The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean - Страница 30

‘I am, Henry.’

‘Then cease to be. I tell you that you are as hearty as you ever were. You have not yet seen forty winters. There are many more left to you.’

Geoffrey took the plant from his hat and studied it – the little planta genista which had given him his soubriquet. He held it out to Henry who took it wonderingly. ‘I shall invest you with lands and possessions without delay, Henry. You are my eldest son. You have brothers. We are surrounded by ambitious men. You are young yet...oh, but a man I grant you. From your mother you will have Normandy and England – from me, Anjou and Maine. To your brother Geoffrey I shall leave three castles in Anjou, but when you have become King of England you must give him Maine and Anjou.’

‘I care not to hear you talk of death,’ said Henry.

‘Bernard prophesied the death of the heir to the King of France and you know full well that almost immediately a wild pig entangled itself with his horse’s legs and threw him, and there on the ground was a sharp flint that broke open his head and entered his brain.’

‘I would not allow a man to prophesy my death, Father. If he dared do so I should call it treason.’

‘He is not my subject, Henry.’ His face lightened. ‘It may be you are right. But at the same time I am going to make a gesture. You and I are going to Paris and there I wish you to be formally acknowledged as Duke of Normandy. You know that Stephen of England has his eyes on Normandy for his son, so I wish there to be a formal ceremony during which Louis receives you as the rightful Duke, and you swear allegiance to him as your suzerain. I fear what would happen if I were to die suddenly.’

‘You are not going to die, Father. I’ll prophesy that, and why should you not believe your son instead of that old ghoul Bernard?’

Geoffrey smiled and taking the sprig from his son replaced it in his hat.

‘All the same, Henry, I wish us to go to Paris, and we shall make preparations to depart without delay.’

‘Nothing would please me more although I have just left the French court. Now listen to my news which will make you smile. The French King and Queen are not on good terms.’

‘I know it well. The whole world knows it.’ Geoffrey smiled, remembering passionate moments with Eleonore.

‘There is talk of a divorce.’

‘Suger will never allow it. It would mean the loss of Aquitaine to the French Crown.’

‘The Queen is a very forceful woman.’

‘I know it well!’

‘And she has set her heart on divorce. In fact she has decided to marry again and has chosen her husband.’

‘She should get her divorce first before she goes as far as that.’

‘I have no doubt that she will succeed. Whom do you think she has chosen for her bridegroom?’

Henry was smiling so complacently that his father looked at him with astonishment.

‘Yes, Father. She has chosen me.’

‘You!’ spluttered Geoffrey. ‘That is quite out of the question.’

‘I thought you would be delighted.’

‘Never!’ cried Geoffrey vehemently.

‘Have you forgotten that she would bring us Aquitaine?’

‘You cannot marry that woman.’

‘And why indeed not?’

‘She...she is married to the King.’

‘But Father, there is to be a divorce.’

‘There never will be.’

‘There will be. And if there is and she is free, you and my mother will rejoice. You must. Think of Aquitaine.’

‘You cannot marry Eleonore,’ cried Geoffrey.

‘I can when she is free.’

Geoffrey was silent for a few moments. ‘Nay,’ he said.

‘You could not...not if she were free and even though she brought you Aquitaine. I would never give my consent.’

Henry’s temper, which could be terrible, was beginning to rise.

‘Should I need your consent?’

‘You would need it if you would be my heir.’ Geoffrey looked steadily at his son. ‘In view of what happened between myself and the Queen of France I would never consent to the marriage.’

‘What mean you by that?’

‘I have known her well...intimately. You understand?’

Henry stared at his father.

Geoffrey had risen to his feet. He strode to the door.

He looked back at his son. ‘For that reason,’ he said, ‘I would never give my consent to the marriage, never...never...’

They were on their way to Paris. Henry had raged and fumed. He had cursed his father, the old Abbe Suger and everyone who was putting an obstacle between him and his marriage with Eleonore.

So she was a woman of strong passions. He had known that. So she had adventured during the crusade she had made to the Holy Land. There were rumours about her relationship with her uncle and a Saracen, and his own father had admitted to committing adultery with her. Well, she was Eleonore and unique. The fact that she had passed through these adventures made her all the more desirable to him. Drama encircled her. Many a prince had his bride found for him and he was given a simpering virgin for whom he could have little fancy. He was not like other princes. He had always known he was unique. A great future lay before him and that future was going to be shared with Eleonore. The obstacles which people were putting in his way were going to be thrust aside. He would arrange that.

And now to Paris. He would see her there. She would watch the ceremony when he swore fealty to her erstwhile husband, and at night he would creep into her bedchamber where they would make love and plans.

So although he had raged against his father and all those who stood in his way, he was now content. He was certain of success. In the end and when it came it would be all the more enjoyable because it had not been easy to attain.

What a joy it was to embrace her, to indulge in that violent and compulsive love-making. There was no one like her.

Eleonore was different – a tigress compared with whom all other women were tame lambs. Moreover she could bring him Aquitaine. His father was being foolish to stand out against a marriage which could bring so much to Anjou and Normandy – and in due course England, and all because Eleonore had shared his bed. Poor Eleonore! A passionate woman married to a monk. What could be expected but that she should try out men now and then? It made her all the more appreciative of him, Henry, just as his amorous adventures made him certain that there was no woman in the world to compare with her.

She was equally delighted with him. His love-making lacked the grace of that of Raymond of Antioch, but Henry’s was as much to her taste. His youth was so appealing. She was sure that Henry was the man she wished to be her husband.

On the day of the ceremony she sat beside Louis on the dais and with glowing eyes watched the approach of her lover.

Henry knelt before the King of France and asked that his title of Duke of Normandy might be confirmed by him. If the King would grant his permission he would swear fealty to him and remember as long as he held that title that he was the vassal of the King of France.

He unbuckled his sword and took off his spurs. He laid them at the feet of the King of France and in return the King took a handful of earth which had been brought to him for this purpose as a symbol that he accepted Henry Plantagenet as Duke of Normandy.

Then there was feasting and celebration with Geoffrey seated on one side of the King and Henry on the other, and the comforting knowledge that the powerful Count of Anjou and the King of France were allies.

The lovers found opportunities to be together. They made love and talked of the future.

His father was against a marriage; the Abbe Suger was against it; but they would find a way.

‘My father must be won over,’ said Henry. ‘As for the old Abbe he can’t last forever. He looks more feeble every day.’

‘It must be soon,’ said Eleonore, ‘for I have sworn to be your wife and Louis is not and never has been what I want in a husband.’