Plantagenet 1 - The Plantagenet Prelude (36 page)

There he stood, this man who was neither tall nor short, whose hands were chapped with the wind; his tunic short that he might the easier move about, with his unbounded energy, his fierce temper which was terrifying to behold and his complete kingliness. He was right. He did not need a crown to proclaim him King of England. No man could look at him and doubt it.

And yet he came secretly to Woodstock. In his heart he knew it was due to his tenderness for Rosamund. He wanted no harm to befall her. He wanted to keep her the pure and innocent girl she was - the complete contrast to Eleanor. Perhaps he was a little afraid of Eleanor. He would not admit that fear. Yet she could be a scheming woman and he could not be sure what revenge she would take on him.

It was because of Eleanor that he wished to keep his liaison with Rosamund secret.

He found her feeding the swans on the lake before the little palace.

She stood up with a cry of pleasure when she saw him. She was noticeably pregnant and it occurred to him again that she was even more beautiful than when he had first seen her. There was a serenity about her countenance. She had already the motherly look.

He took her hands and kissed them. ‘So my Rose is glad to see her King.’

She nodded as though her emotion at beholding him were so great she could not trust herself to speak.

Ashamed of his own feelings he touched her stomach jocularly. ‘And the boy?’

‘He fares well. But what if it should be a girl? I trust you will not be displeased.’

‘Nay, nay,’ he said, ‘I’ll forgive her if she has one tenth of the charm and beauty of her mother.’

Arms about each other they went into the house.

There he stayed for the night. It was idyllic, there to live like a simple man. He did not delude himself into wishing that he had been born to such a life. He was too enamoured of his kingship, but it was pleasant for a spell to live simply under the adoring eyes of a beloved mistress.

Thomas should see me now, he thought. Perhaps he would try to explain his feelings to Thomas.

No, no. Not even Thomas. No one should know how this beautiful innocent girl affected him.

The child would soon be born and she was to have the best attention.

‘When I return from France I’ll come and see the child,’ he told her.

The thought of his departure to France always upset her. She visualised all kinds of dangers. She begged him to take care.

He laughed at her, but tenderly. How could a king take care?

‘It’s a peaceful mission. I go to see Louis to make terms for the marriage of my son and his daughter. He has already agreed. My good Chancellor got his agreement and I go to seal the alliance and bring the child away with me, for if she is to marry my son she must be brought up in my kingdom.’

‘Poor child! Poor mother!’

‘Ah, Rosamund, be thankful that you are not a royal mother. How much happier you will be with your child in your little bower awaiting the arrival of your lord and master. And I swear to you that he will come to you whenever it is possible for him to do so and this child you carry shall have great honours and never regret, if I can help it, the day the King set eyes on the fairest Rose in all the world.’

He left her content with her lot; her only anxiety what dangers he might face across the sea.

What joy to be with one whose love was selfless, who asked nothing, no honours - except perhaps for their child - nothing for herself! She prayed not for herself but for him and the child.

He thought: Had she been my wife, I would have been a happier man.

How different was Eleanor. He would be going to France and she must perforce stay in England because she was once more with child.

‘I promise you,’ she raved, ‘there shall be no more of this. Since I married you it has been one child after another.’

‘You have a fine nursery full, my Queen,’ said Henry. ‘There are many queens who have prayed and made their pilgrimages in the hope of getting
one
son. You have two and who knows the next which I have kindly implanted in you may well be another boy. Think of it. Three boys in your nursery!’

‘Not to mention the little bastard you have brought to us.’

‘Young Geoffrey. How fares he?’

‘I do not make it my concern to discover.’

‘You’re a jealous woman, Eleanor.’

She did not answer. She would never forgive him for that bastard son. While she had been in love with him - and thought constantly of him - he had been sporting with other women and cared so much for this one it seemed that when she produced a child he brought it into the nursery.

‘What would I not give to be crossing the sea with you.’

‘I am flattered that you so much enjoy my company.’

‘It is not you I wish to be with,’ she said. ‘I wish to see my own fair land of Aquitaine.’

‘That you might sit in the gardens and surround yourself with soft-eyed singers who laud your charms and pretend to be in love with you?’

‘Why should they pretend?’

‘Because you are no longer young and the bearing of children does not beautify a woman but adds to her years. They would feign to set you up as the Queen of Love. And why? Because you are the Queen of England, that is why.’

‘Have done,’ she said. ‘When this child is born I shall go once more to Aquitaine.’

He nodded, smiling derisively at her, but his thoughts were far away in the bower of his fair Rosamund.

Soon afterwards he left for France.

A message came from his mother. She wished him to call at Nantes where she was staying with his brother Geoffrey.

Matilda met her son with the pleasure she always showed on seeing him. They embraced and she looked at him anxiously.

‘How fares it in England?’ she wanted to know.

‘All is well. I have left the government in capable hands. I have the best man in the world for Chancellor. And Eleanor knows how to rule.’

‘It was a good marriage,’ said Matilda.

Henry grimaced. ‘She’s an overbearing woman.’

Matilda could find no fault with that. No one could have been more overbearing than herself.

‘I wished you to come here,’ she said, ‘because of Geoffrey.’

‘Geoffrey again! Not plotting against me once more?’

‘Geoffrey will never plot against you again.’

‘You are hoping for a miracle.’

‘Nay, my son. Your brother Geoffrey is grievously sick. I fancy he will never leave his bed again.’

‘Geoffrey … but he is so young!’

‘Death strikes down the young as well as the old. You must make sure you lose nothing by his death.’

‘His
death
! You cannot mean this!’

‘You shall see for yourself. I wished to prepare you.’

She went with him into the chamber where Geoffrey lay.

‘Geoffrey, my son,’ she said, ‘your brother is here.’

Geoffrey smiled wryly. ‘The King of England,’ he muttered.

‘I am here,’ said Henry. He knelt by the bed and looked anxiously into his brother’s face. ‘What ails you, Geoffrey?’

‘My time has come. It was a short stay, was it not?’

‘Nay, you’ll recover.’

‘Is that a command?’

‘You should take it as such.’

‘You always wanted to command us all. But you cannot command Death, brother.’

‘You talk nonsense. You will recover.’

‘I think not. So you rule England now as well as Normandy which was to have been mine.’

‘I paid you for it, remember?’

‘I remember your promise to pay me a pension. I don’t recall receiving much of it.’

‘There are many calls on a king’s purse.’

‘I know, I know. And it is of no moment now.’

‘You had Brittany. You got that by my good graces.’

‘For which I must be grateful. Were not the dogs grateful for the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table?’

‘They were indeed, but I was never a rich man, brother, and you never a dog.’

‘Not with England and Normandy and … what else is it, brother? I’ll swear now it will be Brittany.’

‘Geoffrey, let us be friends.’

Geoffrey smiled and held out his hand. ‘It is always good to be friends with a dying man. Fear not that I should ever seek to haunt you with reproaches, brother. I was always proud to be your brother. You were our mother’s favourite. She loved you. You must have had very special qualities to be loved by her.’ He smiled. ‘Do you remember how she hated our father?’

Henry bowed his head.

‘And he is dead now. And I shall soon follow him. You will go on and on to greater glory, Henry. It was good of you to come to my deathbed. Or did you come for Brittany?’

Henry looked at his brother with sorrowing eyes. He was thinking of how they had played together in their youth; but he was also thinking of Brittany. How could he help it? The Dukes of Normandy had always laid covetous eyes on it. He could bring up the matter when he saw Louis.

He did not talk of these matters to Geoffrey. He tried to soothe him. He talked a little of their boyhood but the continual conflict between their parents had not made that a very happy time.

On a hot July day Geoffrey died. Looking down at the still face of his brother Henry could not believe that he was gone. He felt tears in his eyes and wished that they had been better friends.

But almost immediately came news that Conan of Brittany, the son of the displaced Duke, was marching towards Nantes.

Henry immediately set about gathering together his forces. He left his army to stand against any invaders and went on to Paris where he was determined to get Louis’s agreement that he should hold Brittany.

Louis received Henry with all the honours possible. His Queen joined with him. Constance was anxious to see the man whom Louis’s first wife had married. She found him bold, a little coarse in some ways, but a man of great strength and she saw at once that he was in complete contrast to Louis.

Unlike Thomas Becket, Henry entered Paris without a great show of magnificence. He had left the best of his army behind to hold Brittany, in any case, and as he was the King of England and Duke of Normandy, ruler over a greater territory than the King of France, he had no need to proclaim what was obvious.

The two men took their measure. It was six years ago that Eleanor had shown her preference by marrying Henry. Louis had recovered from the humiliation now and had a new Queen; as for Henry his passion for Eleanor was fast dying and any cause for resentment against each other seemed to have dwindled away.

They would never be close friends. They were two different types. Louis had arranged special church services which he thought would please his guest. Henry would have preferred to see more of how the people lived, how they reacted to the laws of their land; he would have liked to meet some of the beautiful women of France. But he had come on a mission and it was imperative that he conclude it with satisfaction. The conferences began. Louis would support Henry in Brittany; he would give the baby Marguerite as her dowry the much disputed Vexin, which was on the borders of Normandy and the Ile de France. This was the buffer state between those two and possession of it meant a certain security for Normandy.

It was a very satisfactory meeting and when Henry left Paris he brought with him the baby Marguerite whom he would take to England to be brought up as his daughter.

Even more satisfactory was the fact that when Conan of Brittany saw the forces of the Duke of Normandy and King of England he changed his mind about standing out against him, and he decided that he must try to make peace. Henry shrewdly agreed to do so and even compromised by making Conan Duke of Brittany, providing he recognised himself as a vassal of the Duke of Normandy and King of England. This Conan agreed to; and at the public ceremony swore that he would serve Henry with his life.

While this was happening Henry received two messages from England.

His wife had given birth to another son. She had called him Geoffrey after the King’s dead brother and father.

Henry smiled ruefully. So there would be two Geoffreys in the nursery now. He could picture the elder one being known as Geoffrey the Bastard. That would be as Eleanor wanted it. Was that why she had chosen the same name for her own son?