The King paused momentarily to glare at all three of his sons. ‘I will not tolerate it’, he shouted. ‘By God’s blood, I say I will not. You have your titles, your honours – do you think I am so senile I cannot rule my empire but must leave it to such whippets? Jesu, I am not yet fifty.’
Richard said sulkily, ‘You made me look a fool. You gave me Aquitaine and when I ruled there, you called me back as if I were still a boy under my tutors.’
‘And so you are, or should be by your behaviour. Your extravagance, your folly, have turned your mother’s people against you. You have not the slightest idea how to handle men.’
‘That is not so.’ Eleanor spoke coldly. ‘My Aquitanians love me and they will obey my son under my guidance. Richard was a little overzealous in enforcing his authority perhaps, my people are somewhat easy-going, but –’
‘They are my subjects, madame,’ the King retorted, ‘And it is my word that is law.’
She was angry now. ‘I was duchess there before I wed you, my lord.’
‘And England? And Normandy?’ the younger Henry demanded. ‘Father, you invested me with these lands, you gave me my crown – am I to be allowed nothing?’
‘You have my love and my trust.’ The King paused in his furious striding. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ He laid his hands momentarily on his eldest son’s shoulders. ‘You are my heir. What more do you want?’
‘More than an empty title,’ Henry retorted and for once did not respond to the passionate appeal. He was eighteen now and determined. ‘Let me at least have Normandy – I have done homage to our suzerain for that.’
‘Louis?’ The King gave a contemptuous snort. ‘That bumbling fool God’s teeth, boy, suzerain he may be but he holds little compared to what I have under my hand. You have his daughter for wife – we need no more from him.’
‘And what about my wife?’ Richard demanded. ‘When am I to have the Princess Alice and make my court at Poitiers?’
‘And mine at Rennes?’ Geoffrey had a cup and ball in his hand and he threw the ball, catching it neatly. His smile was still there, though there were times when William thought he was likely to be the most dangerous of the cubs. ‘Constance and I have been betrothed since we were children and now we’re both fifteen we ought to have our own household in Brittany.’
The King barely glanced at him. ‘You are still children and you must needs take third place, my son. As for you, Richard,’ a sudden withdrawn look shadowed his eyes, ‘you shall have your bride in due course – when it pleases me.’
‘Pleases you!’ Richard exclaimed violently, but his mother laid a hand on his sleeve and said smoothly, ‘Yes, Henry, this wedding should take place and as soon as possible.’
He faced her, a bland expression on his face. ‘Another year’s delay will do no harm. Satisfy your lusty body elsewhere, boy.’
‘It is not that,’ Richard was furious. ‘Just because you –’ he broke off, silenced by a look this time from his brother as young Henry broke in: ‘You have not answered me, my lord, and I am the eldest. Will you give me leave to go into England with my Queen?’
‘You would empty the treasury in a month, squandering my gold on those greedy, landless knights who scramble to be in your train. England is better off under men I can trust.’
‘You have just said you trust me,’ the Young King retorted. ‘With the Council to guide me –’
His father turned on him, and then seemingly became aware of William Marshal, still standing awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Well, Messire Marshal, can you not teach other skills than arms? Can you not teach this boy what it means to be a ruler of men? Oh enough, enough! You may go – all of you.’
Thankfully, William escaped. His sympathies were with his young master for it seemed it would have been better not to have given him so much than to snatch it all back again, leaving the boy with no more than a hollow crown, an empty ducal coronet.
Turning a corner he almost ran into his brother. John Marshall had grown fat with the years and even more serious; he was seldom in France and when they met it was as the barest of acquaintances, but John continued to remember he was the elder brother.
‘I hear your young lord continues to flout his father,’ he said, puffing a little for he had just come up the stair. ‘You would have done better, William, to serve the Old King. That young man will lead you into mischief.’
‘From which you no doubt will extricate me for the sake of our name?’
‘I?’ John’s eyebrows went up, his bald forehead wrinkling. He failed to see the glint of humour at the back of the grey eyes. ‘Youthful folly must pay its own price. Why do you not –’
The amusement had gone from William’s face. ‘As you say I must pay the price of my own decisions, so keep your advice, brother. I do not need it.’ He walked on.
Much later, as he waited in Henry’s chamber to attend him, while two pages laid out his clothes and warmed spiced wine for him, the Young King stormed in in a fair temper.
‘I’ll not stand it anymore,’ he burst out. ‘William, it is beyond all bearing. Tomorrow I will ride to Paris, to my suzerain. He at least can grant me some rights in Normandy. You will ride with me?’
But it was hardly a question and William hesitated only for a moment. He was thinking of the day when King Henry had sent for him, entrusted him with the care of his son, not doubting his loyalty. Had he to repay that trust now with an act of rebellion? But he had set his hands between those of this golden youth whose warm smile, generosity and friendliness far outbalanced the youthful intransigence, the moments when William doubted the depth of those very qualities that were so appealing. What mattered a little extravagance, youthful high spirits? And William himself was young. ‘Of course I ride,’ he said. ‘And your lady?’
Henry’s face softened. He was deep in love with his wife, but he shook his head regretfully. ‘It would attract too much attention if I were to bid her prepare to leave with me. I’ll explain it to her and she can follow me later. We will ride out as if we were going to the hunt.’
What he said to her William did not know but early in the morning before half the castle was awake, he rode out with the rest of the devoted train of Henry’s knights to the north and the court of the King of France.
By that evening Richard had gone too, Geoffrey beside him; other barons followed, and the next morning the Queen herself, dressed in boys’ clothes that became her still girlish figure, slipped out of a postern gate and rode south towards her beloved Aquitaine.
King Henry, in bitter disappointment and savage anger, sent a body of knights after her and brought her back. He told her plainly that she had incited her sons to rebel, that her devious mind was the author of their flouting of his authority and he would have no more of it. She was sent, proud and silent a prisoner to Winchester Castle, under the charge of Ranulf de Glanville.
In Paris King Louis greeted his young son-in-law with affection, whether simulated or not William did not know. But there was no doubting the feelings of the young Dauphin, Philip, who flung his arm about Henry’s shoulders as if he were indeed a brother. They were constantly together, riding out with hawks on their wrists, shooting at the butts, playing chess, talking long and earnestly. Richard and Geoffrey were often with them and King Louis smiled on the four young men.
‘I have the King of England at my side,’ he boasted. ‘There is no other.’ And when Queen Margaret joined her husband, he promised Richard that he would command King Henry to allow his other daughter to return to Paris for their wedding. He misunderstood Richard’s frown, tapping him on the shoulder and assuring him his desires would soon be fulfilled. But Sir Bertran de Born who had accompanied the Young King whispered a few words in the ear of the Dauphin. Mischief-making again, William thought, and doubted if King Henry would allow Alice to return to her father’s court. Or that the Princess herself would desire it.
William enjoyed himself in Paris. He met a number of old acquaintances; his fame in arms and at th
e tourney had gained him a considerable name now and in a joust outside Chantilly he won a fat purse that enabled him to replenish his wardrobe. Among his companions were Robert de Barri, a young squire from Pembrokeshire who had been sent by Strongbow, his overlord, to learn his skills abroad, and Gerald de Barri his young brother, who was attending the schools in Paris, destined for holy orders, and they brought him news and greetings from his old friend.
In the evenings William danced with Queen Margaret in the great stone arched hall, as attentive to her needs as to those of his lord, and it was his pleasure to see that she had wine if she was thirsty, a girl to fetch her mantle if she grew chilly. Now he could no longer hide from himself, though he hoped it was hidden from others, that his feelings for her went deeper than those of a merely attentive member of her household. One evening, sitting beside her and watching some tumblers leaping about the rush-strewn floor, he remembered Strongbow’s words when they were at Pembroke: ‘It is good to have a wife, children –’ But never by word or gesture could he betray this love that he had discovered in himself, and where would he find another woman to fill his eyes and his heart as she had come to do, unobtrusively, over the last years. He would rather remain unwed and he glanced at her swiftly, seeing the gentle brown eyes full of amusement at the antics of the Moorish entertainers, the mouth he would have liked to kiss but was not for him. She was unattainable and he would have to look elsewhere for a purpose in his life, and at that moment a decision came to him.
He would ask for knighthood with its oaths to chivalry and honour and these would strengthen his resolve. Determined to do it at once he made an excuse and left her and it seemed to him that she hardly noticed his going, though she gave him a quick smile, for she was clapping the tumblers, her attention all for them.
He went to his master and with permission rode to his cousin at Tancarville, the man from whom above all others he wished to receive his spurs. The Chamberlain gave his consent willingly, for he was extremely proud of William – though he would not have said so for the world – and he made arrangements for the ceremony to take place on the following Sunday.
William was invested with all due solemnity, having emptied his purse to array himself with all the necessary clothing and arms, a rich mantle of blue sendal hanging from his shoulders, his mail shirt of the finest workmanship, his helm the best he could buy. His cousin gave him spurs and a new shield bearing his arms and, making his vows, William determined that though some men might hold them lightly, a mere formality, to him they would be a lifetime’s guiding principle.
Kneeling to receive the accolade he prayed he might keep his shield untarnished, his honour without stain. It gave him a new sense of purpose, a determination that would uphold him against the onslaughts of temptation, and when he rose from his knees it was as if the Hand of God had touched him on this day, as if his knighthood had made another man of him.
Unfortunately on his way back to his master he was so short of funds after his recent extravagance that he was forced to sell the new mantle. It afforded him a certain amusement – it seemed that after all some things were not changed and he parted from the mantle with regret.
On his return Henry asked that he should now be given his spurs at William’s hands, saying with that spontaneous warmth so peculiarly his own, that he could not receive them from anyone worthier. How then, William thought, could he do other than serve this young King and his Queen, with his own feelings buried deep within. And because he was the man he was, he was successful in beating down those desires. There was always fighting to be done and hard riding, and he spent more time with hounds or hawks than in the palace.
He acquired a body servant, a man named Jehan whose hunched shoulder kept him from bearing arms. He spoke seldom but when he did it was to the point, and he kept his master’s clothes in order and his arms polished.
Bearing a knight’s banner at last – five golden billets on a tawny ground – William found the days full, yet when he lay at night in a high room on the Ile de la Cité listening to the bells of Notre Dame he could not entirely rid his mind of the image of Margaret’s gentle face. It haunted him so that once or twice he flung himself from his bed and went out into the dark streets among the pimps and prostitutes, the scavengers and drunkards that made the Parisian night a hazard, to seek a woman’s company. All cats were grey in the dark, he thought with rare cynicism, but these moments barely impinged on him. The truth was that his love for Margaret, so patently without hope of fulfilment, occupied his mind more than his body and no woman had yet roused the reality of passion in him.
From the French King’s court Henry had sent urgent messages to England, to his friends the Earls of Leicester and Norfolk and Clare, young Gilbert de Clare, the Lords of Mowbray and Ferrars and others, to rise in his name, claim England for him. He had a seal struck and issued writs, he promised lands in England to all French nobles who would support him, including the whole of Lincolnshire to the greedy Count of Boulogne.
‘Have a care, my lord,’ William said. ‘You have other friends in England who will want to keep what they have hazarded for you.’
‘I shall make all right,’ Henry said airily. ‘You will see, William, I shall be such a ruler as England has never seen when we have caged the old lion.’
But the old lion was not done yet. His loyal men in England not only defeated ignominiously the army raised for the Young King, but also captured the King of Scotland who had taken the opportunity to invade the north. King Henry crossed the channel, seized the castles of the rebels and forced their submission, fining them heavily for their disloyalty. Robert de Beaumont, Earl of Leicester, and Hugh Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, he sent to imprisonment in Falaise Castle with the Earl of Clare and his son. Then he returned to Normandy and marched against the French King.
William with his young master and the other princes was at the same time marching on Rouen, but they were still some five miles from that city when a scouting party rode in to say that King Henry was already there with a large army preparing to meet his enemies.
Louis sat in his tent, his face pale, thin fingers plucking at his beard. At last he said, ‘We will return to Paris.’
‘Return?’ Henry asked, aghast, and Richard exclaimed, ‘In God’s name, why? We are a match for my father.’
‘Why?’ Louis gave him a weary stare. ‘You do not know him if you do not see that he has outwitted us. You will get no help from England now. Our time will come – another day, another hour.’ He rose and gave the order for the packing up of his tent and a general retreat. The three princes strode away together, for once in complete agreement. ‘What can we do?’ Henry demanded, and Geoffrey added, ‘William, you heard – what can we do?’
‘Nothing, my lords,’ William said plainly. This time your father has won with hardy a blow struck, and you must make your peace with him – as must we all.’
When the time came they met the King at Gisors in the shade of a great oak tree, and a truce was arranged which yielded nothing to the rebellious sons. King and Duke and Count though they might be, the titles remained empty. Louis sat in his chair under the branches and accepted the terms dictated by his old enemy, by the man who had stolen his first wife and humiliated him, the King who strode up and down, still the restless, strong, dominating figure.
And when William came in turn to kneel and ask for pardon, he received a long penetrating stare. ‘Well, William Marshal? I gave my eldest son into your care. I did not look to see you foster rebellion in him.’
‘Sire,’ – there was no point now in dissembling even if he had been the man to do it – ‘you made him my master so that my first loyalty was to him. And he has won more than that from me.’ William hesitated, looking up into the hard eyes, the shadows of the leaves above traced on his long white surcoat. ‘I believed his cause to be right, what else could I do but follow him?’
‘To defy me? To meet me in battle if God had willed it?’
‘That is true, sir
e, though I did not wish for it, as you must surely know. But you have dealt hardly with my master. You put a crown on his head and made it an empty bauble.’
The King’s laugh was harsh. ‘Would you have me give power into the hands of an inexperienced youth? It takes me all my time to keep my barons in check – including you whom I thought to trust.’
‘I have not been disloyal to your son, sire.’
‘And what of your loyalty to me?’
‘It is vested in your son,’ William said. He had a sudden memory of the miserable cell at Lusignan where he had lain for so long, and wondered if he was to be sent to Falaise to join the other rebels. If so, he must do what he could for his young master first. ‘My lord,’ he went on urgently, ‘deal with me as you will, but give your son work to do. He is only idle and frivolous because he has no responsibility. If you are reconciled to him, if you allow him to rule at least in part, I would not stand at the crossroads.’
‘Christ’s wounds!’ the King swore, ‘you are bold, William.’
‘I think, sire, because I have little left to lose.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then the King held out the hilt of his sword. ‘Well, I’ll not condemn you for loving my son, but it is not yet time, nor am I in my dotage. Will you renew your fealty?’
William set his hand on the cross-piece. ‘To you, sire, and to your son, my master.’
‘Jesu!’ Henry said, ‘you are as bad as they are! Please God, you’ve all learned your lesson.’
At that the young Dauphin sprang forward from his place behind his father’s chair. ‘You have humiliated us all,’ he cried out, his fair skin flushed with anger. ‘You think you have won all, but when I am a man, by God, I will take back all you’ve taken from us.’
The King threw back his head and laughed. ‘Listen to the bantam crowing! You are not cock of the yard yet, my fine prince.’ He stared round the opposing circle of faces, seeing the angry youth, Louis pale and disillusioned, the French lords humiliated, his own sons shamed, and he turned on his heel and left them.
A Pride of Kings (The Plantagenets Book 1) Page 5