by Jean Plaidy
It had begun again. The old question.
Oh, Alice, he thought, what am I going to do? The decision is getting nearer and nearer. Louis, why did you have to die and give me this son of yours to deal with?
They must meet at Gisors, which town Philip was demanding he return.
Was the time approaching when he would have to surrender Alice?
God was on his side. Or was it Thomas à Becket? In any case a way out was shown to him.
Before the conference at Gisors could be started the Archbishop of Tyre came riding into the city. He had heard that the Kings of France and England were there and he had sorry news for them.
Almost three months before, Jerusalem had fallen into Saladin’s hands. The little King was dead as they had already heard. His mother who had remarried had appointed her second husband King of Jerusalem. Now Saladin was in Jerusalem and he had taken possession of the Holy Cross.
Christians all over the world must be plunged into deepest mourning. King Guy was captured and the true Cross was in Saladin’s hands. All good Christians must rise and wrest the holy relics from the Infidels.
It was impossible, in the face of such an overwhelming calamity for the two Kings to discuss their differences. They seemed petty enough now … to all except Henry.
Philip, who had planned in any case to go on a crusade with Richard, knowing that Richard had already taken the cross, declared his intention immediately. And the Archbishop of Tyre in a moving ceremony presented him with the cross. There was nothing that Henry could do but take it also. He doubted though that he would ever carry out his vows. He could only regard this as a temporary way out of his difficulties. Their men followed them and so numerous were they that crosses of different colours had to be handed to the different nationalities – red for the French, white for the English and green for the Flemings.
Philip and Henry now conferred not as enemies but as allies and vowed together what they would do to enable them to set out on their crusade together. They would need time to prepare and they decided that it would take a year to get together the money they would need and to assemble their equipment. They planned to leave at the Easter of 1189.
They discussed together how the money could be raised and Henry suggested that each man who did not accompany them should give one-tenth of his possessions to the cause and those who did should set aside a tenth of theirs to provide themselves with what they would need.
This seemed fair enough and in great relief Henry set out for England.
He found Alice in a state of anxiety, for news had reached her that the King of France was determined on her marriage.
He embraced her with fervour. The very sight of her revived his youth.
‘What news, my lord?’ she asked anxiously.
‘All is well. God is with me. It is St Thomas I think, for it was like a miracle. Your brother is a hard man, Alice. He is so different from your father. He is sharp and sly and I think he is doing his best to destroy me.’
She shuddered.
‘Have no fear, sweetheart, I’ll be a match for him. He’s but a boy and I am a man of great experience. He was going to demand you for Richard, and then the Archbishop of Tyre appeared with the terrible news. How could we discuss our affairs then? There was only one thing for us to do and that was band together and go on our crusade.’
‘You will go on a crusade!’
‘It will come to nothing. Many times in my life has there been talk of crusades and never have I been on one yet. Nay. Something will happen, depend upon it, and I shall be prevented from going to Jerusalem. I have my duties here. I can see no virtue in leaving my own lands to disaster and rebellion maybe, while I go fighting to bring the Holy City back to Christendom. Now if I were a man without responsibilities … but I am not, Alice. So fear not. We are together and there is only one who could part us two.’
‘Who?’ she asked.
‘Death,’ he replied. She shivered and he said: ‘Now I have made you fret. Smile, Alice, smile for me. You do not know how I have longed to see you do that.’
So she smiled and they forgot all these alien forces which sought to part them, chief of them all Death.
Richard was delighted to hear that the conference between Philip and Henry had been abandoned that they might join together and plan a crusade.
His nature was such that, much as he disliked his father and much as he was drawn to Philip, he could not forget that he was Henry’s son and that the kings of France were the natural enemies of the kings of England. He did not wish to be disloyal to his father and if only Henry would have met him half-way he would have been prepared to strive for harmony between them.
The fact that Henry was now pledged to go on a crusade pleased him. It made hopes of a reconciliation between them possible.
He wrote to his father asking him to supply him with money for his crusade. Also as he was to go on such a dangerous venture he thought he should ask that the knights and bishops of England swear fealty to him as his father’s eldest son and heir.
This was the crux of the matter. It was tantamount to asking Henry to deny the rumours that he was planning to disinherit Richard in favour of John.
He was no longer a boy. He was a man who needed assurance that his future was secure; and this matter of the crusades had brought the question to a head. Everything depended on Henry’s reply. If he agreed that Richard must come to England and receive the oaths of allegiance then rumour had lied.
The King must mean him to be his heir and once the oaths had been sworn he would be accepted.
Henry’s reply was characteristic of him but it was an indication to Richard of the true state of affairs.
They would not go separately on the road to Jerusalem. Richard need not concern himself with raising money, for the King and his son would share everything together.
And no mention of the oath that should be sworn to secure his inheritance.
When Richard read the reply his eyes were as cold as steel and fury raged within him which was none the less fierce because he did not show it in a furious outburst.
This was the end of all hope of harmony between them.
By his reply and more by his omission the King had shown Richard that he was against him.
‘And he will find,’ said Richard, ‘that those who work against me will discover in me a bitter enemy.’
It was inevitable that conflict should break out between Philip and Henry. When the excitement about the crusade had died down, as it must do for the preparations were long and enthusiasm could not remain at fever pitch, Philip remembered that the greatest goal of his life was to drive Henry out of France and bring every province under one crown; Henry on the other hand was determined not to lose his inheritance and that land which he had added to it through his clever diplomacy. Each was firm in his purpose and as they were completely opposed so there must be conflict.
Philip was again calling for a conference. He knew that Richard was wavering. He had become involved in hostilities against the Count of Toulouse, a matter which did not greatly upset Philip for it gave him an opportunity to reproach Henry with his son’s conduct. He was, however, obliged to go to the assistance of the Count of Toulouse which meant that for a time Richard and Philip were on opposing sides. Philip had no intention of letting this affect his relationship with Richard, but the fact that, as Henry saw it, there was trouble between Aquitaine and France, meant that he could no longer stay in England and he prepared to cross to Normandy.
He was beset by great anxieties. He knew that the brief respite was over. Philip would not allow it to last long. Moreover the people of England, who had long been satisfied with his rather stern but just rule, were now complaining of the Saladin Tithe which he had imposed for the crusade. If asked they would declare that they were true Christians and that the thought of the Holy Relics being in the hands of the Infidel was distasteful to them; but when it meant that one-tenth of their possessions must be given up for the sa
ke of an attempt to retrieve them, they were less enthusiastic. Life in England was not so comfortable that it could not be improved on; and it seemed that the money which would be taken from the country was needed within.
There had long been a murmuring discontent against the forest laws. Like his Norman ancestors Henry was devoted to the hunt. It brought him comfort and solace as it had to the Conqueror and there was no relaxation like it for a man as active as he had always been. To preserve the forests for his use – again like his ancestors – he had found it necessary to keep to the harsh laws they had introduced. He had brought out a legal system of his own devising; and the main objects of this were to keep order and at the same time to replenish continually the royal exchequer. In the governing of a country there was a constant need for money and it seemed an excellent plan to him to gain as much by imposing fines as by gathering taxes, although of course the latter was necessary too.
Determined to restore the order which had been lost through the reign of mild Stephen wrongdoers were punished by death. Many were hanged and many broken on the wheel and it was a common sight to come upon a dead man hanging from a tree or gallows.
This the people accepted because it did mean a suppression of crime and was a benefit to the law-abiding members of the population. What they would never agree to was the punishment meted out to those who infringed the forestry laws. Any man trespassing in the King’s forest or killing a deer or wild boar when his family might be starving invoked terrible penalties. For offending against these laws, arms, feet or hands were cut off; eyes were put out; men were castrated; and if the crime was considered to be a great one, they were boiled alive.
Many of these sad victims would be seen begging by the roadside and people shuddered at the sight of them for they knew that fate could have befallen so many of them. It was merely a sign that they had invaded and made free of the King’s forests.
Because of the King’s good laws they accepted this; but when what they considered unfair taxes were levied, they remembered. They remembered now.
So there was a further anxiety for Henry. The people of England who, up to this time, had given him little cause for anxiety were restive and complaining of his rule. With this to torment him and the discomfort of his ailment together with the awareness that his body was losing its exceptional vitality, he set out for France.
It was necessary to talk with Philip; if the two Kings could come to some agreement, their ministers told them, they could avoid the consequences of a bitter war, which at heart neither of them wanted.
Philip was eager to talk. His great aim was to prove to Richard that his father was deceiving him. He wanted to force Henry to admit this. But he was young and Henry was old and crafty as a fox; he was an adept at making promises with apparently genuine honesty only to have no intention of ever keeping them. Each King knew the goal of the other; Philip to take back everything and Henry to hold on to it.
They met under an old elm tree at Gisors which was well known as that tree beneath which the kings of France and England had often met to attempt to sort out their differences. The English arriving there first took the shady part and the French were obliged to wait in the sun, and as it was August and the heat intense, the sun-drenched French could scarcely bear it. No satisfactory conclusion could be reached and Philip was so angry because he and his men had been obliged to endure the sun’s heat while his opponents enjoyed the shade, and shifty Henry had apparently got the better of him, that in a rage he ordered that elm to be cut down so that no more conferences could be held beneath it.
He sent for Richard and, as his over-lord, commanded him to come to him without delay.
When Richard arrived he embraced him warmly.
‘We have been apart too long,’ he said.
Richard replied, ‘My lord, I love your company but I am my father’s son and I cannot with a good conscience work against him.’
‘Can you not, when he works continuously against you? Has he not denied you your inheritance?’
‘He has not said this. He has merely implied that he will give me no power and that I must wait until his death.’
‘It is not what is in his mind. I am going to call a conference and you shall be there. I will make my demands in such a manner that he is forced to betray his true designs to you. Then you and I will stand together against him, the friends we were meant to be, as I knew when you came to me as my guest. Tell me, Richard, can you bear to know the truth?’
‘I wish to know the truth more than anything.’
‘Then wait and I will confront him with my terms and we shall see.’
The two Kings faced each other. Richard was with them.
‘I offer you,’ said Philip, ‘all the lands I have taken in this last conflict. Richard shall keep what he has gained. I ask that he be given my sister the Princess Alice as his wife and you command your nobles, Archbishops, bishops and all men of authority to swear fealty to Richard as the heir of your dominions.’
Henry was cornered. He was asked to give up the two things he had sworn never to give up. The first Alice. She was his and he was going to keep her his. Moreover, he did not wish Richard to rule after him. England and Normandy were for John. Richard could keep Aquitaine but it was England for John.
What could he do? This was not a time for prevarication. He was caught at last.
The French King was smiling mischievously; Richard was looking at him steadily, and Henry remained silent.
‘You have heard the King of France, my lord,’ said Richard. ‘Swear to me that I shall have my bride and that I shall be acknowledged as your heir to which, on account of my being your eldest living son, I have every right.’
In vain Henry sought a way out. There was none. He could promise, yes, but he could see by the purpose in the eyes of Philip and Richard that he would be forced to carry out his promises without delay.
He cried out suddenly: ‘No. I will not.’
Richard looked at him in some amazement. Then he said quietly: ‘Now at last I see that you mean this. I would not believe it could be possible, but now I know it is.’
He turned to the King of France and unbuckling his sword he gave it to him.
‘My over-lord and suzerain, I offer you my allegiance,’ he said.
Richard had taken Philip’s hands between his and Philip stooped quickly and kissed Richard’s.
Their eyes met and those watching marvelled at the tenderness between them.
Henry was thunderstruck. Before his eyes his own son was swearing allegiance to his enemy. Philip was his liege lord of course on account of Aquitaine, but this was a pledge to stand with the King of France against his own father.
Philip said quickly that he would agree to a truce until January when they would meet again. In the meantime perhaps the King of England would consider his demands and if he could not agree to them, then war could not be avoided.
Philip had achieved his purpose. He had proved to Richard that his father would not accept him, had decided to disinherit him and set up John in his place.
When the conference was over Henry had the mortification of seeing his son ride away side by side in most affectionate manner with the King of France.
Chapter XIX
THE DEATH OF THE EAGLE
Christmas came. Henry was still in France and spent it at Saumur. He was feeling very sick and old and was in constant pain. He knew that Richard and Philip were together. Several meetings had been suggested but he had been able to plead illness with good cause. He had great comfort from young Henry’s old friend and knight-at-arms, William the Marshall, and his own bastard son Geoffrey who had shown him more genuine affection than any of his sons ever had.
‘I cannot understand,’ he told William, ‘why my sons have turned against me. Think of it, good Marshall, Richard is with my enemy.’
‘It is because he is your eldest son, my lord,’ answered William, who was always truthful, ‘and he believes that you are trying to rob h
im of his inheritance.’
‘I shall bestow my crown where I please,’ answered Henry stubbornly. ‘Aquitaine was always for Richard.’
As the winter passed he grew a little better and when in June Philip suggested a further conference the two Kings met at La Ferté Bernard. With Philip came Richard, for the two were inseparable, and as Philip was going to insist on Richard’s recognition as heir to the throne of England and Normandy he brought with him several men of the Church so that if Henry could be forced into making an oath there would be plenty present to witness it.
‘We want peace,’ said Philip. ‘We bicker over our petty quarrels when the Holy City calls to us. Let us make peace, brother. You know my terms. The marriage of Richard to Alice and your acknowledgement that he is heir to your dominions as is his right as your eldest living son. Richard has sworn to go ere long to the Holy Land. Your son John must take the cross and accompany him.’
Henry narrowed his eyes. John accompany Richard! He knew what that meant. They did not trust him nor John and they wanted to know where John was and what he was doing. If he were taking part in a crusade to the Holy Land he could not seize the crown of England on his father’s death.
‘No,’ thundered Henry. ‘I will not agree. I will give my consent to Alice’s marriage to John.’
He looked at one of the Cardinals whom he had bribed to stand for him. He had wheedled his way into the man’s confidence explaining that while the King of France was hostile to him he could not go on the proposed crusade to the Holy Land. He dared not. If he could be proved right in this argument between them, if the King of France would accept his terms, then there would be no more delay.
The Cardinal had been tempted by the rich gifts of the King of England and now declared that Philip should accept Henry’s terms. What mattered it if the Princess Alice took Prince John instead of Prince Richard, particularly as it was clear that Henry would make John his heir?