The Revolt of the Eaglets

by Jean Plaidy

  Here they were waiting to receive him, thought young Henry, and his father treating him like a child!

  He wondered whether news of what was happening in Aquitaine had reached his father’s ears. Of course there was a little explaining to be done about his accepting the acclaim of the people and then joining Richard and his father and acting as though he were in their camp.

  Before his father could hear of his conduct he took up an offensive attitude and wrote to the King imperiously demanding to be given control of Normandy.

  The King’s answer came back promptly. He was holding his dominions while there was life in him, was the answer. Suffice it that a good and obedient son should honour his father and be prepared to serve under him. Must he remind Henry that once he had taken an oath in which he had sworn to follow this course?

  Young Henry stamped and swore with rage when he received his father’s reply.

  ‘It is no use, Henry,’ soothed Marguerite. ‘Your father will never give up anything while he lives.’

  ‘Then I shall perforce take it,’ cried Henry.

  She smiled at him soothingly. He knew as well as she did that he could never take anything that his father did not wish him to have.

  ‘There is nothing for me to do but take Aquitaine,’ declared Henry. ‘If I have it and the people acclaim me my father must perforce allow me to keep it.’

  Marguerite was uncertain but she knew that it was no use trying to oppose her husband.

  An opportunity arose at that moment and it was brought to his notice by Bertrand de Born who had written a song which troubadours were singing all over Aquitaine.

  A castle had been built near Mirabeau which was close to the frontiers of Poitiers but which was actually in Anjou. Anjou was of course that territory over which young Henry would have held sway had he been allowed to. Richard had built this castle and in doing so he had strayed beyond Aquitaine into Anjou.

  Would the young King allow this insolence to go unchecked? He must be most displeased that the tyrant Richard had encroached on his land.

  When young Henry heard the news and the song which was being sung in every hall where knights gathered together he was angry. He would have to do something about it or people would jeer at him. Bertrand de Born would not go on loving a man and writing enchanting verses about him if he proved himself to be too meek to stand up against his insolent brother.

  He sent a message to his father demanding that Richard give him the castle since it was on his land.

  When the King received the message he groaned aloud. Who would have children? He had gone wrong somewhere. No one could call him a weak man and yet he had failed with his family.

  This time Richard was at fault. He should never have built a castle outside Aquitaine.

  He sent a message to Richard, saying that it had come to his ears that the castle built near Mirabeau was in fact in Anjou. This had understandably offended his brother Henry and it was only right that having committed the offence he should pass the castle over to his brother.

  Richard’s retort was that he would not yield the castle. It was necessary for the defence of Poitiers because the city was unprotected on its north flank.

  Henry could always more easily be roused to anger through Richard. Of this son he was unsure. That he was steadier than his brother, more honest and reliable he could not fail to know. That he was a great soldier and a man dedicated to duty he knew too. But between them was an emotion so fierce that it could not be quelled and it was largely made up of hatred. Richard hated him for what he had done to his mother; and he disliked Richard who had turned away from him as a child and that dislike had turned to hatred because he had wronged him through Alice.

  He sent a message back at once. ‘Hand over the castle or I shall come and take it from you.’

  The last thing Richard wanted was war against his father. He needed his help badly. He could not hold down Aquitaine and fight his father at the same time.

  ‘I shall not give the castle to my brother Henry,’ he wrote, ‘who is working against me here in Aquitaine. I will give the castle to you if you will judge whether it should be in my hands or not since it is necessary to the defence of Poitiers.’

  When the King received this message he was very disturbed. Henry working against Richard! Oh, no, Henry could not be such a fool. He sent back a message at once to Richard. It should be as he wished. He would make the decision as to whom the castle should belong and he wished his son to come with all speed to Angers for he had something of importance to say to him.

  Henry met his three sons at Angers, whither he had summoned them all.

  ‘I have brought you here because there is something of great moment which I must say to you. It has been brought to my notice that there is some conflict between you, and I command you to end this strife. You must understand that all your strength is in your union. We have great dominions and if we are to keep our grip on them we must stand together. When there is trouble in our midst then do our enemies rejoice. There must be no such jubilance among our enemies. In our discord is their triumph.’

  Young Henry looked bland enough although he was secretly smiling. What would Richard say if he knew that Aquitaine was ready to turn him out and accept his brother Henry?

  ‘Once,’ went on the King, ‘you swore to serve me all my life. Sometimes I think you have forgotten that, for the way you can serve me ill is to war against each other. I am going to command you to swear fidelity towards each other now … here this moment.’

  Young Henry was not deeply perturbed. His father broke his word continually and men respected him. There was no reason why he should not follow him in that.

  ‘Henry is my eldest son,’ went on the King, ‘and as such he will be King of England and hold rights over those lands which are mine. Richard and Geoffrey, you will hold Aquitaine and Brittany through the grace of your brother. You will therefore swear fealty to him.’

  Young Henry smiled, well pleased with this arrangement. Not so Richard. His eyes were cold as steel and if his hands trembled slightly it was with the ague and as his family knew they must not misconstrue the reason for the tremble.

  Unlike his brother Henry, Richard was not capable of deceit. Had he not been nicknamed ‘Richard Yea and Nay’ because he would give a clear confirmation or denial to any question and he would mean it? He was not afraid of the truth.

  He said now: ‘I shall not do homage to my brother for Aquitaine. It was my mother’s wish that I should inherit her lands. I do not owe it to you, and it has nothing to do with your dominions. Henry may be your eldest son but I am your son also and the son of my mother. I will give homage to no one for Aquitaine save the King of France which custom and tradition demand.’

  Curse you, Richard, thought his father yet half admiringly. You are right of course. Aquitaine is not Normandy nor Anjou. But why cannot you be an obedient son!

  ‘You will obey my wishes,’ he shouted.

  ‘I shall do no such thing.’

  The King whipped up his rage but he felt no real anger, only fear of this son who was the betrothed of Alice. He could not help even at this moment wondering what he would say if he knew that she had been seduced by his father and had already borne him a child.

  Richard turned away.

  ‘Come back,’ cried the King; but Richard took no notice.

  The King stood looking at his sons Henry and Geoffrey.

  ‘By God’s eyes,’ cried the King, ‘I’ll not be flouted by my own sons.’

  ‘Richard declares he will be curbed by no one,’ said Henry.

  ‘You have seen him defy me,’ replied the King. ‘What will you do about that?’

  ‘Methinks,’ commented Henry, ‘that your son Richard should be taught a lesson.’

  Then we are in complete agreement,’ said the King.

  Young Henry was exultant.

  Richard had played right into his hands. If he were going to teach Richard a lesson how could he do it better
than by taking Aquitaine?

  Richard meanwhile was riding back to his Duchy.

  Young Henry, with Geoffrey beside him, exultantly rode towards Aquitaine.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we will show our father of what stuff we are made! Richard too. They have had enough of him in Aquitaine. They like not these stern men who call themselves just. Richard with his warlike ways and the fierce punishment he metes out to offenders has lost their regard. They want to be rid of him. I know how the people of Aquitaine wish to be ruled and it fits in very well with what I want.’

  He thought of himself presiding over the great tables in his castles. There would be song and laughter; he would delight his subjects with the tournaments he would devise. He saw himself riding into the arena and the ladies would smile at him from the dais. All would vie with each other for his favours. Marguerite would be proud of him. He would wear her colours.

  That was the way to rule. That was the way the Provençals wanted it. Richard had no understanding of them.

  What great good fortune for him that Richard was hated so much.

  When he reached the borders of Aquitaine many nobles were waiting for him and with them their followers.

  He would have a great army. He could not fail.

  Very well, Richard, he said to himself, you would not swear fealty to me. I can do without your oath. I shall simply take what you will not give.

  When the King heard what was happening in Aquitaine he was filled with anxiety.

  Brothers fighting against each other! It was the way to disaster.

  What kind of men have we bred between us, Eleanor and I? he asked himself. Why was it that the sons he had had by other women had been his good and loyal subjects? Was it, as Eleanor had said, because they had no rights and all their benefits came from him, whereas those who had been born in wedlock believed what was his became theirs by right. Was it because his union with Eleanor had always been doomed?

  There were rumours about his ancestors. It was said that one of the Counts of Anjou when riding in the forest met a woman of such beauty that he was captivated by her and married her. Her beauty was such that all marvelled at it; however she was reluctant to enter a church and when she did always left before the consecration of the Host. This puzzled her husband and several years after their marriage one day just as she was about to leave the church he caught hold of her cloak and he would not release it.

  Suddenly she was said to have floated upwards, holding two of her children by the hand. She disappeared, leaving her bewildered husband holding her cloak. It was said that she was a witch and a servant of the devil. Although she had taken two children with her she had left two behind and one of these became the next Count of Anjou.

  This legend lived on and because of it many said that there was a satanic streak in the blood of the Angevin Counts.

  Was it true? wondered Henry. Had it come down through him? Was it this in him which had made him seduce his son’s betrothed? Was it this that set his sons warring against each other and their father?

  Nay, he told himself, it is from their mother that they get their natures.

  What was his sin in taking Alice compared with Eleanor’s incest with her uncle?

  And what could be expected of the offspring of twp people such as himself and Eleanor?

  But he must stop this brooding. There was work to be done. He would go with all speed to Limoges where Henry was encamped and put a stop to this attempted fratricide without delay.

  On the way he met Richard who welcomed his coming.

  With his father on his side against his brothers he could not fail to succeed.

  ‘This grieves me greatly,’ said the King. ‘Does nothing I say have any effect on you?’

  ‘You have always favoured Henry,’ Richard reproached him. ‘Yet he has deceived you right and left, and shown quite clearly that he is unfit to govern.’

  ‘He is my eldest son and you have all defied me. My sons are a bitter disappointment to me … except John.’

  ‘John is as yet too young to have a mind of his own,’ replied Richard.

  ‘I trust in his affection.’

  The King decided that he would have to parley with Henry who was in Limoges.

  ‘I will accompany you,’ said Richard, ‘and we will take a company of troops with us.’

  ‘Nay,’ said the King. ‘I’d have them know I come to talk in peace. They will recognise me and no harm will come.’

  ‘I trust them not,’ said Richard.

  ‘You will remain here while I go forward to the town and I shall take with me but a small company of knights.’

  ‘I do not like it,’ replied Richard.

  ‘My son, you will have to learn that I do as I will.’

  As he rode forward he was thinking: Oh, Henry, my son, why cannot you be the affectionate little boy you were in the nursery, before your mother changed you? Why did your ambitions have to rob you of your sense of honour? How can I give you what you ask? I must rule. I am experienced in the ways of rulers. You do not understand. To rule is not to enjoy a life of pleasure. What pleasure I have had has been snatched in between forays here, punitive expeditions there and all the cares that beset a king who has wide-flung dominions. If you understood you would rejoice that I am here to rule and you to learn from me so that in time you can keep your kingdom in your hands.

  They were approaching the town. He rode at the head of the company. Above his head fluttered his pennant proclaiming him as the King of England, sovereign of them all.

  Suddenly a stream of arrows shot up in the air. One of his men shouted: ‘The King comes.’

  There was another flurry of arrows. One pierced the King’s cloak.

  ‘My lord,’ said his standard bearer, ‘they know who you are and they are trying to kill you. We are not fitted to meet their attack.’

  ‘You are right,’ said the King. ‘We will turn back.’

  He withdrew the arrow from his cloak.

  He looked at it. It could so easily have pierced his heart. And Henry’s men had sent it.

  Back in his camp he told Richard what had happened.

  Richard’s cold face expressed no fear for what might have happened; there was only scorn for his father’s folly. Had he not warned him? Why did he go on trusting his eldest son when time after time he had been proved to be of a light nature capable of playing the traitor to his father and brother?

  Henry sat ruminating, the arrow before him.

  My son wishes me dead. So does he long for my crown that he would hasten my end to attain it. There was a sadness in his heart, and more than ever he yearned for the affection of his family.

  As he sat brooding a messenger came in to tell him that his son Henry was without and begging to be seen.

  ‘Send him to me,’ he said.

  Henry came in; he took off his helmet and his beautiful fair hair fell about his face; he knelt before his father.

  ‘Well, my son,’ said the King.

  ‘Oh, Father, when I saw what had happened …’

  ‘You saw the arrow, did you? You saw it pierce my cloak?’

  ‘I rejoice that it was nothing but your cloak.’

  ‘St Thomas was watching over us … you and me. He saved me from death and you from becoming your father’s murderer.’

  ‘Oh, God help me,’ murmured Henry.

  He lifted his face to his father’s and there were tears in his eyes. The King stood up and drew his son to his feet. He embraced him.

  ‘My son, my son,’ he said, ‘let us put an end to this strife.’

  ‘Oh, Father, you forgive me then?’

  ‘I know it was not you who shot the arrow.’

  ‘Nay, but it was those who thought to serve me.’

  ‘We must put an end to this strife, Henry. It will destroy us all.’

  ‘I know it, Father. And this day … when I thought you could have died …’

  ‘We will forget it. You are my son and I must love you. You k
now full well how I have always deplored this rift between us.’

  ‘If you would but give me some authority …’

  ‘I shall … in time. I grow old and because I have lived many years I can control my territories. There is so much to learn and when you have learned, all that is mine will pass to you.’

  ‘Oh, Father, give me your blessing.’

  He knelt and the King laid his hands on his head.

  Afterwards they talked awhile. ‘It would seem,’ said young Henry, ‘that you have sided with Richard against me and Geoffrey.’

  ‘It is you and Geoffrey who have made this unfortunate affair. Richard is Duke of Aquitaine by his mother’s wish.’

  ‘But you commanded him to swear fealty to me.’

  ‘I want no war between you. I want you to stand together. It is imperative that you do.’

  ‘Father, I have influence in Aquitaine. The people want me as their Duke – not Richard. You know how harsh he is. He calls it justice. He has inflicted terrible punishments on those who had worked against him whom he calls traitors. They will not accept Richard. But I could persuade them to accept you.’

  ‘Would you do this?’

  ‘I would, Father, for I now see that it is the best course. Richard they will not have. But if you offered to mediate with them and let them decide whom they would accept as their Duke there could be peace. Let me return to them as your emissary.’

  ‘Go then,’ said the King.

  Young Henry went and the King continued to regard with the utmost sadness the arrow which had pierced his cloak.

  Geoffrey was waiting for his brother in the town of Limoges.

  ‘I talked to the old man,’ said Henry. ‘He forgave me. There were tears in his eyes. How is it possible that a great king can be such an old fool?’