THREE DAYS AFTER HIS confrontation with Alais, Henry was in London, having left her behind at Beaumont in the care of the bishop of Oxford. There was really nothing more to be done regarding that situation, Henry concluded, except to face his own monumental errors. Desire and vanity had overcome prudence and judgment and there was no escaping this. Neither could he persuade himself that he had not known Alais to be ambitious, predatory, and motivated almost entirely by self-interest. Of course he knew, just as he knew she had taken at least one lover. But he had chosen not to inquire too closely into the more dangerous aspects of Alais’s nature. It now struck Henry that this very quality of danger, this capricious refusal to draw a line between good and evil, had only added to her fatal allure. In truth, he realized, deeply shaken, it was within Alais’s dark depths that he saw reflected his own shadow.
Beyond this recognition, there had been little time to spare in reflection, for he was totally caught up in the raising of troops and funds for the Holy Land. Henry sent John the marshal to ensure that the entire knight service of England was ready to muster at Southampton within the fortnight, and dispatched more sheriffs to every parish in the country to aid in collecting the Saladin Tithe. Those who evaded payment would be excommunicated, and faced possible imprisonment as well. This was the pope’s edict. Whatever his own reservations, and God knows he had them, Henry had no choice but to enforce collection of this tax, just as his subjects had no choice but to pay it.
Henry devoted the next sennight to reading and signing charters, writs, and petitions, and to examining cases ready for trial in the Curia Regis. It was impossible to get through everything before he left for the Continent, yet he was compelled to work late hours fueled by an overpowering urge to put all his affairs in order.
The day before he was due to leave London, Henry attended a special morning Mass at St. Paul’s to be held in honor of English troops preparing to leave for Outremer. When the service was over, he returned the way he had come, riding down the main thoroughfare leading to Ludgate, followed by an escort of men-at-arms and archers. The city seemed unusually crowded at this early hour. Filthy urchins darted in and around the tradesmen’s stalls; prentices idled about; and burghers, yeomen, and black-clad students were gathered in separate groups. Henry had not ridden through London in a goodly while, but everything in the city was familiar to him: the faint cry of the eel-wives, the stench of slops, the black soot that stung the nostrils, the fragrant odor of roasting chestnuts from the cooking stalls. The other great cities of the Plantagenet empire—Rouen, Angers, Le Mans, and Poitiers—had existed since time out of mind but London, Henry felt, despite its ancient charters and Saxon heritage, was his city, just as England was his land, governed by his laws. It would always provoke a special frisson of excitement for him.
But on this day something felt different, something he had not noticed earlier. Henry narrowed his eyes. What was it? Usually the Londoners doffed their caps and smiled when they recognized their king. But all Henry saw were sullen faces and dark glances. Several yeomen raised their fists in threatening gestures; a few students shouted epithets in Latin at him. The separate groups seemed suddenly to surge together in one large crowd, and the atmosphere grew so hostile that Henry became alarmed. God’s eyes, was this the result of his new taxes? Sensing danger, Henry’s escort separated. Some rode on ahead; others fell behind.
“The populace is in a surly mood,” Henry remarked to Geoffrey the chancellor, who had joined him for the special Mass.
“The Saladin Tithe is extremely unpopular in London,” his son replied.
“Everywhere. Even the Hebrew moneylenders in York, who always support me, are protesting, and I have had to take a very firm stand—Blood of Christ! “
A handful of dried dung hit Henry in the cheek just below the welt raised by Alais. A fish head grazed his arm and several stones bounced off the saddle causing his destrier to rear.
“Oppressor!”
“Fleece us any more, tyrant, and you will have no sheep left!”
“Adulterer!
A chorus of angry voices shouted at him in anger as Henry wiped off the bits of dried dung that clung to his face. Spears at the ready and bowstrings drawn, his men rode into the throng of people shouting threats. The crowd started to disperse.
“Are you hurt?” Geoffrey asked.
“No, no.” Stunned, Henry could not recall that he had ever been attacked in London before.
“Shall we throw him in the Fleet, milord king?” One of the men-at-arms dragged a burley yeoman by the hair and threw him in front of Henry’s horse.
Henry stared down at the bloody dirt-streaked face. The man had not stolen or raped or killed. He was only guilty of being part of an enraged crowd and, like the fabled hydra, if one head were cut off more would grow in its place. Henry was tempted to make an example of him but decided it would only inflame people the more.
“Let him go.”
The man-at-arms released his grip. The yeoman picked himself up and gave Henry a challenging smile. “I suppose ye thinks this be an example of ye so-called justice, milord? Ye take the bread out o’ me child’s mouth to feed a bloody crusader and I supposed to feel grateful?” He spat on the ground. “Happen I not be, tyrant.” Before the man-at-arms could grab him again he darted away.
Impudent wretch! The incident still rankled when Henry arrived back at Westminster.
That night after vespers he called together his justiciars, the chancellor, his treasurer, and barons of the exchequer into his chamber. After explaining what cases needed to be transferred to his itinerant justices, additional measures that could be taken to speed up collection of the Saladin Tithe, and how to dispose of other pending matters, Henry rose from the oak table and stretched his cramped limbs. He warmed his hands at the copper brazier, then strode over to the enlarged window slit glancing at the torchlit courtyard below, where, despite the hour, prelates and clerks still came and went through the doors of Westminster.
“A fish head was thrown at me today, my lords,” he said abruptly, surprising himself. “A fish head, dung, and accusations of tyranny!” He turned to face his ministers, who were seated around the chamber on wooden benches. “As God is my judge, am I a tyrant?”
No one spoke. Henry turned back to the window slit and thrust his thumbs into his belt as he rocked back and forth on his bootheels. He was not sure what prompted this outburst, but ever since Richard’s defection, Alais’s revelation, and now this attack in London, he felt the need to reassure himself that he had accomplished something of value in his thirty-seven-year reign.
“I know my rule is considered harsh because I have issued writs that enforced law and maintained order. But I have tried to create laws common to all men so that all may be fairly judged.” He paused, turning again. “People have always complained about taxes, but can anyone deny that my fiscal policy has kept the land solvent these many years?” His ministers said nothing, only looked at him in mingled astonishment and dismay. “How strong would England be now had I acted differently?” Still no one spoke and Henry put a fist to his mouth as he turned back to the window slit. “I have identified my life with the life of the realm, and acted only in the name of justice and for the common good.” But had he always? He was no longer so certain.
“Indeed you have, Your Grace,” said the treasurer quickly. “Never doubt it.” There was a chorus of agreement.
Henry took a deep breath as he faced them again. “Well, my lords, I have said enough on this subject. Thank you for indulging me. Before I leave tomorrow, are there any outstanding matters I have forgotten?”
Ranulf de Glanville spoke first, “I would advise that you postpone sailing to the Continent, my lord king. You have overburdened yourself, with so many details to attend to.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you wait until John the marshal returns to London and the knight service is fully mustered? Then all your troops can accompany you.” He paused before adding, “Otherwise, I fear, you may be greatly outnumbered and any chance of success against king Philip and the duke of Aquitaine will be—greatly minimized. Should they attack you, of course.”
Which was a diplomatic way of telling him that he could be soundly defeated. This was not the show of confidence he had wanted or expected. “We are all supposed to be going on pilgrimage to save Outremer, my lords. If I am attacked, it will be against the pope’s express instructions. I may be somewhat overburdened, as you put it, but I cannot delay my journey to the Continent,” Henry said wearily, resuming his seat at the table. “I will take what troops are available now and trust the rest will follow as soon as may be. There are also forces gathered in Normandy to aid me, remember.”
“My lord king, I ask you to reconsider,” the chancellor began in a desperate voice. “You cannot trust the intentions of either King Philip or Duke Richard. Do not leave yourself vulnerable, I beg of you.”
“Now then, my lord, do you suggest I abandon William Marshal and Prince John to the mercies of Richard and King Philip? They expect me to return. One way or another, this conflict must be resolved before I leave for the Holy Land. Peacefully, I pray.” Not that he had any intention of going to the Holy Land, as everyone in the chamber well knew, but they all kept up the pretense. “Should I let my enemies think they have bested me? In truth, I would rather be called a tyrant than a coward!”
De Lucy started to protest, but Henry held up his hand. “There is no more to be said. I will treat with my foes as long as I can and try to avoid any armed conflict until reinforcements arrive.” He looked around the chamber. “Come, my lords, have I not vanquished the Franks before with only Welsh archers and Flemish mercenaries to aid the troops of Anjou and Normandy?”
No one spoke but Henry knew what was in their minds: Duke Richard of Aquitaine and all his forces were not fighting against you then.
Determined not to show his displeasure at this lack of support, Henry turned to the treasurer. “The money collected for the tithe thus far is stored in Winchester?” The treasurer nodded. “Good. I was planning to go there on my way to Southampton.” He pushed the stack of signed parchments aside with a yawn. “If nothing untoward occurs in England, de Glanville, you and the chancellor can join me in Normandy by Holy Week.”
Henry sat brooding for a moment, drumming his fingers against the table. In truth, he dreaded the upcoming confrontation with Richard and Philip, which would almost certainly end in hostilities. Without reinforcements, he doubted he would be able to hold them off for long. God’s eyes, but he felt tired, tired and old, his vitality sapped and ailing in every limb. There was very little he had to look forward to.
Shortly after sext in the great hall of Winchester, Eleanor listened to the chaplain remind everyone that it was the nineteenth day of March, Feast of Saint Joseph, patron of carpenters and fathers.
The chaplain finished saying grace and the servitors began to carry in the dishes for the high table although the hall was half empty and only a few guests were present: the bishop of Winchester, several dour-faced barons from the exchequer, and two attendant women. As it was a feast day, Eleanor had worn her best green gown and tunic, a cream-colored headdress, and a belt studded with gold and jewels that fell to her knees. She had also pinned a gold brooch onto her green mantle, wondering why she bothered. It was still Lent, so there would only be varieties of fish, badly prepared as usual, and no visiting troubadours to entertain them. The sound of a horn blowing startled her and she looked expectantly at the entrance to the hall.
When the steward returned with Henry, followed by a large troop of knights and a band of archers, Eleanor’s heart leapt. It was her first sight of him in two years, and she was glad she had worn his favorite color of green. Everyone rose to their feet. Henry’s brown cloak was splattered with mud and his boots caked with dirt as he took the vacant seat beside her. Eleanor knew there was trouble brewing on the Continent, and hearing that Henry was to be in England for only a short while, she had hoped he would come to Winchester before he left. But she was shocked at the change in him. His usual ruddy countenance was gray with fatigue, his eyes were red-rimmed, and many more strands of silver graced his russet hair. Henry greeted the bishop and barons of the exchequer—one of whom immediately left the table—before turning to her.
“You’re looking well,” he said as a squire poured wine into his goblet. “Extremely well, in fact.”
“Thank you. I wish I could say the same.” She hoped her voice did not reflect the alarm she felt at his appearance. “Perhaps it’s just that you need a bath.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I have never considered a forthright tongue to be an asset in a woman,” he said wryly, then downed half the contents of his goblet.
“Would you rather I flatter you with lies?”
“It might make for a pleasant change.”
Servitors laid silver dishes of almond fish stew, boiled cabbage, and stuffed pike on the table.
“Usually I am accused of deceit and dissembling.” She shook her head. “You can’t have it both ways, you know.”
“Of course I can. Especially when both ways are true.”
They smiled at each other.
“If you are on your way to Southampton and expect trouble with Philip of France, surely you will take more men with you?” Eleanor glanced down at his mesnie, which struck her as inadequate for such a venture.
Henry helped himself to a serving of cabbage and pike. “Of course. Reinforcements will follow.”
“Follow when?”
“Soon. By next sennight,” he said, rather glibly, she thought. A page brought a silver bowl of water and a white napkin.
Henry dipped his fingers in the bowl and wiped them on the napkin. “I came to Winchester to pick up funds but also to see you.” He slid her a sideways glance. “There are important matters to discuss, but not now. I will attend you later.”
Eleanor nodded. One of the barons of the exchequer who had left the table returned with an object wrapped in white linen. He laid this before Henry, reminding him that March was his birth month.
“For the occasion I have brought out the Conqueror’s crown. Like your great-grandfather, Your Grace, may you win renown and defeat your enemies even as he routed the Saxons!” With reverent fingers he placed the ancient gold crown studded with sapphires and rubies on Henry’s head.
“No one likes to be reminded he is in his fifty-sixth year, but this was nobly done, my lord.” Henry rose to his feet and lifted up his silver goblet. “To the memory of William the Conqueror.”
There was a hushed silence while everyone drank and signed themselves. Eleanor was unexpectedly touched.
Throughout the remainder of the feast Henry consulted with the barons of the exchequer, then left the hall in their company. Curbing her impatience, Eleanor retired to her chamber, examined herself in the silver mirror, then pinched her cheeks to give them more color. In truth, she thought, she looked younger than Henry did. After a few moments she walked down the passage to the courtyard wondering what was afoot. It was a mild March afternoon, with a warm sun in a brilliant blue sky. On the far side of the courtyard scullions hurried to and from the kitchens with buckets of water and piles of logs; men-at-arms polished armor and swords with sand, and kennel-boys trained hound pups to obey simple commands.
Eleanor walked to the patch of garden where tiny green shoots were visible in the brown earth and seated herself on a stone bench. A short time later Henry joined her.
“In the event that I do not return to England,” he began abruptly, “I thought to clear my mind and—”
“What do you mean, not return to England? Why wouldn’t you return? You are not fool enough to think you can manage a journey to the Holy Land?” Unable to stop herself she reached out to clutch his shoulder.
“Blood of Christ, woman, let me finish!” He raised his brows. “Come, you know me well enough to realize that Outremer was never a serious possibility. Should I be delayed on the Continent was what I meant to say.”
“Thank the Holy Mother for that.” Eleanor crossed herself.
Henry then told her in detail everything that had happened since their last meeting in Bayeaux: his clumsy attempt to outwit Philip in order to keep the Vexin, foolishly promising that John would marry Alais if Richard refused to do so, and how he had come to witness Geoffrey’s horrifying death.
“Our son left this world in a brutal manner,” Henry finished, “but Geoffrey’s pride was most certainly a factor.”
A pride shared by you, Harry, and Richard, Eleanor wanted to say, knowing it would do no good if she did. Tears misted her eyes. She had buried the terrible memory of her third son’s demise and wished Henry had not unearthed it again.
“At least Harry regretted his sins before he died and begged your forgiveness,” she began, her voice breaking.
Henry gazed at her with somber gray eyes. “Do you blame me for his death?”
“No more than I blame myself. Or Geoffrey’s unwise influence or Bertran de Born’s misplaced patriotic goading. Or the fatal flaws in Harry’s own nature.” Eleanor drew a long shuddering breath. “Go on with what you were saying.”
In a halting voice Henry told her of his last meeting with Richard and his certainty that Philip of France had suborned their son into becoming his father’s enemy.
“I have suspected as much for a long time now.” She crossed herself. “Philip may well have cared deeply for Geoffrey, but my heart tells me he is only using Richard.”
“I suppose you have also suspected what passed between me and Alais of France?”
Caught off guard, Eleanor nodded, still reluctant to tell him how she had found out. When Henry described his last harrowing encounter with Alais in Oxford, his certainty that she was responsible for Rosamund’s death, Eleanor felt her heart constrict. Rage surged up into her throat.
“You accused me of that murder!”
“Not seriously.” He reached out to grasp her hand. “I thought I made that very clear when I visited you at Salisbury. I tried to explain, if you will recall—”
“It is not something I would be likely to forget, is it?” To her embarrassment Eleanor began to weep. He put his arm around her and laid her head on his shoulder.
“I am not worth your tears, Nell, but I am grateful you still care enough to shed them.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and made an effort to regain her composure. “I thank God there is no danger of Alais marrying Richard or even John now.”
“Philip will probably want her to enter a convent.” He gave her a cautious glance. “When the time comes, if she begs for your forgiveness, I hope that in your mercy and wisdom you will not abandon her.”
Eleanor sat up and adjusted her headdress. “She was like my own daughter. After her betrayal of me you ask too much.”
“Alais aspired to a crown. At the end she was only my leman. Hardly a position of honor, may God assoil her. And now she has nothing.” Henry sighed. “It is not only in the law courts that justice is served.”
She wiped her eyes again. “She seduced you, didn’t she? And you succumbed.”
Henry gave her a rueful smile. “Mea culpa. You cannot know how many times I regretted that act of folly.”
“You always were a fool when it came to women.”
“Always. Most of all, perhaps, when I fell under the spell of the queen of France.”
Unable to help herself, Eleanor gave him a tremulous smile. “What a ham-fisted lout you were with your mud-stained boots, gawking at me as if I were the sun, moon, and stars all rolled into one.”
“You were all that and more besides. I remember it well.”
When their gaze met and held, Eleanor realized that Henry, like her, was trying to recapture that incandescent time; the wondrous feeling of worlds colliding, hearts joining, and of fate itself changing course. It had lasted for less than half as long as their marriage. Was it enough to set against the twenty-four years of bitter quarrels, torment, and betrayals that followed?
The vespers bell rang and they rose and walked out of the courtyard, down the street to the cathedral to hear evensong. When the service was over, night had fallen. Over the walls of the city the moon rose into a sky bright with stars. They walked back to the castle and talked of casual things: John’s proposed marriage to the heiress of Gloucester; Geoffrey’s posthumous son, Arthur; their other grandchildren; and the folly of the impending crusade.
The following morning Eleanor met Henry in the great hall, relieved to see that he looked more rested. They broke their fast with brown ale and wheaten bread, then walked out to the courtyard, where a conroy of mounted knights, archers, and men-at-arms waited.
“I have thought about this all night,” Eleanor said. “I will write to Richard, begging him to reconsider, and you can take the letter with you. He is your son, Henry, and in his heart he loves you. It is Philip who is your enemy.” But her words lacked conviction even to her own ears.
He fixed her with an unblinking gray stare. “I have less to fear from my enemies, Nell, than from those I loved and cherished. Thomas, you, my sons, even Rosamund. Excepting Richard, Philip would not have the power to hurt me.”
“But Richard will not hurt you—”
“Richard will not rest until, by fair means or foul, he has taken everything that is mine and made it his own,” Henry interjected firmly. “Only then will he consider himself free to become his own man.”
“But that is monstrous! How can you know this?”
“Because it is in the nature of the new broom to sweep away the old, the young buck to drive away the aging stag.” Henry gave her a crooked smile. “Because it is what I would do in his place.”
Speechless, Eleanor stared at him.
“I have left everything in order, I think.” He slowly nodded his head. “Only two days ago I was not quite so certain of that. Because of the tithe the Londoners threw dung at me and called me a tyrant, would you believe? I was sorely wounded. But now it strikes me that what I have accomplished in my reign will survive the dung and the insults. In truth, the kingdom virtually runs itself these days. My officials know what to do.” He gave her an affectionate glance. “So do you.” He smiled. “You have always known what to do, though I would never admit it.”
“Henry,” she began in desperation. “I cannot bear to hear you talk as if you will not return. It is foolish, unreasonable.”
“God’s eyes, it is foresight! Always wise to look ahead and prepare for any eventuality. That is one of the reasons why I have been a good king.” He paused, almost in surprise, she thought. “And when all is said and done, I have been a good king. A bad man, perhaps, but a good king.” He held her at arm’s length, then kissed her on both cheeks. “Rest easy, Nell. No man can escape his hour.”
Henry mounted his black destrier and lifted his hand. He rode briskly out of the courtyard, followed by his men. Eleanor ran through the gates and watched the procession trot down the high street of Winchester. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles mingled with the tolling of the cathedral bells. Just as the road turned, Henry lifted his blue cap with its yellow sprig of broom and in the next instant was gone.