The Revolt of the Eaglets (29 page)

‘When is Alice going to her husband, Father?’ asked Joanna.

God’s eyes, he thought, are they talking of it in the nurseries!

‘All in good time, my love.’

‘She is an old lady,’ said John.

‘Well, hardly that, but older than you, shall we say. Now you are going to have a wonderful wedding dress, Joanna. It will be specially embroidered and set with many sparkling gems. You will like that, eh, my love?’

She clasped her hands and turned her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh, yes, my lord.’

He kissed her. Poor child, he thought, reconciled by a wedding dress.

He went to see Alice. What if he should be forced to give her up? He couldn’t. When he had found the perfect mistress he intended to keep her.

She was older now, of an age to understand, and he wanted to share the burden with her. He wanted to make her understand how much he cared for her since he would go to so much trouble to keep her.

‘Alice, my love,’ he said, ‘they are plaguing me to give you over to Richard.’

She clung to him. ‘I will not go. I
will
not! I shall stay with you. You won’t send me away.’

‘Dost think I would ever send you away, sweetheart, if it were possible to keep you?’

‘Then I am safe for it is only if you wish to be rid of me that I shall have to go.’

He stroked her hair. She trusted him. How could he allow her trust to be betrayed?

‘By God’s eyes, teeth and lips, Alice,’ he swore, ‘none shall take you from me.’

Then he took her into a fierce embrace and made urgent love to her.

Then he laughed aloud and whispered: ‘But we shall have to be crafty, Alice my love. We have to delude your father and Richard. Dost doubt I can do this?’

‘I know you can do it.’

‘And the Pope as well, Alice. He is on our track.’

‘We shall defy them all.’

‘Can you do that, Alice, think you?’

‘You can,’ she said. ‘You can do anything you wish.’

That was how a mistress should be – loving, docile and with complete faith.

He would keep Alice. He had nothing to fear. He would outwit the Pope and the Cardinals. They were afraid of him in any case. It was merely a matter of whom they feared most – him or Louis. Louis was a feeble old man and young Philip was a weakling; whereas he was called the lion for his strength.

He would hold her no matter who came against him.

Little Joanna had gone off to marry William of Sicily, taking with her the promised wedding dress which had cost over a hundred pounds. Poor child, she was delighted with the dress. Her father hoped she would be happy and not too homesick. She could travel through France at the head of a brilliant cavalcade to St Gilles where she would be met by the Bishop of Norwich, whom Henry had sent to Sicily some months before to negotiate the marriage. With him would be the dignitaries of Sicily waiting to conduct her to her future husband.

The King took comfort in the fact that William of Sicily was an old man and would therefore be kind to the child and Joanna herself was such a beautiful and engaging creature that he must be pleased with her.

It was no use being saddened by her departure. Her sisters had gone before her at a tender age: Matilda to the Duke of Saxony and Eleanor to the King of Castile.

And so one’s daughters pass from one’s care, and often do much good; but he believed that his elder daughters had been brought up on the same bitter milk as his sons, which was not surprising since they had fed at the breast of the same she-wolf.

No matter. He had his son John and John must love him. He could not be deserted by all his sons. To compensate John for the loss of his sister he bought him two palfreys which he himself chose and it gave him great pleasure to take the boy out to see them.

They had cost fifty-two pounds and were worth it. He told John this for he wanted the boy to grow up with an appreciation of money. Young Henry was extravagant in the extreme and so was Geoffrey. Richard too seemed to have little understanding of the value of money, even though he wanted it for the maintenance of his dominions, not to fritter it away as Henry and Geoffrey did.

His time was spent between John and Alice now. He was getting older. Perhaps he was lonely even though he was always surrounded by men and women. This craving for affection persisted. He supposed it was because his wife hated him and sometimes it seemed his sons only cared for what they could get from him.

Not so Alice. She loved him for himself. She bore no grudge because he had taken her when she was an innocent child; she never upbraided him because he had not procured the promised divorce. She always understood; she always set herself out to please and never to criticise.

He could be sure of Alice. He hoped he could be sure of John.

He was glad that John’s marriage to Alice of Maurienne would not take place now. He had thought that to become Marquis of Italy would have been a fine solution to his problems, for such John would have been if her dower had come to him. He had already found estates for John in England. He had given him the Earldoms of Cornwall and Nottingham and he proposed to make him King of Ireland.

Another idea occurred to him, and he saw a possibility of John becoming the owner of very large properties in Gloucester.

Robert Earl of Gloucester, illegitimate son of Henry I and therefore Henry’s mother’s brother, had been her chief supporter during her claim to the throne and taught Henry himself a great deal that was good for him and had helped to make him the man he was. Henry remembered well his grief when the Earl had died. How strange it was that often the sons of good and faithful men turned out to be traitors.

Thus it was with the Earl’s son, Earl William of Gloucester.

William, who had inherited vast estates from his father, had become involved in the rebellion against the King. When Henry considered this he became very angry indeed. How different he was from his father and considering that there was a blood tie between them the perfidy seemed more unpardonable than ever.

William was now in his power and the King had him brought before him.

Expecting dire punishment William came in trembling, but the King who was considering John’s future had an idea which seemed to him a good one.

‘William,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you have betrayed my trust in you. I wonder what your father would say if he were here and knew that you had played the traitor.’

William was shamed at the mention of his father.

‘I remember him well,’ went on Henry. ‘My mother never had a more faithful friend than her bastard half-brother; and when I was young nor did I. I shall never forget the day I heard of his death. It was as though a part of my life had ceased to be, and now you, his son, stand before me as a traitor.’

‘My lord,’ cried William, ‘what can I do to win your forgiveness?’

The King shook his head. ‘You have robbed me of my trust in you. ’Tis a sad thing when those of the same blood work against each other. Your grandfather was also mine. It is for that reason that I do not throw you into a dungeon. You see, I respect blood ties. Mind you, a king has his duty and he must guard his realm, no matter what conditions are demanded of him. Not only did my son conspire against me, but so did those whom I should have thought I might have trusted. There is, though, a way in which we could heal this wound. You have a young unmarried daughter and I have a son, John.’

William was alert. Could the King really be suggesting a union between Prince John and his daughter?

He had no sons and three daughters, two of whom were married. The youngest, Isabel, was one of John’s age. He was slightly dismayed, for he hoped to have a son and if he did how could he be denied his heritage?

The King went on: ‘Let your daughter become betrothed to my son John and your earldom and land would fall to him through marriage with your daughter.’

‘My daughters who are married …’ began William.

But the King waved his hand. ‘I have considered this. The Crown will compensate them. They shall each be paid one hundred pounds a year.’

‘My lord,’ began William, ‘this is a great opportunity for my daughter and I should be happy for her to grasp it with both hands but if I should have a son …’

The King had thought of that too. He said glibly: ‘Then the lands should be divided between him on the one side and John and your daughter on the other.’

‘Then I am happy,’ replied William. ‘But I have one fear. The blood tie between these children is a strong one. It may be that the marriage will not be possible on grounds of consanguinity.’

‘I will prevail upon the Pope to grant a dispensation. I do not think he will wish to go against my wishes. Let there be a betrothal and if by some ill chance the dispensation should not be given, then I will find a rich and worthy husband for your daughter. What say you to this, William?’

What could William say? He could, after all, be condemned as a traitor.

The King was well pleased. John was now happily settled and provided for. Never more would he be known as John Lackland. The boy would be grateful to his father. Now all his children were settled and provided with partners – except Richard.

It seemed that every way he turned he came back to Alice.

Louis was determined not to allow the matter of his daughter’s marriage to be further shelved. There was some reason for it, he knew. It was a most extraordinary situation and knowing Henry he suspected some perfidy.

The Pope had acted in a somewhat lukewarm manner and he was determined to get satisfaction.

Alexander had no more desire to offend Louis than he had to offend Henry and he knew he must take some decisive steps in this matter. He therefore let it be known that unless the marriage of Richard and Alice took place without delay he would place an interdict on all Henry’s lands not only on the Continent of Europe but in England itself.

Henry fumed but he did not on this occasion fly into one of his uncontrollable rages. There was too much at stake to fritter away his energies so fruitlessly. He had to think of a way to save Alice for himself.

When one was in the wrong it was always a good idea to turn the tables and accuse the one who had been wronged.

He now pleaded to the Pope that Louis had not given up the territories he had promised for Alice’s dowry, implying that it was this default on the part of the French King which was responsible for the delay. Of course, he announced, he would agree to the marriage of Alice and Richard when these matters were settled. In the meantime he proposed to visit Louis himself and perhaps they could arrive at some conclusion.

Before sailing he went to spend a night with Alice.

She was frightened, poor child, because rumours of the conflict between her father and lover had reached her ears. But quickly he soothed her. Did she not trust him to see that nothing came between them?

Dear little Alice, was she not his beloved and had she not been so for a long time now? Hadn’t she learned to trust him? Didn’t she know that with him all things were possible?

Alice did know this. She was confident that all would be well.