IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON ON the twenty-ninth day of September when Henry approached Montlouis on the outskirts of Tours. Behind him he could hear the weary tramp of the routiers and his Welsh mercenary foot soldiers singing one of their lusty fighting songs. He had marched his men all night. Under no circumstances must he be late for the meeting with the French king and his three sons to dictate the terms of peace.
When he arrived at the camp, an array of pavilions was already in evidence. From the top of the largest one Henry could see the gold and scarlet Angevin banner with three lions, rampant, waving triumphantly in the autumn wind. As well it should for a monarch who, in less than three months’ time, had put down an insurrection in England, quenched the fires of rebellion on the Continent, and once again reigned supreme in his domains. With an immense feeling of satisfaction, Henry dismounted and entered his pavilion.
Inside, there were copper braziers, stools, a round elmwood table, and thick pallets for sleeping. A French envoy awaited him.
“What is your pleasure, my lord king? Would you care to refresh yourself with food or rest before the meeting?”
All bows and obsequious smiles. Quite a change in the Franks’ attitude since Harry’s defection to Louis’s camp well over a year earlier.
“Is King Louis present?”
“Alas, no.” The envoy looked uncomfortable. “Our most gracious sovereign ails and begs you to forgive his absence. But he has sent several able councilors and his brother-in-law, the count of Champagne, to treat with you. Your sons, of course, are here and eager to see you.”
“Are they now?” Henry gave the envoy a grim smile. “They must restrain their eagerness a while longer. I’ve been riding since compline last night and every muscle aches. A tub of steaming water, some food, and wine is what I require. And if my chancellor and treasurer have arrived, send them in.”
Louis ailed, did he? From a severe attack of losing face, no doubt, as a result of turning tail in a war of his own making. He had lost every battle, lost all possibility of taking over Henry’s possessions, and was now going to lose control of the Plantagenet princes. Before he was through with saintly Louis, by God, that fumbling excuse for a ruler would ail a great deal more than he already did.
A few moments later Peter of Blois entered the pavilion, accompanied by the treasurer, Richard FitzNigel, carrying his usual sheaf of parchments.
“My lord king, is the duchess well?”
Henry, who knew Peter’s capacity for loyalty to those he served, was not surprised that this would be his first question. It was one of the reasons he had made Eleanor’s former secretary chancellor of England.
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances.” Henry took off his cloak, unbuckled his sword belt, and handed it to his body squire. “Considering she is chained to a damp wall in the dungeon at Salisbury with only rats for company.”
Peter gave a loud cry and reeled back in horror. “No! Oh my lord, I would never have believed it of you! By all that’s holy, I-I—” He almost fell onto the nearest stool.
Henry watched him with a mocking smile. “My lord treasurer, would you have believed it of me?”
FitzNigel looked down his aquiline nose. “It is common knowledge that even the most base prisoner held for ransom is fat and hardy when he leaves the king of England’s captivity. At great expense to the crown, I might add—”
“That will do.” Henry sat down on a stool and held out his booted leg.
“Forgive me.” Peter crossed himself and took a deep breath. “The shock was—I should have known better, my lord king.
“The duchess of Aquitaine resides in pleasant quarters with her maid.” Henry’s squire pulled off a muddy black boot. “It may seem a Spartan existence to one who has lived in an extravagant manner without regard to cost, but she will have sufficient food, her chamber kept clean and warm, and her health will not suffer.”
“I am greatly relieved, Your Grace,” said Peter. “Have you seen her? How are her spirits?”
“I have not seen her. As for her spirits, low, I have little doubt.” Henry stood up and pulled off his tunic, throwing it to the squire. “She will have had time to dwell on her misfortunes, not to mention her sins. In regard to the latter, and in hopes of relieving her of what must be an intolerable burden of guilt and shame, I have arranged for a confessor to be at her disposal at all times. A Cistercian Father, mind, strictly trained at Clairvaux by Saint Bernard himself, not a worldly Benedictine that she might beguile.”
Peter of Blois wiped his eyes. “I had hoped, Your Grace, that you would have talked to her. Given her the chance to explain—”
“Is there some good explanation for treachery, Messire Blois? If so, would you care to elaborate?” Henry raised his brows as he drew off his hose and drawers.
“No, my lord king. There is no explanation for that. I stand corrected.” Peter humbly bowed his head
“It is my firm conviction that solitude and prayer and confession will bring her closer to God. There will be little else for her to do.”
He had no intention of telling Peter, or anyone else for that matter, that he had not seen Eleanor because he did not entirely trust himself. Either he would lose all control and strangle her then and there, or fall into one of his seizures. Even worse, he might totally disgrace himself by weeping his heart out and indulging in recriminations and accusations. And then there was always the possibility, unthinkable as it seemed now, that the Aquitainian sorceress might bewitch him as she had originally done, God save him, and he would succumb once more to her wiles.
An expression of acute dismay crossed the chancellor’s face. “But the duchess loathes solitude and cannot abide idleness. Holy Mother, how will she bear it?” His voice dropped to an agonized whisper. “In truth, she has been condemned to a living death.”
“I know.” Henry gave Peter a grim smile.
There was a moment of tense silence before Henry continued. “Let us remember that you are my chancellor, Master Peter, whatever your compassion for the former queen.” He slid his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. “Now, before I see my sons, I need to know of any developments that may have arisen since the conference at Gisors four weeks ago.”
Peter’s eyes grew round as an owl’s. “Former queen, did you say?”
“A slip of the tongue.” Henry frowned. “Please to put your attention on the matter to hand. What can I expect from the boys?”
The pavilion door opened and two servitors staggered in, carrying a wooden tub between them, followed by two more carrying trays of cold meat and warm bread, and a flagon of wine with three goblets. They placed the tub on the ground, the trays on the table, then left. Henry grabbed the flagon and took a long swallow
“The count of Champagne has brought Louis’s son, Philip, with him, to lend a spark of the royal presence, I assume. The young king and Count Geoffrey are much the same as when you left them at Gisors. Richard, who only arrived here yesterday, is bristly as a porcupine.”
Henry wolfed down a chunk of cold venison and tore off a piece of the warm bread, washing it down with more wine before climbing into the steaming water. He closed his eyes, feeling the tensions of the journey release. News of Richard’s truculent manner hardly came as a surprise. At the beginning of September, when envoys from France had come to Gisors on the Vexin border to treat with him for a general peace, the fighting had ended everywhere but Poitou, where, he was informed, “Lord Richard alone is still besieging the castles of his father.” Peace negotiations were halted and Henry, seething, marched into Poitou with all his mercenaries before Richard hurriedly sent an envoy saying he would submit. A new peace conference was then arranged to be held at Montlouis. Richard agreed to attend.
As a precaution, Henry drove the few remaining enemy forces out of northern Poitou, then rode into Poitiers. When he had swept into the city the previous May to take the French princesses and Joanna back to England, the city had escaped widespread damage from the Brabantines, Eleanor having been captured before the routiers reached the capital. Subsequently Richard and his men had tried to gain possession of Poitiers, and what his son had done to that noble city in his mother’s name would have made Eleanor weep. Ancient buildings and landmarks had been burned; manor houses, stables, and cots put to the torch; men had been maimed and killed because they remained loyal to their liege-lord, Henry himself. He did not consider himself a squeamish man where the hazards of war were concerned, and from routiers one might expect the most unspeakable atrocities, but the ruthless savagery committed in Poitiers by Poitevins under Richard’s command was enough to turn the strongest stomach. As God was his judge, he hoped never to witness such needless carnage again.
Thinking of it, a shiver passed through Henry’s body despite the heat of the water, and he knew a wolf had walked over his grave.
The three boys, shepherded by William Marshal, arrived at Henry’s pavilion after vespers, along with the count of Champagne, several French equerries, and Prince Philip of France. Tall for his nine years and thin as a reed, the prince’s hostile blue eyes and tight-lipped mouth were much as Henry remembered from Montmirail five years earlier. Two clerks entered carrying high stools, tablets, and styli, followed by servitors with lit torches. Before the meeting began, Henry took William Marshal aside.
“I would have a private word with you, William, but before I do let me assure you the queen is in good health and has not been harmed.”
William bit his lip and crossed himself. “There was no need to reassure me, my lord king, I did not doubt it for a moment.”
Henry raised his brows. “Did you not? My chancellor thought the worst.”
“For the moment perhaps. I think Master de Blois knew, even as I, that you would temper justice with mercy.”
This was certainly more then he knew, Henry was tempted to respond. Instead, he said, “A most shocking rumor has come to my ears which only you can verify since you were present. Is there any truth to the tale that the young king promised the count of Flanders the whole of Kent in exchange for his support?”
William flushed and looked away. “In a moment of madness, God forgive him. I do not think he really meant to follow through with it.”
Such a tumult of rage swept through him that Henry could not get a breath. How could his eldest son, born of his blood and partly raised in England, how could Harry be capable of giving away one hide of his patrimony, much less an entire county? Insisting that Harry be anointed king in his lifetime may well have been the most disastrous mistake he had ever made, next to trusting Eleanor, but by God’s grace it would be his last.
Henry swallowed his anger, gave a curt nod of dismissal, and strode toward the center of the pavilion. The three boys and the count of Champagne were seated on cushioned stools; William Marshal took his place behind the young king. Henry, thumbs tucked into his belt, eyed his sons from under half-lowered lids.
Harry had one of his charming smiles frozen in place, but his eyes darted everywhere and it was all too obvious he was frightened. The revolt had been centered on him as the figurehead to replace his father and it had failed. His fate lay in that same father’s hands and his son knew it well enough. Count Geoffrey’s pale green eyes would not meet Henry’s but he knew that the boy, far the cleverest of the three, would be calculating the amount of damage caused and what he could do to wriggle out of the consequences. Richard alone was unafraid, confronting his father with a hard blue gaze that held its familiar challenge to authority. Henry was torn between admiration for Richard’s strength of spirit and the compulsion to break it. Of all his sons Richard was the one he was constantly at odds with, but underneath the hostility he felt a whisper of regret that he and his second son could not be friends.
Calmer now, this seemed an appropriate note on which to begin: “I am truly anxious that we become friends again, my sons. Because you are still at a tender age and have been sorely misled, I intend to be lenient. If certain conditions are met I am prepared to forgive not punish.” He glanced at the count of Champagne. “That includes France.”
“What is one to make of that remark, my lord king?” The count of Champagne, husband to Eleanor’s daughter Marie, was affable enough on the surface, although one could never trust anyone close to King Louis.
“In simple terms you may inform your meddling sovereign that I will not invade Paris and depose him, but only if he stays out of my affairs and keeps his agreements.”
The count reddened but held his tongue.
“I am aware that the rebellion in my domains—” Henry began.
“Father said it was not a rebellion.” It was young Philip’s high-pitched voice.
“The prince is quite right.” The count of Champagne stabbed a finger at Henry. “Those who were in arms against you were followers of the young king, to whom they had sworn homage. They were within their rights to support his cause.”
Henry held back a sharp retort. God’s eyes! It was the same argument the earls of Leicester, Clare, Norfolk, and other rebellious nobles had made in England. After capture by Henry’s forces, they protested vehemently against the charge of treason. They had committed no crime against the crown, they declared, merely followed the dictates of their liege-lord—the young king. After all, they were free to offer their loyalty and services to whichever king suited them, having sworn homage to both. The result was that all prisoners taken were freed as soon as their ransoms were paid. Henry found this quibbling over terms infuriating; everyone knew there had been a widespread rebellion against him, but he was in no position to argue since he had laid the groundwork with his own hands. Before ordering his vassals to swear homage to the young king he should have had the wit to attach a few self-protecting provisos!
Knowing he must compromise, Henry concealed his frustration and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Well then, the conflict, or whatever you choose to call it, was not of your making, my sons, but fomented by troublemakers and malcontents. As I said, I intend to forgive and even be generous.” Henry snapped his fingers and the treasurer handed him a square of parchment.
Henry read aloud the provisions he had made: The young king would have two Norman castles of his own and be guaranteed an annual income to spend as he wished without interference. Richard would have two castles in Poitou and half the county’s revenues, while Geoffrey would have half the income from his wife’s marriage portion, a considerable sum.
“Foolishly generous,” the treasurer clucked in disapproval.
Henry laid the parchment on the table, his eyes never leaving his sons’ faces. Both Harry and Geoffrey looked relieved. Richard’s expression was unreadable but Henry thought he detected a slight lessening of tension in the boy’s rigid body.
“In return, I require your sworn assurance that in future you will withdraw neither yourselves nor your services from your father.”
“But we are still not allowed to rule independently?” Richard spoke first.
“All in good time. When I have seen evidence of filial obedience and more mature judgment. Meanwhile, you will be permitted to govern under the care and guidance of experienced councilors.”
Richard turned to Geoffrey. “What did I tell you? Nothing has really changed.”
“If you have something to say,” Henry said, raising his voice, “say it to me, not your brother!”
“I feel these terms are unduly harsh, my lord.” The hostility in Richard’s voice was unmistakable. “I am seventeen and have maintained myself in arms against your forces—until I was outnumbered. I can make men obey me and feel I am ready to rule in Aquitaine.”
It was undeniable that Richard had many of the qualities that comprised good leadership. But remembering the butchery he had seen, Henry wondered how ready Richard was to rule wisely. Instinct told him that in time the Poitevins would not tolerate the brutal measures Richard seemed all too anxious to inflict.
“When I think you are ready, Richard, not before. Until then, you will defer to the judgment of your advisors. I hope that is quite clear?”
“What provisions have you made for John?” Geoffrey asked.
Henry turned sharply then rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. Trust Geoffrey to bring up the matter of John’s portion, the subject that had so provoked the young king at Limoges and set off the revolt.
“When John comes of age and marries, he will come into possession of the three castles we discussed at Limoges plus lands and revenues in England.” He had added this latter impulsively and at the moment had no idea what lands or revenues he would give his youngest son.
Henry heard all three boys let out a long breath that sounded like the hissing of serpents. It was rubbing salt in their wounds but it might give these hotheads pause the next time they thought about trying to unseat their sire. Filial loyalty would be rewarded, defiance penalized.
“Well, my son,” Henry said to the young king, who now looked resentful. “Are these terms acceptable?”
The three boys exchanged heated glances. The young king seemed about to protest, but Henry saw William Marshal lay his hands on the boy’s shoulders with a firm pressure and he visibly swallowed his bitterness.
“Yes, my lord king, they are.”
“Richard?”
“What will you do to our mother?” Richard asked.
Henry had been expecting the question. “She has no part in the terms I have offered you. Rest assured, she will not be harmed but treated with the respect and courtesy her rank deserves. I give you my word she shall want for nothing.” Except her freedom, he added silently.
He saw Richard hesitate then gave a brief nod of his head.
“Geoffrey?”
“Of course, my lord king, whatever you wish,” Geoffrey replied smoothly.
“I’m pleased with your cooperation, my sons, and we will seal this agreement by swearing the proper oaths on sacred relics.” Which were not as binding as Henry could have wished, but might have some restraining influence.
“This is all very well,” said the count of Champagne, a sour expression on his face. “But it seems to me that France gains nothing, not to mention the fate of the princess Alais who, now fifteen, has been betrothed to Richard since she was ten. What is to become of her?”
Henry looked at him in surprise.
“King Louis will not want this matter delayed, nor will Richard,” the count continued with an arch look at Richard, who reddened and quickly nodded.
In truth, Henry had forgotten all about this union. Suddenly he realized that he had a hold over Louis. And Richard as well, who would certainly be aware that as the son-in-law of the king of France his position in Aquitaine would be greatly strengthened. Until he was assured of Richard’s obedience and Louis’s willingness to keep the peace, he could delay the marriage indefinitely. After all, Alais was in his keeping.
“If all conditions are met I foresee no obstacle to this union. Indeed, I would welcome it. If there is nothing else, then I declare the conference at an end.” Henry nodded in dismissal. “Let us pray that everyone has learned a lesson.”
Prince Philip sprang up from his stool. “The only lesson I’ve learned is that you have humiliated my father, as you have often done in the past. One day, Henry of England, I will take back from you all that you now think you have won.”
The boy’s face was crimson, tears burned in his eyes, and his whole body was taut with outrage. Before Henry could respond to this unexpected attack, the count of Champagne hurriedly nodded at two equerries who hustled the prince out of the pavilion.
The count, obviously ill at ease, walked over to Henry. “Forgive the boy. He is fond of his father and has obviously taken this meeting as an insult to France.”
Henry shook his head to signify that he understood and took no offense.
“There is something else I wish to say,” the count continued. “My wife, Marie, is concerned for Queen Eleanor.”
“You have heard me say that she will not suffer any bodily harm and will be treated with respect.”
“Marie worries that you may cast her mother aside and immure her in a convent where she will never see the light of day again. Can I reassure her this will not happen?”
Henry stared into the count’s eyes. “What says the Proverb? ‘It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and an angry woman.’“
And let the count of Champagne make of that what he would.
Henry smiled as the count left. When he looked once again at his sons the smile faded. It had been his intention to teach these headstrong lads a stern lesson. Had they learned it? Or was their acceptance of his terms, the chastened look on their faces, merely an appearance of submission? Henry felt as if an arrow pierced his heart when he realized that he would never know the full truth. And he wondered if he could ever trust them again.