The Revolt of the Eaglets - Plaidy Jean (книги бесплатно без .TXT) 📗

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

Finally, English Bishops must not be asked to take the Oath he had demanded of them at Clarendon; and those who had taken it must be freed from any obligation to keep it.

He must put an end to this humiliating situation. He must make his peace with the Pope.

He could have murdered those Cardinals. He could have gone into battle against the Pope. But he was not called the most shrewd king in Europe for nothing. He knew when concessions had to be made and this was one of those occasions.

He had settled the matter, he believed, once and for all.

And Thomas, my beloved friend and hated enemy, you in your shrine at Canterbury have defeated the King of England on his throne. The battle is over, Thomas, and I can say with truth that I wish with all my heart that it had never been necessary to indulge in it.

He left Savigny with rising spirits. He was free of Thomas.

There was news from Eleanor. Richard was now of an age to be officially declared Duke of Aquitaine, and she believed that the ceremony of establishing him as such should no longer be delayed.

He agreed with her. Let Richard be the acknowledged Duke of Aquitaine. When he considered what he had done to Richard’s betrothed it soothed his conscience a little to agree readily to his acquisition of Aquitaine. Eleanor was for once pleased with him, and when they met at Poitiers she was quite gracious to him.

Richard viewed him with suspicion. It was almost as though he knew how his father had betrayed him with Alice. But no, Richard had always disliked him and he had always disliked Richard. It seemed strange that a man could feel so about such a good-looking son of such promise, for Richard excelled in horsemanship, swordsmanship and chivalry far more than any of his brothers. He was a poet too, so perhaps it was because he was very much his mother’s son that his father could not like him.

With the thought of Alice always in his mind now he liked him even less as he must one whom he had wronged so deeply, for if he were completely honest he could not rid himself of the thought that it might be necessary for Alice to be Richard’s bride after all. He would delay it as long as possible. In any case it was a matter about which he did not wish to think.

It was a grand ceremony at Poitiers where this fifteen-year-old golden boy took the abbot’s seat in the Abbey of Saint-Hilaire where he accepted the lance and banner of the Dukes of Aquitaine, the insignia of his new office.

How the people cheered! And Eleanor looked on, softened for once by her affection and pride in this favourite of all her sons.

‘The people love him,’ she told Henry exultantly; and she added slyly: ‘He is no foreigner to them. He belongs to Aquitaine.’

Which was a reminder that they had never accepted Henry Plantagenet as their Duke but had taken him on sufferance merely because he was the husband of their Duchess.

Never mind. Let her gloat. She would learn in time who was the master. Once he had divorced her … Was it possible? He was already framing his apologies to Rosamund. ‘I must marry Alice, Alice is royal. It is necessary politically for me to marry the daughter of the King of France.’

But first he must rid himself of Eleanor. He wondered how she would react to the suggestion.

In the meantime there was the occasion of Richard’s crowning as Duke. Then next a ceremony was to take place at Limoges where he would receive the ring of St Valerie, which was held sacred as it was said to have belonged to the city’s patron saint.

There with the ring on his finger, the handsome golden-haired boy received, at the altar of the cathedral, the sword and spurs according to the ancient orders of chivalry.

To see him standing there in his silk tunic, the golden crown on his head and the banner of Aquitaine in his hands, Eleanor was more deeply moved than she had been for many years; and she saw in this young man the highest hopes for his future and her own.

And beside her stood her husband – coarse, ugly in comparison with his handsome son. And she revelled in the hatred she bore this man whom once she had loved and who had dared in the early years of their marriage, when she had been prepared to offer him her undivided love, to betray her with any light woman who came his way.

My pride and your lechery have broken this marriage, she thought. They have made enemies of us and by God and his Saints, I swear, Henry Plantagenet, that I shall not rest until I have destroyed you and set up my sons in your place.

After the crowning of Richard as Duke of Aquitaine Henry made his way back to Normandy and on the way called on the King of France.

Louis was some fourteen years older than Henry and looked his age, yet a certain dignity had come with the years. He had grown accustomed to wearing the crown of France which in his youth he had accepted so reluctantly. He had fathered several children: Marie and Alix by Eleanor before the divorce which had made it possible for her to marry Henry; by his second wife Constance, Marguerite, who was married to young Henry, and another girl named Alice who had died young; by his third wife Adela he had had his only son, Philip, the delectable Alice who was now Henry’s mistress, and Agnes.

Only one son and all those daughters, thought Henry, but daughters were good bargaining counters. Louis should be pleased, for was not his daughter Marguerite a prospective Queen of England and nothing would please the King more than if Louis’s daughter Alice were to be one, too.

The rift between Louis and Henry, which had been widened by the quarrel with Thomas a Becket, had by Henry’s show of penitence been partially removed. Louis received the King with honours.

They did not mention the Archbishop but Henry knew what Louis’s feelings were on that matter. Hadn’t he given shelter to Thomas in his realm and done everything to provoke the King of England by the attention he paid to his rebel priest?

Louis had not done this out of spite towards Henry. He merely had a natural indulgence towards anyone connected with the Church and for that reason he had supported Thomas against the King. Louis had wanted to be a monk and by God’s eyes, thought Henry, it would not have been a bad thing if he had been, except of course that if he had been he would never have sired the charming Alice. No, no, it was better that Louis should have been forced out of the pious life he craved by the death of his brother.

How much enmity did Louis still bear towards him for having taken his wife? Doubtless, thought Henry grimly, he was glad to be rid of her. He himself would be glad to be rid of her now. But that had happened many years ago and here they were two kings, natural enemies in a way because Louis must always resent the fact that Henry was lord of a greater part of France than he was himself since his marriage, and Henry could not forget that for the lands he possessed in France he must pay homage to the king of that country.

Normandy, Anjou, Maine, Aquitaine, Brittany, they were all vassal states of the King of France and even though he was their ruler (though his sons were nominally so) still he must swear fealty to Louis.

They were wary with each other and talked of State affairs. But at length Louis began to complain because, although Henry’s son had been crowned King of England, Louis’s daughter Marguerite, who was the wife of young Henry, had never been accorded this honour.

‘What means this?’ he asked. ‘Is it that you do not regard my daughter as the young King’s wife?’

‘It is nothing of the sort. I have always said she shall be crowned at a convenient moment and crowned she shall be.’