The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean (читаем полную версию книг бесплатно txt) 📗

Eustace, Stephen’s son, was not worthy of such honours – nor had he any right to them. He, Geoffrey, had no intention of going to England to settle that difference.

Matilda had tried it and failed. It was not difficult to understand why. Their, son Henry would succeed he was sure when the time came. The boy must win his own spurs. And he would.

Still, if he were the heir to Normandy he would be in a better position to fight for the crown of England and it was all to the good that Louis had decided against going into battle on behalf of Stephen and his relations.

So with great confidence Geoffrey of Anjou, sporting a planta genista in his hat, came to Paris.

Eleonore watching from a window saw his arrival. A fine-looking man, she decided; it was long since she had seen one who reminded her, although faintly, of Raymond Prince of Antioch.

She would admit that he had not Raymond’s good looks, fine bearing and charm of manners. But he was not lacking in these qualities. And there was one important virtue so sadly lacking in her husband. Geoffrey Plantagenet was a man!

There was a friendly atmosphere at court. Louis, now that he had been persuaded by Suger, was delighted that there was to be no war. Theobald and his son were disappointed. He would try to make up to them in some other way.

He had explained to young Henry of Champagne that it would be wrong to indulge in a war against the Plantagenets on such an issue.

‘We must remember, my dear friend,’ said Louis, ‘that Geoffrey Plantagenet’s wife is the daughter of the late King of England, Henry I, and he was the son of William, Duke of Normandy who conquered England. Matilda has a claim to the Duchy which could never rightly be that of Eustace while Matilda has sons.’

Theobald and his son were angry. Louis was like a piece of thistledown, they said to each other, blown this way and that by the wind. They would have to try to persuade him later when the Plantagenet had left court.

But Geoffrey had no intention of leaving court just yet. He was finding it all so diverting and more than anything was he delighted by the interest of the Queen.

Eleonore had shown from the first that he interested her. She invited him to one of her musical occasions when she herself sang songs of her own composing. They were concerned with the joy of loving and being loved.

Geoffrey was not one to ignore such gentle innuendoes. Cursed with a wife for whom he had no affection or desire, for years he had been seeking consolation elsewhere.

Matilda was now an old woman of fifty. Eleonore was some twenty years younger. She seemed very young to him, and she was one of the most beautiful and attractive women he had ever seen.

That the Queen of France was light in her morals he knew full well. There had been rumours about her adventures during the crusade. Geoffrey of Anjou was not one to refuse what was offered. Within a few weeks of his arrival at court he and Eleonore were lovers.

She liked to talk to him. He was a man of charm and easy manners. He reminded her very much of her uncle Raymond. Not that he could equal him – no one could do that, but the resemblance was there and very agreeable to her.

Not only did she enjoy their love-making but their conversation was amusing. He told her of the wild conflicts that had ensued between himself and his wife.

‘She still calls herself the Empress because before she was married to me she was married to the Emperor of Germany.’

‘We have all heard tales of that virago,’ said Eleonore.

‘What a time you must have had with her!’

‘Think of the most difficult woman in the world and that is Matilda.’

‘And is she beautiful?’

‘She was handsome enough in her youth. But I was a boy of fifteen at the time of our marriage. She was twenty-five. She seemed an old woman to me. I never took to her. And her temper...it is beyond description.’

‘But you got three sons by her.’

‘We were at length prevailed upon to do our duty.’

‘And she loves these sons?’

‘Even Matilda is a mother. Our eldest is a fine boy. He’s going to rule England one day.’

'That would be...Henry.’

‘Ah, young Henry. What a fellow!’

‘Is he as handsome as his father?’

‘He is the least handsome of my sons. Not tall, but stocky and he cares not for his looks. He refuses to wear gloves in the coldest weather and his hands are chapped and red. He despises the graces of living. He will be a man, he says. He is never still. He must be here, there and everywhere! He tires out all about him. He is a boy to be proud of.’

‘Tell me more of him. He is very young, is he not?’

‘Seventeen winters or so.’

‘And he is religious?’

‘His religion is to live every minute of his life to the full.’

‘I should like to see this son of yours,’ she said. ‘What does he feel for women?’

‘He likes them...he likes them very well.’

‘Like his father mayhap?’

‘Well, he has already sired two bastards, I hear.’

‘And he but seventeen! He is not a man to waste his time. I shall see him then?’

‘He will come to Paris to swear fealty to the King.’

‘He might have been my son-in-law. We did once think of a match between him and my daughter Marie.’

‘That was a match I greatly wished to see take place.’

‘It was old Bernard of Clairvaux who opposed it...on grounds of the strong blood tie between the two.’

‘That was what he said. I’ll dare swear he thought that such an alliance would give too much to our house. He was never a friend of ours.’

‘We talk much of your son.’

‘Yes, let us now consider ourselves.’

They did, and when in due course Geoffrey’s son Henry Plantagenet arrived at court, Eleonore was completely overwhelmed by the personality of the youth. He had a vitality which she found intriguing; a virility which was undeniable.

Geoffrey was a good lover but once she saw his son, Eleonore desired no other man.

She could not understand it. This youth was by no means handsome. That he was clever there was no doubt; he had an appreciation of literature which she found exciting. But it was his overwhelming manliness which attracted her.

She thought a good deal about him. Duke of Normandy and King of England, for there was no doubt in her mind as soon as she saw him that he would succeed in his undertakings.

Stephen would die and he would claim the crown of England and get it. Ineffectual Eustace would have no chance against him.

She wanted Henry. Not as she had wanted his father and others. This was different. Henry was going to be a King. She wanted to marry him.

Alas, he was nearly twelve years younger than she was.

As if she would allow such a trifle to stand in her way. A greater obstacle was the fact that she was married. She had asked for a divorce before, and failed to get it. She would renew her endeavours. It had been different then.

Before she had been eager only to escape from Louis.

Now she had the added incentive. She wanted a new husband. That husband must be Henry Plantagenet. And she made a vow that nothing was going to stand in the way of her getting him.

It did not take her long to lure him to her bed. He was sensuous in the extreme and already expert in such matters. It had been said that he took after his grandfather, that other Henry, who used to dandle him on his knee when he was a baby and had set such store by him.

That he was cuckolding the King of France meant nothing to young Henry, except that it was something of a joke; and that the beautiful elegant Queen should be so eager for him – with his careless mode of dressing and his lack of fastidiousness – amused him even more.

He was always ready to enjoy himself.

When she hinted at marriage, he was alert. Marriage for Henry Plantagenet with the heiress of Aquitaine! Not bad! Eleonore was a rich heiress. No one could turn aside from fruitful Aquitaine without a good deal of consideration. It was a dazzling prospect. Eleonore and Aquitaine!