The Prince of Darkness (22 page)

‘You would need to be – so young and yet a wife. I was
much older than you when I married.’

Isabella wondered what she herself would be like when she was Berengaria’s age.

It was pleasant to bask in her admiration. At the same time there was something depressing about Richard’s queen. She was so clearly an unhappy woman and she was too given to talking of the past. She kept bringing John’s sister Joanna into the conversation, and Joanna was dead – had died in childbirth. Apparently she and Berengaria had been great friends.

To talk of women dying in childbirth was not a pleasant topic for a young wife, although John had said that he did not want children yet because they would spoil her body and he liked it as it was.

Berengaria explained to John what a desperate position she was in. She had settled in Le Mans which was part of her dowry but she owned lands in England and she hoped that John would compensate her for these.

John was affable: as always he was ready to promise because he never considered it necessary to honour his promises.

‘My dear sister,’ he said, ‘you may rest assured that I will do everything within my power to help you. Now let us see what I can do. You shall have Bayeux and there are two castles in Anjou which shall be yours. It is only right that they should be. Richard would have wished it,’ he added piously.

Berengaria wept a little. ‘I wish Richard could hear you now,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he thought you would be so good to me.’

‘I am accustomed to being maligned,’ replied John. ‘Of course I was wild in my youth. What man worth his salt is not? But with responsibilities one changes. I have decided to give you a thousand marks a year.’

She kissed his hand and told him Heaven would reward him.

‘For,’ she said, ‘but for you, I should be little more than a pauper and have no alternative but to throw myself on to the mercy of my family. I had considered going to live with Blanche, my sister, but much as I love her I should hate to accept her bounty.’

‘You may trust me to see that you are well provided for,’ said John.

When she left Chinon Berengaria took an affectionate farewell of John and his younger Queen.

‘What will become of her, I wonder,’ said Isabella as they watched her ride away.

‘She will go and live with her sister Blanche of Champagne,’ said John with a smile, who had no intention of giving her what he had promised. Why should he, he reasoned. Let her sister provide for her.

‘Richard was never a husband to her,’ said Isabella. ‘She must have been very miserable.’

John gripped her arms, putting his face close to hers. ‘What would you have done, my desiring and desirable one, had you been married to Richard?’

‘Find lovers,’ she answered promptly.

He laughed, but he remembered that later.

When the day arrived for John to meet the Lusignans in a court set up by the King of France and presided over by him, John failed to put in an appearance.

This was exactly what Philip was hoping for. He had taken advantage of the truce between them and was prepared now to go into action. By not appearing John had given Philip the excuse he needed to go against him. As a vassal of Philip for Normandy he had insulted the King by flouting his wishes.

John, said Philip, must be taught a lesson.

He sent to Brittany asking that Arthur come to him as he would knight him and accept his fealty as Count of Anjou, Duke of Brittany and all the land with the exception of Normandy which was now in the hands of John.

Guy de Thouars, realising that this meant Philip was now prepared to help Arthur against John, most joyfully travelled with his young stepson to rendezvous with Philip.

This was the signal for John’s enemies to rise; and the Lusignans caught up with Arthur at Tours and there pledged to support him in his efforts to take from John not only his Continental possessions but the crown of England as well.

In the Abbey at Fontevraud the aged Eleanor was resting after the strenuous journey to Castile. She could congratulate herself that although it had impaired her health still further yet it had been a success and her granddaughter was indeed married to the son of the King of France. She had never lost sight of the fact that it was in that direction that real danger lay.

John was more or less firmly established on the throne of England; if he could keep a strong hand on his Continental possessions he would get through that dangerous period which followed accession to the throne. He was married to a beautiful young wife and if they had sons the people would be pleased to see the succession assured. The threat came from Arthur, of course; but now that Constance was dead he must have lost a certain amount of support. Eleanor could not mourn Constance – a woman whom she had always disliked. Perhaps Constance was too forceful, too much like herself. Looking back it was easy to understand that she wanted her son to have
what she had considered his rights and there were many men who would have agreed with Constance. After all, her son was the son of an elder brother. Constance had made an error of judgement when she had refused to allow Arthur to be brought up in England.

Had she? Would Arthur have been alive if she had?

She had always prided herself on never blinking facts. What was she doing now? Was she being like Henry, refusing to see what was obvious? She had given her allegiance to John because he was her son and meant more to her than her grandson did – moreover, at the back of her mind was her dislike of Constance. I would never allow that woman to rule, she had promised herself; and as Arthur was a minor, very much under the influence of his mother, it seemed a likely conclusion that if ever he became King, Constance would indeed be the power behind the throne.

Well, she had given her support to John and so had William Marshal: and with two such adherents he had won the crown. It was now his responsibility to keep it; and she had earned a rest.

It was strange that her idea of pleasure now should be to lie late abed, to listen to the bells, to join in the life of the abbey, attending prayers, giving herself to meditation, retiring early, reading, resting, sleeping. It was what one came to at eighty.

Not that she had become pious. She had always been too honest with herself for that. She could say, Yes, I have led a sinful life and it would have been better for others and myself, too, if I had practised virtue. ‘But God,’ she said, ‘You made me as I am. You should not complain. Had You wanted me different, You should not have sent me into the world equipped as I was.’

Trying to find some virtue in herself she could say with
honesty that she had loved her children, and had unswervingly worked for their good. Even though Richard had been her favourite, she had never failed any of the others. And to think that she had outlived so many of them, so that of five beloved sons there was only John left!

John, King of England, was safely married and deeply enamoured of a young wife; soon they would be giving her a grandson. She could rest in peace.

But it was not to be. This was due to herself, she would be the first to admit. Although she wished to live quietly she must know what was happening and she sent out some of her servants whose duty it was to discover what people were saying, or if there was revolt anywhere, and come back and report to her.

It was in this way that she learned that the Lusignans were rising. She had expected that, of course. They were a proud family and not of a nature meekly to accept a wrong done to them. That they would make trouble with the Count of Angoulême was certain, but that was a small matter which should be comparatively easy to settle. There was more than that.

The French King had honoured Arthur, which meant that he was inviting him to take up arms against John. Philip was on the march; he had already harried the borders of Normandy and one or two castles had fallen to his forces. The Lusignans were joining forces with Arthur and Guy de Thouars, and a mighty uprising against John was coming into being.

More news came. Philip was advancing into Normandy within ten miles of Rouen.

How could Eleanor remain at Fontevraud when such disaster was threatening her son? Clear-headed, with the
judgement born of long experience, she knew that there was work for her to do. She must hold Aquitaine for John otherwise the Lusignans with Arthur would take it.

The days of peace were over. It mattered not that she was old, her joints stiff, and that her body cried out for rest. She would not have been Eleanor if she had not prepared herself for a journey, and that day set out for Poitiers.

There she proposed to fortify the castle and hold it against intruders.

She forgot that she was old. The fighting spirit was as strong as ever and in her heart she was glad to be at the centre of events again.

Arthur with his stepfather, Guy de Thouars, and with a formidable army behind him had reached the town of Tours, where he rested for a night at the castle. Since his mother had died he had become more self-reliant. Now he must make his own decisions without his mother to remind him that he was after all only a boy. People around him had become more respectful; they came to him whereas once they had gone to his mother and he was realising how important he was and relishing his position. Being so young he was inclined to give himself an aura of authority to remind people of his importance lest they should forget it. Even Guy’s attitude towards him had changed since his mother’s death. His was a great inheritance out of which he had been cheated by his wicked uncle.

‘But we are going to win back that which has been stolen,’ declared Arthur.

‘Rest assured,’ cried Guy, ‘that is our intent. I have promised your mother to serve you with my life and that I will do.’

His sister Eleanor, still grieving for her mother’s death, joined them and asked if there was any news.

‘My dear sister,’ said Arthur, ‘you should not be with us. This is no place for women.’

‘Nonsense, Arthur,’ replied Eleanor, ‘I want to be with you and Guy and so shall I be.’

‘We could forbid you,’ Arthur reminded her; and she smiled and told him that although he might be the Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and King of England as well as the Duke of Brittany, he was still her young brother.

Arthur frowned, displeased. Everybody must understand that he had put his childhood behind him.
Everybody
, he emphasised.

Eleanor slipped her arm through his. ‘What airs you give yourself these days, brother!’ she said.

‘Arthur is growing more aware of his position every day,’ said Guy. ‘From here we shall be going to Poitiers,’ he went on. ‘Eleanor, Arthur is right. You should not be with the army.’

‘Where should I go?’ asked Eleanor. ‘To Brittany? There to wonder what is happening to you all? I couldn’t bear it. Now that Mother is gone I want to be with you and Arthur.’

‘We shall send you away if there are any signs of fighting,’ Arthur told her. ‘I’ll not have my sister in danger.’

Guy smiled at her. Let the boy have his way, he implied. It is right for him to feel his position for he will be a ruler one day and must prepare himself for it.

While they were speaking messengers came with news that Queen Eleanor had left Fontevraud and was on her way to Poitiers.