When the Highlander departed, the forest women also prepared to leave, loading their donkeys with the loot Richard had pilfered. Henry ordered his Remembrancer to tell them he wanted an audience with their queen.
‘Explain to her that if she refuses I’ll have my sheriffs arrest her and the rest of her court.’ The answer came back that the queen would meet His Highness if he would allow her to sit. ‘In view of her age I will. We’ll both sit.’
Knights arranged two piles of bedding over large stones. Henry occupied himself with inspecting the horses until he saw two women supporting a third by her elbows. The woman was small, plump and white-haired. She had adorned herself in a deerskin cloak and shoes with a crown of flowers and woven leaves, small, freshly picked and of the palest green. The King hurried to the makeshift throne to seat himself, but when the old woman arrived he leapt up and took her hand to settle her on the bedding. She beamed at him, pressing her right hand against her heart.
‘That’s a sign of welcome,’ Richard whispered.
‘I didn’t think it was indigestion,’ Henry muttered. ‘Thank her for bringing me to this place and for whatever it was she did to help my brother.’
As the youth translated, the crone kept her gaze on Henry, but tangentially. Her eyes, bright as enamel, moved their focus from his face to one shoulder, above and around his head, to the other shoulder. Whatever it was she saw, it seemed to please her. ‘Say I grant her a boon to show my gratitude. If she’s guilty of a crime she’s earned my amercement.’
As Richard translated, her demeanour changed. She spoke at length, rattling the youth who twice held up a hand to ask her to slow down. Henry tapped his foot with impatience.
‘Sire, she was a slave. She asks you to outlaw slavery.’
Henry laughed. ‘My grandfather, my great grandfather and many kings before them denounced slavery. Her argument is not with the Crown, but with the Church. The Church condones it, using the Bible as authority, despite Her own saints demanding for centuries that slavery be forbidden.’
When Richard translated a thin expression of disgust settled on the lips of the forest queen. She made some sharp reply, rose, gave the merest nod of farewell and walked off to her ladies in waiting.
‘What was her parting remark?’ Henry demanded.
Richard swallowed. ‘She said you have no balls, Sire.’
‘Enchanting. We must conduct her to our Archbishop to allow her to put her case to him. Richard, do I own any slaves?’
‘I’ve seen documents in the scriptorium that note you have bonded labourers, Highness, but all are under bondage as punishment for crime. When they’ve worked a number of seasons on your estates they’re freed.’
‘I abhor slavery. My first wife was once enslaved. A girl who knew six languages, who could write from left to right, and right to left, whom an erudite father raised in the lap of luxury. Vile men seized her and she was sold to the Empress of Byzantium.’ He cocked his head. Richard was trembling like a mouse. ‘God’s eyes, boy! Don’t tell me those mushrooms …’
‘No, Highness. An anguish of soul overcomes me when you speak of your first wife. I believe I’ve seen her too. In a vision.’
Henry sighed. ‘I see her in dreams. When I lay the burdens of life aside I’ll reunite with her. That thought, Richard, gives me the strength to carry the work of this realm and my domains across the water.’
Richard drank two cups of ale before he stopped shaking. ‘The chroniclers describe you, Sire, as a chariot who pulls the world behind him.’
The King cheered up. ‘Well, boy, this chariot-with-no-balls needs to return to its travels. Thank God the Queen is already with child. How long did it take you to recover from the affections of Foliot’s daughter?’
‘I could barely stand the next day. After that I felt remarkably energetic. She’d persuaded me to chase her, but I tripped and sprained my knee. The sprain vanished by morning. She cured it as she cured your foot.’
‘The Curative Quinny. Something else we share.’ For the second time that day he and his Remembrancer exchanged sly smiles. Henry added, ‘My brother understands women. That is, he used to. Even better than our papa.’
‘I believe, Highness, Lord Guillaume – Hamelin – won’t be lying with women again. Like the Highlander he’ll be celibate.’
‘What! He can’t be. The ladies of England, not to mention Anjou, Maine and Normandy, will be inconsolable. Richard, you’re not serious?’
‘I regret to say, I am.’
Henry turned away, busying himself with adjusting the equipage of his horse.
In Westminster Hall, refurbished by Becket and now known as a wonder of Europe, the greatest hall in existence and the most luxurious, the Queen and the Chancellor continued daily meetings to plan Henry’s embassy to King Louis.
‘We are at war,’ Eleanor told Orianne one morning as the maid scented her ears and neck. ‘He’s so envious of my clothes and perfumes he pretends sometimes to have a headache.’
‘But he is always gracious towards you, Highness.’
‘As am I to him.’
‘Why does he hate you?’
The Queen switched to langue d’oc, incomprehensible to the English who waited in the apartment for her. ‘He wants to be Henry’s wife. Ridiculous, I know, even for a man whose obsession is usually boys. He doesn’t begin to understand my husband, although he believes he knows him “from his soul to his skin”, as he tells me. I do observe …’ She allowed the sentence to wander into silence. Becket had hinted that he and Henry were lovers. His remarks were weightless asides, mere wisps of insinuation; she knew that if tested they’d vanish in outraged denials. One day she had mentioned to Becket that royal guards complained of a crowd of street urchins asking to be allowed to visit the Chancellor, claiming he had invited them. Thomas had drawn himself haughtily erect.
‘I’m proud to admit to my love and compassion for poor boys, Your Grace. Indeed, I believe that for the difficult years before and during puberty nothing is so beneficial for a boy, especially one impoverished or orphaned, as love, including physical liaison, with an older man. One like myself, a man of the world who can guide and teach him. I take pride in the number of boys I love.’
‘Indeed? Of course, your practice has an honourable history among the ancient Greeks.’
‘Yes, Highness. Those brilliant men all benefited from the loving kindness of their elders.’
‘But they were of the upper classes. Malicious tongues may suggest you use the poverty of your protégés to induce them to indulge your appetite for tender flesh.’
He left unvoiced a thought he conveyed with his eyes. Malicious tongues may suggest you’re an adulterous harlot. And getting old.
The conversation ended. She imagined the scene if she pressed him to explain what he inferred about his relationship with Henry, with Becket leaping to his feet, crying, ‘The King! How could you imagine a warrior prince of such virility …?’
She could see herself answering, ‘Thomas, my husband is unpredictable and adventurous. I can imagine anything might happen with him. He lies to keep his teeth white.’ I probably wouldn’t use that last sentence. She began to laugh. Her grandmother, Dangereuse, had first coined the phrase about liars and ever since it had been among Eleanor’s favourite bons mots.
Orianne looked up quizzically as she restitched a hem that had partly come undone. The Queen continued in langue d’oc, ‘He’s in love with Henry. I should say, in lust. I’ve told you that before. The alluring look he gives the King that turns to a piercing stare, like a wolf eyeing its dinner. The greater indifference my husband shows him, the greater his passion. Since Henry has been off on this escapade to God-knows-where, he’s dispatched me and the justiciars one or two notes by post-rider, written by that beautiful youth with the pale eyes. But he’s sent not a word to the Chancellor. I see Thomas turn green when he realises a letter has come for me or for them, but there’s none for him.’
‘Maybe His Highness has no orders for the Chancellor.’
‘Buttercup, he does have orders for the Chancellor. He conveys them to me, to present second-hand. Henry slights Thomas knowingly.’
‘There must be a reason, my Lady. By nature the King is kind and full of mercy.’
‘True. Once he loves someone, they must do him many wrongs – or a great wrong – before he’ll abandon that love. If he hates, it’s almost impossible to win his affection.’
‘He used to love the Chancellor.’
‘That’s what puzzles me,’ Eleanor said. ‘Neither of them has made any reference to a contretemps. Have you heard gossip from the servants?’
Orianne’s neck turned pink.
‘What?’ the Queen demanded.
‘I don’t know if it’s true, but …’ her eyes slipped to the corners of the chamber, where English ladies in waiting stood, holding a crown each, and bored house churls daydreamed about what they would eat for dinner. ‘They say, that is, a groom told me, the Chancellor is visiting a soothsayer. You know that as a service to your husband he dresses in “beggars clothes” and goes around towns and villages, listening to gossip?’ Eleanor nodded. ‘These days he doesn’t do that much. Too many people recognise him now. They say, “Here comes the Lord Chancellor, pretending to be indigent”. Instead he rides out with a groom, dismounts and goes on foot to the hovel of a soothsayer.’
Eleanor muttered in disgust, ‘Scripture expressly forbids such things.’
‘I know, Lady. The groom told me in secret. The Chancellor has ordered him to tell nobody. He spends a long time with the soothsayer. But sometimes only a few minutes. He’s buying love potions.’
The Queen shuddered. ‘I don’t want to be alone with the man. Will you accompany me?’
The maid was flustered. ‘Highness, I need to practise the Latin verbs you gave me yesterday.’ Richard had written her a note, brief, formal and polite asking after her health. He had drawn roses and hearts around its border, and a buttercup that, somehow, he’d coloured yellow. It was all in Latin as an extra compliment to her.
‘Then I’ll rely upon the protection of my station.’ Eleanor beckoned a woman holding the largest crown. ‘Beastly thing,’ she muttered as the lady-in-waiting settled it over her headdress. She switched to English. ‘My dear, please make sure it’s secured at the back. When I lean forward to write, it may slide. I would appear most undignified with a crown resting on my eyebrows.’
‘Highness, you’re never undignified,’ the woman exclaimed.
The Chancellor remained standing as he waited for the Regent to arrive. The impudence that had buoyed him up and so astonished her when he first returned from the journey to the west had gradually deflated under Henry’s continued disregard for him. Thomas of London knew he was sinking into a depression; alone at night, he wept sometimes. He wrote long letters in his own hand to the Archbishop, who wrote back urging him to pray. ‘Now you’re a member of the royal familiares you’re entitled, Tom, to ask Henry what it is you’ve done to displease him.’ The Chancellor raged to himself. I’ve done nothing! It’s what he’s done. What he won’t admit. What I can never reveal. Night after night after night while we were away in the west. And he pretends it never happened. If I make the slightest reference to it, he glares at me with lion’s eyes. Those eyes, eyes that gazed into mine with such tenderness. I melted into him. I lost myself. I became a little child.
He had decided to make up his quarrel with Richer de l’Aigle. He had already written him a letter and, in reply, received a warm response. The evening before he had written again.
You’ve no idea with what high handedness he treats me, Riche. I gave a banquet for the Count of Flanders, who buys our wool, and twenty barons and magnates in the wool trade. I held it in my best property, Berkhamsted. It was fittingly magnificent for such an important guest – the finest wines, succulent game, gold plate, everyone gorgeously attired. The King had been out hunting somewhere nearby. Without any warning he rode his horse into my hall, where he leaped off, ran to the table and on his hands vaulted over it so he stood beside the Count of Flanders. They embraced, laughing and hugging each other like long lost brothers. Henry was in his filthy hunting clothes without even a cap on his head. I, the host, who had been seated next to the Count had to move to the end of the board. The others guests found the monarch’s behaviour a wonder. They stood and clapped, shouting with excitement. Henry’s wretched horse walked up and down as if inspecting the gold plate. It ate a loaf of bread, then raised its tail. You can imagine the rest. The guests found that hilarious also. They hardly noticed I had been forced to move and was no longer the host.
The Regent was half an hour late for their appointment and her statuesque, long-legged cats, bored, weaved figures of eight around his legs until he wanted to scream. He knew if he kicked one of them it would slash his calf, or claw its way up his robe to bite his hand. As Eleanor swept into Westminster Hall she said impatiently, ‘Oh, do sit down, Tom. Come here, my angels.’ When the cats were settled on her lap she said, ‘Today you promised me an estimate of the total cost.’
He bowed slightly and handed over the document. On her desk was an inkhorn and quill, a roll of vellum, a fan of peacock feathers and her personal seal. The Regent disliked clutter. She spent what seemed to Becket an unnecessarily long time studying the details he had prepared. When she looked up her eyes were cold. ‘This is insupportable. Both Louis and Henry will be disgusted.’
‘But, Highness, you said—’
‘I said, “Amusing and impressive”. What you propose is …’ she was so annoyed her voice caught in her throat. ‘… a circus for a Roman emperor. Tiberius, perhaps.’
The Chancellor bowed. He did not know who Tiberius was but knew the comparison was unfavourable. ‘I could remove the peacocks.’
‘You’ll certainly remove the peacocks. They’re ill-natured birds. If you tether them, they’ll deafen everyone with screaming, if you try to have them led, they fly away, if you cage them together they’ll fight until only one is left alive. Now the estrich birds, “each with a young boy mounted on a saddle on its back”. Chancellor, you find this amusing? It’s grotesque.’ Her small, fine nostrils flared. ‘My ex-husband, Louis, was a novice monk. He never desired the throne of France and in personal habits he has retained the simplicity of his temperament. This carnival will disgust him. You would utterly destroy Henry’s purpose, which is to win the admiration of the people of the Ile de France and the respect of King Louis.’ She tossed the parchment across the desk. ‘I have other matters to attend. Return to me before dinner with a better proposal.’
‘I’m at your command.’
‘You are. You silly creature.’
That was too harsh, she thought as Becket backed from the chamber.
On his return two hours later the Queen held out her hand in greeting and gave him her warmest smile. ‘I fear I was unkind earlier, Thomas. My humours are much disturbed by this pregnancy. If I was unpleasant, please be assured it was …’
His stiff face relaxed. ‘Thank you. Thank you, Highness. You are most gracious in your consideration of my feelings.’
Ha-ha, she thought.
She continued smiling at him as she accepted the new document. In her most musical tone began to read aloud. ‘Two hundred and fifty footmen to lead the van. They shall fill the road and sing the songs of England as they march. Behind them, keepers will lead on leashes the Chancellor’s hounds and greyhounds. Following the hounds, eight great wagons, each drawn by five horses the size of chargers. The wagons will be laden with the impedimenta of the Chancellor’s household; two wagons will carry the finest English beer that pages will dispense to the people of France, explaining the advantages of this clear brown, wholesome English beverage.’ She paused and glanced up. ‘They’ll consider it inferior and disgusting, Thomas.
They’ll spit it on the ground. No matter. It’s worth showing them there are different customs in different countries. One or two will have an open mind, although, as The Almighty Himself knows, the people of Paris are as stiff-necked as the ancient Israelites. What’s next? Oh! Each wagon will be guarded by a chained mastiff and each horse will carry a long-tailed monkey on its back. Now that, Tom, will amuse them. Your long-tailed monkeys are well-trained, I hope?’
‘They’re excellent creatures, Your Grace. All are expert jugglers. When they tire of it, they toss the balls or apples or whatever they’ve juggled to those who applaud them.’
‘Are you sure they toss? They don’t fling? A Paris crowd is easily angered if it feels insulted. If a monkey were violent …’
‘Highness, I have men amusingly dressed, wearing masks. They too can juggle, but hidden in their costumes are whips. Any monkey that shows signs of rebelliousness knows the sting of the lash. All know where the whips are hidden and search them out with quick looks as soon as they see the maskers. When they stop juggling they toss their balls to the maskers, who in turn throw them to the crowd.’
‘The Parisians will love that. A gift from an English monkey; they’ll hold family dinners to celebrate. And after your monkeys, we have twenty-eight packhorses carrying gold and silver plate, clothes, money, books and the ornaments of your chapel, Chancellor. Twenty-eight sounds—’
‘I intend to take two dozen changes of clothes that I’ll present as gifts to those of influence in Paris.’
She eyed his gown. ‘That’s as fine a garment as one could see in Rome,’ she remarked. It was of superb cut, of a colour favoured by cardinals. Around his waist was a long satin sash of a lighter hue, fastened at the back and falling to his heels. At its edge a fringe of gold flicked from side to side as he walked. ‘A masterstroke, Chancellor. Frenchmen in Paris adore clothes even more than Englishmen in London. After your sumpter horses … Oh, your retinue. Two hundred in total. Two hundred?’
‘Highness, my retinue is made up of squires carrying the shields and leading the horses of mounted knights, and after them, falconers with hawks on their wrists, some sons of barons who are in my care, my clerks, my stewards and lesser servants, riding two by two.’
She smiled. ‘Riding two by two. That will be pleasing to the eye. Have you instructed them to smile and call greetings to the left and the right as they pass the crowds?’
‘No, Your Grace. But thank you, I’ll make a note.’
‘Thomas, where are you in this cavalcade? There’s no mention …’
‘I-I-I’m at the rear. The cavalcade goes before me. Then I come mounted …’
She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘On a giant swan! Do tell me, Tom, you’ll be mounted on the back of a wooden swan that waves its wings up and down as you …’ She snatched the fan of peacock feathers, holding it across her face to prevent the Chancellor seeing her tears of hilarity. When she lowered it there was silence in the hall. Neither smiled.
Eleanor pressed her lips together and continued to read the document. At last she looked up. ‘You’ve perfected it. I congratulate you, Chancellor. It will be glorious. The descendants of Charlemagne – you realise all French people consider themselves his progeny – will say to each other, “How rich is the King of England if his Chancellor travels in such great state?” And poor Louis.’ Her hand idled over a sleek black head. She pulled the tip of the cat’s ear, making it open its yellow eyes and glare at her. ‘Yes, angel,’ she mused. ‘Poor Louis will not know what to think. Of course he’ll hold you in contempt for ostentation, Thomas. But he knows his subjects. He knows how avid they are for amusing spectacle. When they see this embassy and imagine the wealth of the English King, they’ll be keen for a union between our two countries.’
Becket was flabbergasted. ‘That is what I’m doing?’
‘I forgot to tell you,’ she said airily. ‘You’re to arrange the marriage between Louis’ daughter, Margaret, and our Prince Henry. That’s what all this is about.’
His face darkened. ‘Somebody might have told me.’
Eleanor examined the inside of her cat’s ear. ‘The feline ear is wonderfully intricate in form,’ she answered. Abruptly she looked from the cat to Becket. ‘A palace is full of ears, Chancellor, which is why we meet in this great, empty hall. It’s why you weren’t told before. But now you know and now you can get on with composing the speech you’ll make to the King of France about why he should affiance his daughter to the Crown Prince of England.’ If Thomas were a dog, at this moment he would be panting with excitement, she mused.
‘Highness, if there’s to be a marriage, what is her dowry?’
She sat back and gave a long, slow smile. ‘Chancellor, you show the intelligence for which you’re so celebrated. Indeed, her dowry. What do you think?’
‘I fear to incur your scorn again. But if I were His Highness, I would want territory.’
‘Excellent. And which territory?’
Becket felt as if suddenly all his prayers had been answered. ‘The Norman Vexin!’
‘Again, excellent, Thomas. Henry is determined to take back that part of the Vexin he was forced to cede to Louis to gain his title as Duke of Normandy. And this is how he’ll do it. Not by warfare, but by amusing and impressing the people of the Ile de France, driving a wedge between them and their King.’ She did not feel obliged to add, Louis’ courtiers will scream with rage. They’ll understand what Henry is up to, even if Louis does not and refuses to listen to them.
Becket’s excitement made him breathless with admiration for the brilliance of his beloved tormentor. Everyone knew Normandy lay at the mercy of French arms while King Louis held the Norman Vexin. English nobles had been expecting a summons to war over it since the first months after Henry’s coronation. But for Becket, a man who calculated by second nature, something troubled him. ‘Such a small territory seems a meagre dowry in exchange for becoming, in due course, Queen of England.’
‘You disappoint me,’ Eleanor replied tersely.
Becket gasped. ‘M-m-my grasp of royal politics—’
‘Is feeble,’ Eleanor said. She leaned her chin on her palm, her eyes focused on his. The Chancellor was so bewildered by her twist in the conversation all he could think was, ‘How does she balance that gorgeous crown with its jewels of the same colour as the embroidery of her headdress?’
‘And because it is, we shall not attempt to go further in that direction, Tom,’ she added. ‘Instead, I want you to concentrate on something else. The royal children are very young. Nevertheless not too young to be affianced. But we want to make sure that the dowry is secure. That it is, as it were, under lock and key.’ She added sharply, ‘Like my gold in Henry’s treasury.’
She had his complete attention.
‘Henry and I were both very close to Bernard of Clairveaux, founder of the Knights Templar. Father Bernard commands, among them, greater respect than the Pope. After the Saviour their hierarchy is Father Bernard, their own superiority to all other men, and money. They have a temple just outside Paris.’
‘I know it.’
‘Good. You’ll be visiting it. If any dispute between England and France were to arise, my husband wants the Knights Templar to become the guardians of the Vexin castles.’
‘Actual guardians?’
She nodded. ‘What do you calculate they’ll demand for their services?’
‘In gold?’
She half-lowered her eyelids.
Like a cat, he thought.
‘Due to its position and strength. Gisors, for example, is easily defendable by a small force of men. Fifty to eighty, Henry tells me.’
‘I’ll have figures for an annual expense ready before supper, Highness.’
Eleanor picked up a black feline arm and waved its paw above the desk. The Chancellor of England understood he was dismissed.
As he rose, the second cat jumped from her lap. On silent paws it stalked him across the huge, empty hall before darting at his sash. It dug its claws into the gorgeous satin, striking repeatedly. Eleanor watched as Becket continued to walk away, head high, so focused on making an elegant exit he remained unaware of the comedy behind him. Canny as he is, he lacks a sense of reality. Her spies in Rouen had sent her news of the bitter argument Henry had with his mother a year earlier about Becket joining the familiares. The Empress had torn a strand of pearls from her neck and flung them at her son, who picked them up and returned them to her with tears in his eyes.
Thomas is dangerous in a way neither I, nor de Beaumont nor de Lucy calculated, nor properly understand. Neither does Henry. But Matilda does. She recognised his inexhaustible capacity for self-deception much earlier than I.
Eleanor felt her body tingle with excitement. But I had an intuition! On the very day of our coronation I sensed that man was unlucky for us and for our cause. When I didn’t even know his name I warned Henry something had made him jump in fright while he stood beside me, holding one end of the pall.
‘Now I know a great deal,’ she told the cat she still nursed. He will, for example, lie about the sum he proposes Henry promise the Templars. A fifth of it will go into his own pocket. ‘Shekmet,’ she said, ‘our Chancellor is a thief. Did you know that, angel?’ The cat gave a wide, sensuous yawn, opening for her inspection the pink ripples inside its mouth. It curled together the edges of its pretty tongue as it yawned. ‘Of course you did,’ she murmured.
‘The question is, how to prove it?’