The Revolt of the Eaglets (46 page)

She wept, for although Richard was her favourite she loved all her children. Their progress had always been of the utmost interest to her. She loved the two daughters she had by Louis. And when she thought of the last months of Henry’s life she trembled for him. She herself had sinned, Heaven knew, and so had Henry Plantagenet, but they had not been cut off in their prime with all their sins upon them.

He had repented at the end. He had given William the Marshall the cross to take to Jerusalem; but that very cross he had taken from a shrine. And he had asked his father’s forgiveness and Henry – she granted him that – had readily given it. He had not been with his son at the end although he could have been. His knights advised him against going for fear of treachery. Treachery between father and son!

Oh, what a lot we have to answer for!

She prayed for forgiveness, that the sins of her sons might be averted from them to her.

Ours was the fault, oh, God, she prayed. Blame not our children.

She spent several days in fasting and praying for Henry’s soul.

But she was a born intriguante and the thought which must keep recurring to her was: Now Richard is the heir to the throne and the next king will not be Henry the Third but Richard the First.

The Archdeacon of Wells came to see her on behalf of her husband. He told her that the King wished her to prepare to leave for Winchester and her future would depend on how she behaved when she was there. The King himself was in Normandy but he hoped soon to be in England.

‘Did he say he wished to see me?’ she asked.

‘He did not, my lady,’ was the answer.

She was amused and intrigued. This was release …
temporarily
, the King stressed. She was to be free because her daughter was coming to England. Was that the real reason? Henry was sly. Why should he feel it so important to make an impression on the Duke and Duchess of Saxony who were merely exiles? There was another reason. Aquitaine. Her people hated him because he kept their Duchess prisoner. She knew him well. His motives were always suspect.

What excitement there was at the castle when gifts from the King arrived for her. What had happened that he should send gifts? How long was it since she had received anything from him?

Her women crowded round her. They believed the King was going to take her back. Rosamund had been dead for some time and Rosamund had been one of the main causes of their discord. Now the Queen would be the Queen in truth. They would all leave Salisbury and go to Winchester or Westminster wherever the Court was. The sequestered life was over.

A beautiful dress of scarlet was revealed as it was taken from its wrappings.

Belle, the youngest and prettiest of the attendants, exclaimed with pleasure.

‘Look, my lady. It is lined with miniver.’

The Queen took up the dress and held it against her.

‘It is long since I have worn a dress so fine,’ she said. She would have it altered a little to suit her individual taste and it would be perfect. The fur was of the highest quality and the red cloth most excellent.

The following day another gift arrived from the King. It was a saddle ornamented with gold. Her women danced round her with glee. Eleanor watched them thoughtfully.

The King was staying longer in Normandy than he had intended. There was so much for him to settle. Eleanor heard that he was meddling in the affairs of France. He was afraid of Philip; and no wonder, when he had treated Philip’s sister as he had.

What was happening about Alice? There she was, still kept at Westminster and Richard continued to be denied his bride.

Eleanor smiled grimly wondering what would have happened if news of what had actually taken place between Henry and Alice had been brought into the open. So many times she had wanted to divulge the secret. What trouble it would have made – but only temporarily! Henry could be trusted to find a way out. No, she had had more sport keeping him on tenterhooks. He would have extricated himself from that embarrassment as deftly as he had from the murder of Thomas à Becket. She was sure that the best way to harass him was to keep silent, and every now and then give him a little fright that the affair might be exposed.

Richard would not take Alice now, but she had advised him not to let his father know that. Let Henry go on worrying as he had for years. How devious was Henry Plantagenet! It relieved her conscience to revile him in her mind. If she was in some measure to blame for the conflict among their sons, he was even more responsible.

She longed to see him and when she heard that he was considering his return to England her spirits rose. He was on his way and with him came their now heavily pregnant daughter Matilda and her husband. It was time for Eleanor to leave Salisbury.

With what joy she greeted her daughter!

Matilda was twenty-eight years old, her husband, the Duke, many years older; and now Matilda was pregnant and she told Eleanor how comforted she was to see her.

They spent much of their days together and Matilda often marvelled at the youthful looks of her mother.

‘I have spent so many years in confinement that I have been able to preserve myself,’ laughed the Queen.

‘You will see changes in the King when you see him,’ Matilda warned her.

‘Shall I see him, I wonder? He has said nothing about our meeting.’

‘He is very upset over the death of Henry.’

‘Has it changed him?’

‘The loss of a son would not change him very much. Only the loss of his crown would do that.’

‘So he shows the years?’

‘You know that he was never one to care for his appearance. I am sure he is often mistaken for the humblest of his servants for it is only on rare occasions that he pays heed to his dress.’

‘He was always so,’ said Eleanor. ‘I used to tell him that he looked like a serf.’

She wanted to hear so much of him but she had to curb her curiosity. She did not wish even Matilda to know how much she thought of him.

They sat together, Matilda embroidering a garment for her baby and Eleanor singing or playing the lute.

‘When I was in Salisbury new songs were brought to me,’ she said. ‘So much of the news came to me through them. Minstrels would sing to me of what was happening to your father and your brothers.’

Eleanor loved the children – Henry, Otto and little Matilda. She watched Matilda’s health with maternal care and herself made many of the preparations for her confinement.

What was going to happen in Saxony? she asked Matilda, but Matilda could not say. Her husband, known as Henry the Lion, had not wished to make war on Italy as the Emperor Barbarossa wanted him to and for this reason the Emperor had turned against him. The result – exile. ‘How thankful I am that we could turn to my father,’ said Matilda.

Her husband was so many years older than herself, Eleanor pointed out. Was she happy with him?

Matilda was as happy as royal princesses could expect to be, she answered.

‘Perhaps I expected too much,’ commented Eleanor. ‘I married your father for love, you know.’

‘And look where it ended,’ pointed out Matilda. ‘You were soon hating each other and all these years he has kept you a prisoner.’

‘At least it was love at the start. And although I never loved Louis, he loved me, I believe, until the day he died.’

‘But you are different from the rest of us, Mother. You guide your own fate. Ours overtakes us.’

‘And as you say I was overtaken by imprisonment in the end. Perhaps it is better to have our marriages made for us and be good docile wives. Is your Henry a good husband?’

‘He is jealous.’

‘It is often so with older men. With older women too. I was twelve years older than your father and I think that was one of the reasons which began the discord between us. He was unfaithful and I could not endure it.’

‘Yet you were unfaithful in your first marriage.’

‘That was Louis. It was different. Louis could have been unfaithful to me and I would not have cared. But perhaps I lie. I can say that, because he never would have been. No, I do not think I would have tolerated infidelity in either of my husbands, and when I discovered it in Henry that was the start of the trouble between us.’

‘My Henry was angry over Bertrand de Born,’ said Matilda. ‘He wrote love poems to me. Henry discovered and banished him from the Court.’

‘He is a great poet,’ said Eleanor. ‘He is compared with Bernard de Ventadour. I would not have his verses sung in Salisbury though, because he did much to harm your brother Richard.’

‘You know why. He fell in love with my brother Henry.’

‘I thought he was in love with you?’

‘He made verses to me but it was Henry whom he loved. If you had seen the verses he wrote to Henry you would have realised how much he loved him. He thought my brother the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and you know how these poets worship beauty. When my father had taken his castle and he stood before him, his prisoner, my father goaded him with this much flaunted cleverness and asked him what had happened to his wit now. Do you know what he replied. “The day your valiant son died I lost consciousness, wits and direction.”’

‘At which your father laughed him to scorn I doubt not.’

‘Nay, Mother, so deeply moved was he, that he restored his castle to him.’

‘He can be sentimental still about his sons,’ mused Eleanor.

‘He loved Henry dearly. Henry was always his favourite. Again and again Henry played him false and every time he forgave him and wanted to start again. He wanted Henry to love him. His death was a great blow to him.’

Eleanor played the lute and Matilda sang some of the songs which had come to Normandy from the Court of France and Aquitaine. They told of the conflict between the King’s sons and the love of knights for their ladies.

In due course Matilda’s child was born. The confinement was easy and the little boy was called William.

Eleanor, who loved little babies, delighted in caring for him.

Christmas was approaching.

To Eleanor’s amazement and secret delight, a message from the King arrived. He was summoning his sons to Westminster and he invited his wife to join them there. Matilda with her husband and children would accompany the Queen and it should be a family reunion.

The grey mists hung over Westminster on that November day, and in the palace there was an air of expectancy. This was an occasion which would be remembered by all concerned for as long as they lived. The King, the Queen and their sons would be together there.

When Eleanor came riding into the capital the people watched her in silence. This Queen had been a captive for ten years. She amazed them as she had in the days of her youth. There was something about her which could attract all eyes even now. She was an old woman but she was a beautiful one still; and the years had not robbed her of her voluptuous charm. In her gown of scarlet lined with miniver, adjusted to her special taste and with that unique talent which had stylised all her clothes, she looked magnificent.

The watchers were overawed.

Then came the King – so different from his Queen, yet, though he lacked her elegance there was about him a dignity which must impress all who beheld him. His cloak might be short and worn askew, his hair was greying and combed to hide the baldness, although by his garments he might be mistaken for a man of little significance, his bearing and demeanour proclaimed him the King.

She was waiting for him and they studied each other for some moments in silence.

By God’s eyes, he thought, she is a beautiful woman still. How well she hides her age!

The years have buffeted him, she thought gleefully. Why, Henry, you are an old man now. Where is the golden youth who took my fancy? How grey your hair is and no amount of dressing it can hide the fact that it is thinning. Does your temper still flare up? Do you suffer the same rages? Do you lie on the floor and kick the table legs? Do you bite the rushes? But what was the point in mocking? She knew that he was still the King and that men trembled before him.

He bowed to her and she inclined her head.

‘Welcome to Westminster,’ he said.

‘I thank you for your welcome and for the gifts you sent to me.’