The Revolt of the Eaglets, стр. 82
‘You have heard the King of France, my lord,’ said Richard. ‘Swear to me that I shall have my bride and that I shall be acknowledged as your heir to which, on account of my being your eldest living son, I have every right.’
In vain Henry sought a way out. There was none. He could promise, yes, but he could see by the purpose in the eyes of Philip and Richard that he would be forced to carry out his promises without delay.
He cried out suddenly: ‘No. I will not.’
Richard looked at him in some amazement. Then he said quietly: ‘Now at last I see that you mean this. I would not believe it could be possible, but now I know it is.’
He turned to the King of France and unbuckling his sword he gave it to him.
‘My over-lord and suzerain, I offer you my allegiance,’ he said.
Richard had taken Philip’s hands between his and Philip stooped quickly and kissed Richard’s.
Their eyes met and those watching marvelled at the tenderness between them.
Henry was thunderstruck. Before his eyes his own son was swearing allegiance to his enemy. Philip was his liege lord of course on account of Aquitaine, but this was a pledge to stand with the King of France against his own father.
Philip said quickly that he would agree to a truce until January when they would meet again. In the meantime perhaps the King of England would consider his demands and if he could not agree to them, then war could not be avoided.
Philip had achieved his purpose. He had proved to Richard that his father would not accept him, had decided to disinherit him and set up John in his place.
When the conference was over Henry had the mortification of seeing his son ride away side by side in most affectionate manner with the King of France.
THE DEATH OF THE EAGLE
Christmas came. Henry was still in France and spent it at Saumur. He was feeling very sick and old and was in constant pain. He knew that Richard and Philip were together. Several meetings had been suggested but he had been able to plead illness with good cause. He had great comfort from young Henry’s old friend and knight-at-arms, William the Marshall, and his own bastard son Geoffrey who had shown him more genuine affection than any of his sons ever had.
‘I cannot understand,’ he told William, ‘why my sons have turned against me. Think of it, good Marshall, Richard is with my enemy.’
‘It is because he is your eldest son, my lord,’ answered William, who was always truthful, ‘and he believes that you are trying to rob him of his inheritance.’
‘I shall bestow my crown where I please,’ answered Henry stubbornly. ‘Aquitaine was always for Richard.’
As the winter passed he grew a little better and when in June Philip suggested a further conference the two Kings met at La Ferte Bernard. With Philip came Richard, for the two were inseparable, and as Philip was going to insist on Richard’s recognition as heir to the throne of England and Normandy he brought with him several men of the Church so that if Henry could be forced into making an oath there would be plenty present to witness it.
‘We want peace,’ said Philip. ‘We bicker over our petty quarrels when the Holy City calls to us. Let us make peace, brother. You know my terms. The marriage of Richard to Alice and your acknowledgement that he is heir to your dominions as is his right as your eldest living son. Richard has sworn to go ere long to the Holy Land. Your son John must take the cross and accompany him.’
Henry narrowed his eyes. John accompany Richard! He knew what that meant. They did not trust him nor John and they wanted to know where John was and what he was doing. If he were taking part in a crusade to the Holy Land he could not seize the crown of England on his father’s death.
‘No,’ thundered Henry. ‘I will not agree. I will give my consent to Alice’s marriage to John.’
He looked at one of the Cardinals whom he had bribed to stand for him. He had wheedled his way into the man’s confidence explaining that while the King of France was hostile to him he could not go on the proposed crusade to the Holy Land. He dared not. If he could be proved right in this argument between them, if the King of France would accept his terms, then there would be no more delay.
The Cardinal had been tempted by the rich gifts of the King of England and now declared that Philip should accept Henry’s terms. What mattered it if the Princess Alice took Prince John instead of Prince Richard, particularly as it was clear that Henry would make John his heir?
Philip was furious. ‘How dare you come here,’ he cried, ‘stinking of the King’s gold. Dost think I do not smell it? Nay, I will not accept the King of England’s terms. It is he who, in honour, should accept mine. And I tell you this: if he will not agree to the marriage of my sister and Prince Richard and will not command his knights and men of the Church to swear fealty to Richard then there can be no peace between us.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Will you swear?’
The red blood showed in Henry’s eyes. He thrust one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand.
‘No,’ he cried. ‘Never. Never.’
The conference was over and once more it had ended in deadlock.
Henry had always loved the city of Le Mans. Perhaps it meant more to him than any of his continental possessions. His father was buried there and as soon as he came back he went to his tomb to pray.
How old and tired he felt, how sick and weary of the battle. He thought of his father who had been so gay and handsome and who had quarrelled so violently with his mother. He remembered those quarrels, the contempt his mother had had for his father and his dislike of her. Of course she had been an overbearing woman and his father had been feckless and pleasure-loving; his own sons Henry and Geoffrey had taken after their grandfather.
Geoffrey the Fair they had called the man who now lay in this tomb. He was descended from the wild Counts of Anjou, those who were said to have come from the Devil. If the story about his ancestress who had turned into her true shape in church when faced with the Mass was true then they were descended from a witch and there could well be a devil in them all. Had he not seduced his son’s betrothed when she was but a child? When his temper was at its height what deeds had he not done? How many men had he murdered? Yes, the Devil was in him; but with his satanic descent on one side and his forceful mother, a granddaughter of the Conqueror on the other, what could he expect?
His mother had worked for his success. She had loved him in her hectoring way. So had his father differently, more tenderly. Geoffrey the Fair, lover of many women! It was said that Eleanor had briefly shared his bed. Henry smiled wryly. Anything could be expected of Eleanor. That was why all these years he had kept her a prisoner.
He shrugged his shoulders. She deserved her fate. He would waste no pity on her.
He had come to this town to be quiet, to think of his father and to tell himself that all rulers were beset by anxieties. There was no peace in a crown. Why then did men seek it with such passion that they were ready to barter their lives – and those of others – for it? They did it for glory. And what did they come to in the end? The tomb.
He rose from his knees and as he made his way to his chamber a messenger arrived to tell him that Philip was on the march. Richard was with him and they were only a few miles from Le Mans.