Perhaps fortuitously, the King arrived on the eve of the attack. He brought a large army of his own and immediately called a council of war.
When everyone was gathered, including the Duke and his Grand Quintet and the King’s senior commanders, Henry rose to make a speech. It was ill conceived and provocative, and the ending incensed the Duke almost to the point he had reached before the slaying of the mercenaries.
‘This bickering between my sons has to end. But as they have shown no willingness to resolve their differences themselves, I will have to do it for them. Richard, you will withdraw your army by a day’s march so that I can enter Limoges and talk to Henry and Geoffrey.’
The Duke’s ruddy complexion turned puce with anger, and he started to get to his feet. William Marshal grabbed his sleeve and tugged at him to sit down. The King stared at his son. It was like a confrontation between an old stag and a young buck. The Lionheart pulled his sleeve from Marshal’s grasp and began to bellow at his father.
‘Your sons are committing treason; they have reneged on the oath they took in Caen, and yet you expect me to withdraw. Are you mad?’
Fearing a familial brawl there and then, I walked into his line of sight, standing between Richard and his father. I turned to address the King.
‘Sire, Duke Richard will need time to organize his men and find a new camp. May we discuss this later, when our plans are finalized?’
William Marshal and Baldwin of Bethune used my surprise intervention to almost grapple the Lionheart away from a confrontation with his father, and we hastily retreated out of the King’s earshot. The Duke pulled away from the protective embrace of his friends and paced up and down in a rage.
‘The King is the King, Henry is his anointed heir, Geoffrey has Brittany and I keep order in the most troublesome domain in the Empire. Yet Henry wants more! He’s a limp-dicked coward who fights with thugs and murderers. But my father never renounces him. Why does he always defend him?’
We stood and listened; it was the wisest option.
‘I’ve had enough. No more oaths, no more concessions! When this is over, we travel to England. I will release my mother from those draughty English castles where my father keeps her out of harm’s way, and we’ll rule this Empire together.’
After a few minutes to let his friend’s anger subside, William Marshal offered some words of wisdom.
‘Tell the King that you will withdraw and go hunting, so that he can talk to your brothers. But since they have allied themselves with mercenaries who can’t be trusted, your army will stay where it is under my command.’
It was sound advice, but the Duke was reluctant.
‘I know what will happen: when I return, there will have been a rapprochement between them and I will be asked to swear another meaningless oath of loyalty. Well, I won’t be deceived again. I am staying here and will storm Limoges, whether my father likes it or not.’
Father Alun then intervened.
‘My Lord, remember what the Abbess said about using your mind rather than your sword.’
‘Be quiet, priest!’
After blurting his rebuke, the Duke began to walk away. But Blondel, who sang much more often than he spoke, called after him.
‘Listen to the priest. It will cost you nothing to let events take their course. We will still be here with your army. Your father is no fool, he knows what Henry is up to; let’s see what transpires over the next few days. Robert and Baldwin will go hunting with you. Drink some wine; take some girls with you.’
The Duke thought for a while before turning to Father Alun.
‘What is your advice? Should I take my leave?’
Father Alun smiled.
‘I think so, my Lord. You can use the time to reflect on your sins. God always looks kindly on a penitent.’
The Duke relented and spent the next week hunting in the forests of the Limousin, one of the finest places in the Empire for game. Meanwhile, the King went backwards and forwards to the city to negotiate with his sons. He had not been happy that the Duke had refused to move his army. But he had no choice other than to accept his son’s stubbornness, as Richard’s answer was delivered to the King long after he had left for the chase.
William Marshal and Father Alun had been right to persuade the Duke to bide his time. The King failed to persuade Young Henry to back down, and an impasse developed. But the stalemate only applied to the Limousin. When word spread that Young Henry was defying his father, the chaos in the Empire spread.
More of the Plantagenet’s dormant enemies reared their heads. Philip, King of France, mobilized his army in support of Henry and Geoffrey, as did Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, and Raymond, Count of Toulouse. The Empire was on the brink of collapse from within, and the foment was being brewed by its own ruling family, the Devil’s Brood.
For the first time in his long and illustrious reign, Henry Plantagenet was unable to impose himself on his vast realm. He was too old, and his sons were too powerful.
He knew it, they knew it, and so did the great and the good of the Empire.
11. Westminster Beckons
Richard returned from his hunt relieved to discover that his father had now been convinced of Young Henry’s duplicity. But the King still demanded that Richard must not attack his brother.
Sometime later, the Duke told me the details of their conversation, beginning with his father’s words to his increasingly impatient son.
‘Henry is digging a deeper and deeper midden for himself, soon he will be up to his neck in shit.’
‘That’s as may be, Father, but in the meantime, our enemies are massing. Your authority is being undermined.’
‘My “authority” can survive a little longer. I don’t want the future of this Plantagenet Empire to be decided by a fight between my sons!’
‘But the fight has already begun and you’re in the middle of the brawl.’
‘That’s why it must not end in a decisive outcome, one way or the other. When he’s older, I am going to give your little brother John the lordship of Ireland. Henry can retain Normandy, Geoffrey can keep Brittany, and you can have everything to the south.’
‘What about England?’
‘I know, I don’t have enough sons… perhaps I will give it to your mother.’
At that moment, Duke Richard realized that the King had no real strategy for his succession and was afraid of making a decision that might tear apart his precious Empire.
The imperial impasse lasted through the lengthening days of spring and into the summer of 1183. At his father’s request, Richard campaigned far and wide as we put down revolts and saw off challengers to his father’s rule. The Duke was as ruthless in this campaign as he had been earlier in the year and earned a deserved reputation for wanton cruelty to add to his other more noble distinctions. He still had a regard for the innocent victims of conflict, but in dealing with enemies to his dukedom, or to the Plantagenet Empire, he was without mercy. The insult and betrayal he had suffered at Caen had left an open sore that would not go away.
Father Alun tried to calm the savage beast, but to no avail.
The dire circumstances of the Plantagenet family feud were only relieved by an unexpected event. Young Henry became short of funds and in the dead of night started making clandestine forays beyond Limoges to pillage local monasteries and churches. He stole plate, crosses and candlesticks to pay his mercenaries.
The locals said that a curse had been placed on him for his sins. Whatever the cause, a few days later he was struck by severe vomiting and diarrhoea, a condition that worsened rapidly. He was smuggled out of Limoges and taken south to the monks at Martel, three days’ ride from the city. The monks could do nothing and it was soon clear to his followers that he was dying. He was confessed and given the last rite of extreme unction. In penitence for his war against his father, he prostrated himself naked on the floor of the monastery’s chapel and begged for forgiveness. As he lay dying, he asked to be reconciled to his father, but the K
ing, fearing a ruse, refused to see him. He died four days later, clasping a ring his father had sent him as a gesture of absolution. The King, heartbroken when he heard the news, said, ‘He cost me much, but I wish he had lived to cost me more.’
Although he had become his brother’s bitter enemy, the Lionheart was also saddened when he heard the news at our camp near Cahors. He dismissed the King’s messenger who had brought the news and left his tent to stand by the River Lot nearby.
I watched him as he stared across the wide, deep waters and into the hills of the domain he loved so much. He must have been reflecting that the future that so many had predicted for him had come to pass. With Young Henry’s sudden death, the Lionheart would be the next King of England and ruler of the mighty Plantagenet Empire.
When he returned to the tent, he asked me to take him to see Father Alun. He had a surprising question for him.
‘When you were introduced to me by Harold, Earl of Huntingdon, he said that he was returning to his estate in the Lot. Do you know where it is?’
‘I do, my Lord. It is not far from here, less than a day’s ride.’
‘Good, then let’s go. How old will he be now?’
‘In his mid-eighties, sire.’
‘Perhaps he’s still alive. If he is, I want to talk to him about England.’
‘But, sire, you know that when you cross the Lot to the east, you are in the domain of Raymond, Count of Toulouse?’
‘Of course! But he won’t mind if we pay our respects to one of his subjects.’
Two days later, as we rode along the banks of the Lot with its tall limestone crags looming over us, I had mixed feelings. I was pleased to think that we might meet Earl Harold again, but concerned that we were more likely only to find his grave.
St Cirq Lapopie was an enthralling place. With the river several hundred feet below, the Earl’s home stood on an outcrop of rock, facing north towards England. A small community of peasant houses nestled around his hall, and in the hinterland huge swathes of forest stretched as far as the eye could see. On the northern bank of the Lot, the terrain was much flatter and a wide expanse of vines, crops and livestock thrived. The sun shone and the air was sultry, refreshed by cool breezes from the river. As soon as I saw it, I realized why Earl Harold was so fond of it; it was a little enclave of Heaven on earth.
Everyone we passed seemed well fed and happy. Adults and children alike waved as we ascended the steep slope to the Earl’s hall; they were not in the slightest alarmed by a long column of armed men led by a duke.
As we approached, we were greeted by Gretchen and Ursula, the children of Eadmer, Earl Harold’s loyal companion throughout his many adventures. He had died several years earlier, but his children and grandchildren were a charming little brood of blue-eyed Anglo-Saxons deep in the forests of the Lot.
When we arrived in the courtyard, Harold’s steward was waiting for us. He bowed deeply to greet the Duke.
‘Welcome to St Cirq Lapopie, my Lord Duke. We are expecting you.’
‘How did you know we were coming, steward?’
‘We have carrier pigeons down in the valley. The Earl is devoted to them; they were very useful to him many years ago, when your grandmother stayed here, in my father’s time.’
The Lionheart looked shocked to hear that the Empress Matilda had visited St Cirq Lapopie. I turned to Father Alun, who just smiled knowingly.
Then, in his usual agile way, the Duke leapt from his horse.
‘Where is the old boy? I must tell him my news.’
‘Sire, he is waiting for you; he’s sitting over there, looking out over the river. But, my Lord, he’s very frail and soon we will need to get him back to his chamber.’
Father Alun and I followed the Duke as he went to sit next to the figure slumped in his chair at the edge of St Cirq Lapopie’s sheer cliffs. He was shaded from the sun by a wide canopy. Although it was very warm, he was wrapped in a heavy woollen blanket. He was, indeed, frail. He had lost a lot of weight since we saw him last, and his head was tilted to one side, resting on his right shoulder. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, and his face was pale and deeply creased by age. He was only a shadow of the man I had first met in Winchester.
His speech was a little slurred and his voice thin. It had lost the authority it once had, but it was still audible.
‘So, you have brought me some news.’
‘I have. You were right, I am the new heir apparent. Young Henry is dead.’
Not without some difficulty, the old Earl lifted his head slightly. He looked very sad.
‘I have heard about the squabbles within the family. Nothing changes in life, young Richard. I am sorry to hear that your brother is dead. I trust it was not by your hand?’
‘No, he died of the flux. Mind you, I would have been sorely tempted to end his days had I been given the chance.’
‘I see. It appears my good friends, Ranulf and Father Alun, have still not helped you acquire any wisdom.’
Earl Harold cast a glance in our direction before raising his voice as much as his years would allow. He tried to summon some anger in his tone.
‘Brothers do not kill brothers!’
‘They might if they had brothers like mine. Now I have another one to contend with. Little John is a man now, and my father has to find a domain for him.’
The Earl paused, to gather some breath.
‘But you will be King soon; then you will be the guardian of the Plantagenet dynasty. You must unite the family, not tear it apart.’
‘Yes, yes, but I’m not King yet. For now, that’s my father’s job.’
The Earl’s face softened and he attempted a smile, perhaps realizing that he had neither the time nor the tools to get involved in the affairs of the Plantagenets.
‘I am glad that you have come to see me, Richard. My days are almost at an end; knowing that you will soon be our King means that I can die in peace.’
‘Your steward told me that my grandmother visited here.’
‘She did, many times; she was very happy at St Cirq Lapopie.’
‘Will you tell me about you and her?’
‘She was beautiful and brave, the epitome of all that is good in both the Norman dynasty and that of England. I was honoured to know her, and privileged to spend so many happy times with her here. She loved England and the Empire and would be very proud to see you now – especially in this precious place. Father Alun will tell you more when you are King. I will be long gone by then. He will also tell you more about England, and why it is so precious to all of us.’
As if he were administering a blessing, the old Earl stretched out his hand and gestured to Father Alun and myself to move closer.
‘We are all children of England; we all carry its precious blood. Remember that.’
His eyes filled with tears and his head sank even lower on to his shoulder. His steward, who had been hovering close by, stepped forward and summoned a couple of assistants.
‘My Lords, the Earl must rest now. Perhaps you can have a little more time with him after dinner.’
As his retainers began to lift Harold from his chair, the Lionheart grasped his hand and knelt at his feet.
‘I have heard many stories about how you helped my grandmother in the war against Stephen, and throughout the rest of her life…’ He paused to kiss the Earl’s ring. ‘Thank you.’
Earl Harold, tears now running down his pale, wrinkled cheeks, placed one hand on the Lionheart’s golden-red mane and the other against his face. A sudden ember of the strong and determined Harold of old blazed in his eyes and lit his face.
‘You must love England, as England will come to love you.’
Then, as he was carried away, the sharp look subsided and the Earl’s melancholy expression returned.
We stayed at St Cirq Lapopie only until the next afternoon. None of us wanted to linger as Earl Harold entered the last few days of his life. He had said what he needed to say, so we left him to depart in peace.
The death of Young Henry brought a brief period of calm to the Empire. King Philip took his army back to Paris, and Hugh of Burgundy and Raymond of Toulouse returned home. We were then able to deal with Aquitaine’s rebels with relative ease and all submitted to the King, albeit with their usual duplicity.
The King punished his wayward son Geoffrey by denying him access to any of his castles in Brittany, and the young man had to rely on the hospitality of his friends until his father’s anger subsided. All remained calm until the Christmas of 1183, when the King summoned his family to Caen once more.
The gathering would lead to yet another squabble between the Devil’s Brood.
Henry wanted a domain for his fourth and youngest son, John, who had just reached the knightly age of eighteen. Once again, he expected Richard to make way. As the Lionheart was now heir apparent to the entire Plantagenet Empire, the King wanted him to surrender the dukedom of Aquitaine to John in exchange for John’s oath of loyalty to him as his future liege.
The Duke hardly knew his youngest brother; John was disliked at court, and was said to be both spiteful and petulant. He was shorter and darker than the other Plantagenets and lacked both the presence and personality of the Lionheart. All in all, there was nothing appealing to Richard about his brother, and he had nothing to gain from agreeing to his father’s request.
Father Alun and I travelled to Caen with the Duke, but neither of us was privy to what was said when he met his father. However, when Richard returned from the meeting, he asked Father Alun to help him compose a letter to the King.
‘I bit my tongue when the King made his preposterous suggestion. I asked for time to think about it, then embraced my brother and left. Now, I’m going to respond in a formal letter. Abbess Hildegard would be proud of me.’
Father Alun smiled broadly.
‘Indeed, I believe she would, sire. Well done.’
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