The Prince of Darkness (21 page)

Chapter VIII

T
he Duchess Constance lay in her bed, feeling exhausted.

She had given birth to a daughter, the Princess Alice, and had, since the child had been born, felt her strength slowly ebbing away.

She was listless, idly wondering what the future held, and with her was certainty that she would not be there to see it. The child lay in its cradle, a healthy little girl; the third of her children. What would become of that little one? There would not be the storm about her inheritance as there was about that of Arthur – yes, and even Eleanor, for Eleanor was the granddaughter of Henry II and as such in certain circumstances could be an heir to England, Normandy and Anjou.

She stirred uneasily and her daughter, who had been seated at the window, came at once to the bed.

‘Is there anything you need, Mother?’ she asked.

‘Nay, Daughter. But sit and talk to me a while.’

‘Should you not reserve your strength?’

‘For what, my child … death?’

‘Do not talk so, Mother. You are going to be well. It was just a difficult birth and it has exhausted you.’

‘I always believed that one should face the truth, however unpleasant. I hope you will do that, Eleanor.’

‘I shall try to, Mother.’

‘I lie here and wonder how it will end. I have terrible fears for Arthur. Sometimes my mind is plunged in melancholy. I cannot say exactly why but it is like some terrible foreboding.’

‘It is because you are weak, Mother, that you feel thus.’

‘No, ’tis not that. It is as though I can peer into the future and see horror there.’

‘If it eases you to talk of your fear, Mother, do so.’

‘How can I talk of that which I do not understand? I see it there and you and Arthur are at the centre of it. It is my punishment for my ambition perhaps. I was so delighted when I married your father because he was the son of a king and I hoped one day that Arthur would take his place.’

‘It may be that he will.’

She shook her head.

‘Mother, what has come over you? You always believed that one day he would have what was his by right.’

‘Yes, I believed it and I worked for it. Your stepfather Guy has worked for it. Listen to him, Eleanor, when I’m gone.’

‘You are not going,’ said Eleanor firmly.

Constance smiled. ‘I would you and Arthur were a little older. I wish I could have lived another five years. That was all I would ask.’

‘You are young yet and newly married. What do you think your husband would say if he heard you talk like this?’

‘He will grieve for me sorely, Eleanor. He truly loves me.’

‘Of course; as I do and Arthur.’

‘I know. And it is because I love you all so dearly that it grieves me so much to leave you. Eleanor, listen to Guy. Take
care of your brother. Oh, I know he is a duke and thinks himself a man. But I greatly fear John.’

‘Yes, Mother, I know. So do we all.’

‘John is a monster. He has his follies but do not underestimate them, my child. Even now he is with the King of France. What do you think they are plotting?’

‘Philip is our friend, Mother, not John’s.’

‘You should not put your trust in kings, daughter. Philip is our friend today and John’s tomorrow. Philip’s desire is to get for himself what John now owns and is by right Arthur’s. That is Philip’s part in all this.’

‘He has been good to Arthur.’

‘Only to serve his own purpose. I would like to see Arthur stand alone, with mighty armies behind him. I would like to see him and Guy ride together to victory.’

‘It will come.’

‘Eleanor, watch over your brother. Do not let him be too trusting, particularly of his Uncle John.’

Eleanor swore that she would do her best to carry out her mother’s wish but she insisted that Constance would soon be rising from her bed and doing all that she had done before. She was merely suffering from the depression which often follows a birth.

So it seemed for a week or so and then one day her condition changed for the worse. She sent for Arthur, Eleanor and Guy.

She said: ‘This is indeed the end. My loved ones, take care of each other.’

They knelt by her bed, Arthur who was but thirteen years old, Eleanor who was not much older, and Guy who had loved her for years and had so recently married her.

Thus died Arthur’s mother, and that day the young Duke lost his best friend and adviser.

John was at Chinon with Isabella. He was amused to think how anxious the Lusignans would be to have him so close. He laughed to Isabella about it as they lay in bed together.

‘I’ll warrant they will keep a close watch on the tower. Imagine it, sweetheart, they won’t know from one day to the next when I shall be bearing down on them with an avenging force. Hugh will be trembling in his shoes.’

Isabella frowned. ‘It is not his custom to tremble,’ she said.

‘Oh, you would defend him then?’

‘I would speak the truth,’ she answered, a little defiantly.

‘You are but a child,’ he said. ‘What do you know of these matters?’

‘I know Hugh better than you do. You forget I lived in his castle for a while.’

‘Do not remind me of it,’ he said, ‘or I might fall into a rage. You have seen my rage … once. Before I had you I was always in and out of them.’

‘Then I have brought you some good, for I confess when you lie on the floor and kick you look … mad.’

She had knelt up on the bed, her hair falling about her shoulders. He lay back, feasting his eyes on her.

He caught her wrist.

‘Are you trying to anger me, little Isabella?’

‘I must speak the truth,’ she answered.

‘Virtuous little wife,’ he said. ‘I too will speak truth and tell you that I like not to hear you defending Hugh.’

‘I do not defend him. I say that he is no coward. Ask anyone. They will tell you the same. He fears no man – not you nor the
King of France, and if you say he is trembling in his shoes I will say that I do not believe he is.’

He pulled her down beside him. ‘If you were not so pretty I might be angry with you.’

‘Why should I worry about that when I am pretty enough to divert your anger? And I will tell you this, that if I were not, I would still say what I thought.’

‘She has spirit, this Queen of England.’

‘Would you wish her otherwise?’ she asked him, stooping over him and putting her soft cheek against his.

He caught her in a fierce embrace. ‘I would not have her other than she is,’ he said.

‘So thought I,’ she answered.

But later he remembered that she had spoken too warmly in Hugh’s favour and he felt displeased.

There was to be a visitor to Chinon. It was Queen Berengaria. She had heard that the King was resting there a while and would come to visit him and his Queen.

‘Poor Berengaria!’ said John to Isabella. ‘She had a sad time with Richard. He was a strange man. He didn’t care for women.
You
wouldn’t have liked that, my Isabella, would you?’

‘Perhaps he would have been different had I been his queen.’

‘Ho. The vanity! Nay, Richard chose his loves from minstrel boys. You know the story of Blondel. I used to wish I’d cut out his tongue before he went singing round the castles of Europe.’

‘You were not fond of your brother?’

‘Fond of Richard, who took the throne from me when my father had promised it to me!’

‘And Richard promised it to Arthur at one time. Poor John, you were hard done by.’

‘Ah, but I came into my own, did I not?’

‘You did.’

‘And secured the greatest prize in the world … snatched it right from under the nose of that Hugh of whom you speak so highly. Why so? What happened that you should grow warm in praise of him? By God, if he ever laid hands on you I’d have him flayed alive.’

She laughed up at him provocatively. ‘Forget not that I was betrothed to him.’

‘And did he take advantage of that? You were a virgin when you came to me, I’ll swear.’

‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘I was a virgin but a somewhat regretful one.’

‘You mean … you tried to seduce him and he would have none of it?’

‘He is a man such as you could not understand, John.’

‘And you did?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I did. He thought me too young and would never touch me.’

‘Different from me, eh?’

‘As different as it is possible to be.’

‘And now I have him, Isabella. He is going to be brought to Court and there he will be sentenced to fight a duel, and I shall make sure he is not the victor.’

‘Are you afraid of him?’

‘Afraid of a petty count! What mean you?’

‘That I might like him better than I like you.’

She had gone too far. She had seen the red lights in his eyes.

She ran her lips over his face and murmured: ‘Could you be as foolish as that? Poor Hugh, if he could but hear you now.’

She knew how to rouse him and she did.

There was a slight change in their relationship. She was no longer the child who marvelled at everything that was happening to her; she was taking a great deal of the pomp and luxury, the sexual excitement for granted. She had a will of her own and had never been faced with serious opposition.

She knew though that John was capable of the utmost cruelty. At the moment he wanted nothing but her; yet when he had talked of Hugh and had believed for a moment that she was more interested in her one-time suitor than he wished her to be, there had been such vicious cruelty momentarily unveiled in his expressive face that she had felt a tremor of alarm.

It was pleasant to welcome Berengaria.

‘Poor Berengaria!’ Isabella called her. What a sad life she had had! John joked about her relationship with Richard, when Berengaria had always been watching and hoping, and Richard ignoring her.

She was sad too but she was clearly impressed by Isabella’s startling beauty.

They talked together in Isabella’s apartment and Berengaria said how pleased she was to see John so happily married.

‘It is wonderful,’ said Berengaria wistfully, ‘to know such happiness as you must. It is obvious that the King is deeply enamoured of you. You are so young. Is it possible that you are not yet fourteen years of age?’

‘’Tis true,’ replied Isabella. ‘But I believe I am in advance of my years.’