And she could bring him Aquitaine.
The only thing that stood in the way of their marriage was that she was married already - married to the King of France.
‘He shall divorce me,’ Eleonore had cried. ‘He shall. He shall!’
And in the presence of such determination he could believe that she was right.
He was sure his father would be pleased. Geoffrey was an ambitious man. He had fought hard to secure Normandy for his wife, which meant for his son, Henry himself. The thought of allying Aquitaine with Normandy, Maine and Anjou would delight him. It meant that the Duke of Normandy would be more powerful than the King of France. As for his mother she was obsessed by England and she would rejoice in any move which made the family strong enough to take it.
It was full of confidence that Henry rode into the castle of Anjou to see his father. He knew that his mother would not be there and he must pay a separate visit to her. His parents were rarely together and although in their mature years there had grown up a kind of tolerance towards each other there was no affection between them.
His father was delighted to see Henry, who thought that he looked worn and unlike his usual rather jaunty self. He was handsome as Henry would never be. Yet there was something far more striking about the younger man’s vitality and he had a certain charm which his father lacked.
Henry sought an early moment of being alone with his father, but before he could tell him his news Geoffrey talked to him very seriously of other matters.
He seated himself on a stool, his long legs stretched out before him, looking at his son. ‘Be seated, Henry,’ he said. ‘I have much to say to you.’
‘And I to you, Father.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘I have much on my mind,’ he said. ‘Have you heard what Bernard of Clairvaux has prophesied? Nay, you could not or you would not look so unconcerned. He has said that I shall be dead within the year.’
‘Did you offend him then?’ asked Henry cynically.
‘A difference of opinion. He wished me to release that trouble-maker, de Bellay. I refused and in doing so he tells me I have displeased God who will be avenged.’
‘Is old Bernard in God’s confidence then?’
‘He is a holy man, Henry.’
‘A plague on these holy men! They work for themselves and deceive us … or perhaps themselves into thinking that their will is God’s. You are not disturbed by this prophecy, Father?’
‘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.