by Ann Turner
‘You did nothing to encourage me, you cheap whore,’ he retorted, but Aubrette did not fear his words.
She turned aside and rose from the bed, summoning a maid to assist her washing and dressing for the day ahead. Neither husband or wife spoke again.
Later that day, Duke Richard prepared to depart Vernon with his entourage, which now included Aubrette. He was to travel back to his duchy of Aquitaine, where, as usual, there were reports of dissent. He needed to teach those who opposed him a severe lesson. The thrill of warfare, even with his own subjects, excited Richard and he was eager to be away.
Richard said goodbye to Rowena and strode out into the courtyard at his brother’s side. Hugh went to walk alongside the duke, but, remembering that he now had a wife, came back and offered his arm to Aubrette. She coolly accepted the gesture and they rigidly walked into the courtyard behind the duke. A groom led their horses over to the mounting block and Hugh helped his wife into the saddle, before mounting his own horse.
Rowena came and stood beside Aubrette, and the two women became tearful as they said their farewells to each other. Simon approached and Aubrette glared bitterly at him.
‘I pray I shall see Rowena again, but never you,’ she said, quietly, with acrimonious malice.
He remained unmoved. ‘Obey your husband and do your duty to him,’ he instructed.
Aubrette looked away, not wanting him to see how she now hated him with the same intensity as she had once loved him. He had not even allowed Rowena to bring the two boys out to see her departure; she was denied one final look at their sweet and innocent faces. They were to grow up without seeing or knowing their natural mother, and she doubted Hugh would have it in him to father a child if the performance of the previous night was anything to go by.
Richard shouted the command and the party rode from the castle, with him at the head and Hugh close behind. Aubrette looked forward, not wanting to look back. The tears cascading down her face were for her two sons that she would never see again. They were still just babies and both would probably forget her – she was certain Simon would now see to that. As their mother, her heart broke at the forced separation.
The ride to Aquitaine was as rapid as the horses that carried their riders were strong, and the mules pulling the wagons cantered behind. Richard, like his father, always rode fast, wanting to get to each destination in as short time as possible.
He quickly and fiercely put down the revolt in his duchy, with Hugh fighting bravely by his side. Once peace was restored, Aubrette settled into luxurious apartments within the castle at Poitiers with her husband. She was as happy as possible in the circumstances that had brought her here, as the castle was an attractive building to explore and the gardens were well kept. The weather was warm and clement, the people who lived here were convivial and she grew to love the relaxed atmosphere. She was content while her husband was away fighting, and received him dutifully upon his return, keeping up the charade. They had become accustomed to each other’s company, but both still felt strained when forced together during banquets.
Every night since their wedding, Hugh would slip from their bed and return in the early hours. Both knew where he had gone, but neither spoke about it. Sex for them was a rarity and Hugh ensured he played his part to making the unpleasant task last for the shortest time possible.
22
There was trouble brewing again between King Henry and his sons. News spread throughout the empire that Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany – now the second in line to the empire – had participated in a joust while visiting the court of France. He had been thrown from his horse in a freak accident and trampled to death, leaving his widow, Constance, with a young daughter and pregnant again.
Duke Richard was angered that his father was threatening to give the dukedom of Aquitaine, and possibly Geoffrey’s widow in marriage, to his youngest son, John. Whereas Richard was not concerned with John having Constance, he would not give up Aquitaine as his mother had given it to him. Henry’s argument was that once Richard became king, he would also be the Duke of Normandy and the Count of Anjou, so surely he could not be expected to rule Aquitaine as well, while Prince John would have nothing except Ireland. But being a true Plantagenet, Richard would not relinquish anything and threatened war against his father.
As a vassal to the King of France, Richard was commanded to attend an audience with his overlord regarding the dispute over Aquitaine. Richard would not travel anywhere without his most faithful and loyal comrade, so Aubrette’s hope for a pleasant and tolerable life in Poitiers was quickly over. Along with Hugh, they now headed for Paris and the court of King Philip.
Richard and Philip had shared a close friendship when they were young princes, and it was their reunion that ignited rumours around the duke’s preferences once again. They greeted each other warmly and Philip was determined to entertain his beloved guest royally. Aubrette and Hugh attended a ceremony where Richard paid fealty to the French King, before they went into a conference about the future of Aquitaine and Richard’s refusal to hand his duchy over to his young brother. Next, the subject of the capture of Jerusalem by Saladin brought the two men into deep agreement and they began to plan their crusade to the Holy Land – Philip with a certain amount of caution; Richard with a zealous lust. It would mean fighting bloody battles, the killing of infidels, glories to be won, and the greatest victory of all: the retaking of Jerusalem. There was much for Richard and Philip to discuss, though first was the question of King Henry.
Jointly, the king and the duke announced that they would declare war on King Henry over the lush lands of Aquitaine. Richard would, after all, never surrender his duchy to anyone other than his mother. Philip, who was always looking for ways to cause the English king perturbation, made it known that he would stand alongside the duke in the conflict.
Messengers arrived at the French king’s court to tell them that King Henry was in residence in Le Mans. Both Richard and Philip prepared to march their armies there to battle the old king and bring him to heel. They would make him their prisoner and force him to concede to their demands: John would keep Ireland, Eleanor would to be released from Salisbury castle and be permitted to travel to Poitiers, and Richard would remain Duke of Aquitaine when he became king on Henry’s death.
The combined armies of King Philip and Duke Richard marched from Paris to lay siege at Le Mans. They were a splendid sight to see, with their banners, pennants, caparisoned horses and armour glinting in the sunlight. Remaining behind, Aubrette watched the army ride and march from the palace. She felt no regret to see her husband depart; she was only too pleased to know he would be far from her during this campaign. She would continue the parody by being ready with a stirrup cup to refresh him when he returned, along with the other dutiful wives, but that would not be for a long while – she hoped. Meanwhile, she remained at Philip’s palatial home as a guest of his wife, Isabella.
The Queen of France was a tall and graceful woman, with a natural elegance and openness that Aubrette and the other wives warmed to. She took great delight in showing off her infant son, Louis, saying how she had wed Philip when she was only fourteen years old and he had blamed her at first for failing to give him his heir. This, she assured, was due to her young age and the birth of her beautiful, golden-haired son had proved her right. The child was cherubic and won the hearts of all the grand ladies.
Aubrette experienced an elevated state of life that she had never previously known. She was surrounded by opulence and luxury wherever she turned and felt overwhelmed by it all. From her humble beginnings to this was difficult to comprehend; she had become accustomed to good living with fine food, wine and a duck-down mattress since her marriage, but at the French court everything was magnified. The servants were ready in an instant to obey any command she issued – however insignificant or bazaar. The only cloud that overshadowed this dreamlike experience was the pampered and sp
oilt wives that remained alongside her with Queen Isabella.
These grand ladies knew that Aubrette had begun life as a nobody, and was now the wife of a nobody elevated beyond his station in life by the Duke of Aquitaine. They would not sit close to her or pass the time in idle tittle-tattle. They would only converse with her when in the presence of the French Queen, attempting to belittle her with talk of their husbands’ brave exploits at the lists or on the battlefields, and how they returned home with war wounds that, as dutiful wives, they would bind – or command their maidservants to tend their masters while they watched on, making soothing noises.
The snubs did not bother Aubrette; these women were brainless simpletons, bred to be brood mares for their domineering husbands. They had never tasted a difficult life of rejection as she had. They had no inclination of the life that had brought her to this moment, so she would simply enjoy the hospitality of her hostess, the queen – the one woman who did not outwardly judge her. Isabella found Aubrette fascinating, and insisted she told and retold her life story. She appeared to be genuinely interested in all that Aubrette had to say. Obediently, the simpletons listened, pretending to follow, but then gossiped and scorned about her once they were out of Queen Isabella’s earshot. Despite this, Aubrette was happy in Paris.
23
In the castle at Le Mans, Henry was restless. He realised that at fifty-six years of age, he was growing old. Sometimes his joints ached and his once lean body had now become paunchy, though he attempted to ignore this fact. He had no control over the rising conflict, and knew he and his eldest son would always clash over Aquitaine. When he had married Eleanor, he had been made the duke of that lush and bountiful land. Henry and Eleanor had then been passionately in love and she was content to let him be named as their duke. It was only after their love turned sour and they had fought voraciously over their sons, their lands and Henry’s infidelity that Eleanor made her favourite son the new Duke of Aquitaine.
Oh, Eleanor and my sons, why have you hated me so? Henry thought, bitterly. A man should have sons to be proud of and I have been proud of my sons, but why can I not love Richard? Only John, only my precious youngest son loves me, and I love only him.
He was feeling his age today, though was full of frenetic energy. He refused to slow down, but it was an effort to continue at this constant pace. He was used to being on the move, even taking his meals on his feet and rarely sitting down, but it was too much. He was, for the first time, concerned that he might be defeated in this conflict, and what made this thought so unpalatable was that his warrior son, Richard, had the support of King Philip of France.
Those two had had an unhealthy regard for each other when they were young. They had hunted together, eaten from the same plate and even shared the same bed together. Unnatural, Henry had thought, but then his tall and handsome son, who had the looks and stature of a hero, had always shown little interest in women. Could it have been due to the fact that Henry had seduced his betrothed, the young Princess Alice? It would explain Philip’s actions.
Henry would not give Alice up: she was young and worshipful of the old king and this pleased him immensely. She soothed his troubled mind with her blind adoration and willingness to do anything he demanded. Henry felt young again when he lay in the arms of Alice. Once this unpleasantness was over and he had taught those two upstarts a lesson, he would head for England, to Oxford and Alice’s welcoming embrace.
Richard and Philip set their camp outside the walls of the castle, sending requests to the old king to give in gracefully and to relinquish his plans for Aquitaine. From the battlements, Henry and William Marshal stood looking at the camp, seeing the fires burning between the tents. The king found himself thinking that those fires could easily ignite the fabrics of the tents, and that would cause confusion. He would defeat these arrogant pups and claim victory with the least bloodshed, as that was his style. He shook a fist at the enemy camp.
‘Richard and Philip, you can never beat me! This old lion hasn’t lost all his teeth yet. I can still bite both your arses!’ He laughed heartily and turned to a quizzical Marshal.
While watching the campfires, a plan began to grow in his mind. He explained that he would start a fire, as the wind was now in the right direction to burn the camp down. There would be disorder and panic; then, when their equipment and arms were destroyed, and the horses escaped from the flames, they would be forced to surrender to him.
Hurrying down from the battlements with Marshal close behind, Henry gathered his soldiers and explained his plan. He watched in boyish glee as his men collected and took firewood and other combustible materials outside the castle walls, and suddenly he felt young again. His aches and pains instantly vanished. Henry, himself, threw the first lit torch onto the kindling and stood watching, wild-eyed and breathless with excitement, as the flames grew and burnt.
Marshal wished he could feel as confident about this plan as the king. It was a rumbustious idea and he was worried for his king’s state of mind. Henry laughed maniacally; God was on his side and the wind was blowing the flames towards the camps. He could imagine the flames licking the tents, as the smell of burning created a panic that would spread through the camp like… like wildfire!
Then something happened; something was going wrong. The direction of the wind was changing and blew the flames toward the castle, away from the enemy camp. Horrified, King Henry helplessly watched as sparks flew up, landing on wooden roofs and hoardings, igniting them. The flames quickly took hold and the fires grew in their intensity. His castle at Le Mans was burning down. Where was God now?
Henry, with a flash of uncontrollable anger, raised his fist to heaven. He shook it with venom and loudly cursed God for deserting him. He berated God for giving him such an ungrateful family and fell onto the ground, wailing with a savage anger and punching the earth with closed fists until his knuckles bled. He then slammed his forehead repeatedly against the ground in his rage, knowing he was defeated. Henry the lion, Henry the mighty king had been defeated by a power greater than his.
He looked up, dazed, and watched his soldiers running around, attempting to extinguish the fire that he had ignited. They hurled buckets of water onto the flames, but with little effect. They were coughing and choking with the billowing thick smoke, which stung the eyes and blackened the face. This should have been Richard and Philip; this should have been their soldiers running around in confusion.
William Marshal took control of the situation and yelled instructions, directing soldiers and servants to fight the fire, to rescue this castle from total destruction. He stopped and turned to the king, who was now sitting on the ground and absently pulling tufts of grass in his fists. Grass stuck in his hair and his forehead was bruised from his self-torture. He was helpless.
‘Sire, come with me into the castle. There is still one tower not affected by the fire. Please come back inside; you cannot sit out here all night,’ he suggested gently, holding out a hand to the king.
Henry took the offer and was helped to stand up, looking stupefied at the destruction. ‘Yes, yes, back into the castle. I am finished, Marshal. My son, my enemy will be laughing at me. I am a foolish old man,’ he said, forlornly, his voice husky with emotion.
Marshal put a comforting arm over the king’s shoulder and led him, child like through the grounds. They walked past smouldering embers, ruined furniture and hangings before reaching the only safe haven left in the castle.
Marshal helped Henry to bed and sent for a broth to be fetched. The king was shaking violently. While others deserted him, William Marshal remained by King Henry’s side – loyal as always, until the end. He held the bowl to Henry’s lips and coaxed him into swallowing the warming broth. He then sat in a chair and watched as the king settled into the bed and fell into a troubled sleep. Marshal remained awake, his sword drawn to protect and assist his king during this long and sad night.
By the next day, the fire had been extinguished. All that remained was a stifling, damp smell in the air and a grey, smoky pall that hung dourly over the ruins. Duke Richard and King Philip sent a message to the king, which arranged a meeting in the field outside the castle to discuss his surrender. Henry attempted to avoid the meeting and sent word that he was too ill to attend. In reality, he truly was very ill. However, a second, more demanding, message arrived and Henry knew he could not ignore it. He agreed to meet, but not to surrender.
The two younger men stood tall and proud in the field, watching the dishevelled and broken figure of the English king ride towards them, with William Marshal close by his side. Henry slowly dismounted and stood before them, but could not look either in the eye. He was a defeated man who knew he had lost and would never recover, but did not want to accept it. He had confided to Marshal that he was waiting for his beloved son John to come and join him, and together, once he felt well enough, they would rout Richard and Philip for good. Marshal had remained tactfully silent.
‘Henry, you will agree to the following terms,’ began Philip. ‘Firstly, Richard will take Princess Alice as his bride when he has completed and returned from his crusade, and he shall be recognised and named as your heir. You will do homage to me as my vassal and cover the cost of this war, otherwise your barons and knights will desert you and defect to Richard. What say you?’
Henry raised his head to look in the eyes of Philip; so young, with so much life still ahead of him – the arrogant pup. He then looked at Richard. The hatred in those blue eyes shook him. Were the whispered rumours about his son true? Did he really intend to marry Alice now? Was this a rouse to humiliate him further? She was spoilt goods and no longer pure – Henry had seen to that. Would his son hear that Alice had born him a stillborn daughter? He signed.