

‘Then my son Henry shall have England, Normandy and Anjou, Richard Aquitaine and Geoffrey Brittany in very truth.’

‘The writing is on the wall for Henry Plantagenet,’ said Raoul de Faye.

When he had gone Eleanor could not settle. She remembered the days when she and Louis had set out on their crusade to the Holy City. What excitements there had been then – discomforts too, but they only brightened the high lights. Wonderful days of youth and vitality!

But she was not so old. At least she did not feel old. She could not expect to go into battle, but she could join her sons; she could advise them. No one could say she was not a woman of experience.

Why should she not?

The more she thought of it the more she liked the idea. She would go to the Court of France. It was ironical that she should be turning from Henry to Louis when once it had been the other way round. But Louis was turning out to be more astute than she had ever believed possible. He had fathered several children so was not so much of a monk and since the birth of his son he had been quite ready to go to war for the good of his kingdom.

It would be amusing to see Louis again.

When she made up her mind to do something she became obsessed with the need to accomplish it. Now she had decided that she would join her sons.

It would not be wise to let people know that she had left Aquitaine. There might be a revolt in the Duchy so she would slip away quietly. But even then she might be seen.

Then the idea occurred to her. She would disguise herself as a man and leave Aquitaine with a party of knights. She would be dressed as one of them.

When Henry heard that Richard and Geoffrey had joined Henry he shrugged his shoulders. Foolish boys, all of them. What did they think they were going to do? Young Henry was peevish, thinking because he had been crowned King he could replace his father. If the boy had stayed with him he would have learned something of what it meant to be a king, then perhaps he would not be so ready to take on the responsibility. As for Richard and Geoffrey they had been goaded by that she-wolf of a mother of theirs. They were all children really. He would summon them and give them a few lessons in what he expected of them.

He was soon to realise the matter was more serious than he had believed. The rebellion of his sons was regarded as a call to arms to all those discontents throughout his dominions. The shadow of Becket hung heavily over him. Superstitious men believed that the martyr who was capable of performing miracles would surely help those who took up arms against his murderer.

Henry was fully aware of this and when he heard that Count Philip of Flanders had captured Aumâle and, after a siege, the castle of Driencourt he could no longer remain complacent.

Louis had marched forth with young Henry and they were besieging Verneuil. Those loyal and faithful supporters, Hugh de Lacy and Hugh de Beauchamp, could be trusted to hold fast, but when after a month’s siege food became short in the town the inhabitants threatened to surrender.

The King then decided that he must take action.

He led his considerable army to Verneuil.

The reputation of the King of England as the greatest living general still existed, and many of the men in the opposing army, particularly those who had deserted him in favour of his son, trembled at the thought of his approach. If God and Becket were not on his side then the Devil would surely be.

Louis realised that in a face-to-face fight with Henry he could not win. From a hilltop he saw the approach of Henry’s army and he was greatly disturbed. All his distaste for battle returned to him and he sent messengers asking for a truce until the following day.

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.