The friendship between them was greater than ever.
When Henry returned to England the two were constantly together and it was noted that Henry found the society of his Chancellor more rewarding than that of any other person. The rift between himself and Eleanor had widened. She had never forgiven him for bringing the bastard Geoffrey into the royal nurseries and he taunted her by making much of the boy. He liked to escape to the domestic peace of Woodstock. His love for Rosamund did not diminish. Perhaps this was due to the fact that she made no demands. She was always gentle and loving, always beautiful. They had their little son, too, and she was pregnant once more. She gave to him the cosy domesticity which kings can so rarely enjoy, and he delighted in keeping her existence a secret; and none but her servants knew that he visited her and they realised that it would go ill with them if through them the secret was divulged.
The King was happy. His kingdom was comparatively peaceful. He was watchful, of course, but then he would always have to be that. For a time he could stay peacefully in England, and he could enjoy the company of his best friend, Thomas Becket.
Sometimes he asked himself why he loved this man. There could not have been one more different. Even in appearance they presented a contrast. Tall and elegant Thomas, the stocky, carelessly dressed King. Thomas’s love of fine clothes amused Henry. He teased him about it constantly. Why should he, the all-powerful King who could have chosen the most nobly born in his kingdom to be his companions, care only for the society of this man? Thomas was fifteen years older than he was. An old man! So much that Thomas believed in the King disagreed with; and Thomas would never give way in discussion. The King’s temper could wax hot, but Thomas would remain calm and stick to his point. Henry was amused that in spite of Thomas’s aesthetic appearance and concern with spiritual matters, at heart he loved luxury. There was no doubt that he did. His clothes betrayed him. He could also be merry at times. Henry liked to play practical jokes on his friend and Thomas responded. The King would sometimes howl with laughter at some of these, even those against himself. There was no one at his court who could divert him as Thomas Becket could.
They were together constantly. When the King made his frequent peregrinations about the countryside, his Chancellor rode beside him. Sometimes they went off together incognito and sat in taverns and talked with the people. No one recognised the tall dark man with elegant long white hands and his younger freckle-faced, sturdy companion, whose hands were square, and chapped with the weather. An incongruous pair those who met them might have thought, and few were aware that they were the King of England and his Chancellor.
Henry liked nothing better than to score over his Chancellor. He had never forgotten the affair of the Boulogne marriage.
One winter’s day when he and the Chancellor were riding through London, with the cold east wind howling through the streets, Henry looked slyly at his friend. Thomas hated the cold. He would wear twice as many clothes as other men, and although he ate sparingly his servant had to prepare beef steaks and chicken for him. His blood was thin, said the King; he was not hardy like the sprig from the Plantagenet tree. Thomas’s beautiful white hands were protected by elegant but warm gloves, and even in such a bitter wind which was now buffeting the streets of London the King’s hands were free. Gloves, he always declared, hampered him.
Suddenly the King saw a poor old man coming towards them, shivering, his face blue with cold, as he tried to hold his tattered garments about him.
Henry turned to his Chancellor. ‘Do you see that poor fellow?’ he asked.
‘Poor man,’ said Thomas. ‘He must find this wind trying.’
‘I can see his flesh through the tatters of his clothes. It would be an act of charity, favourable in the sight of God, to give him a warm cloak,’
‘It would,’ agreed Thomas. ‘And you, my lord, who have need to find favour in the sight of Heaven could win Heaven’s approval for such a noble deed.’
‘Come,’ said the King. ‘Dismount.’
They did so as the old man approached.
‘Hey, my good fellow,’ said Henry, ‘do you not find this wind hard to bear?’
The old man nodded. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I shall die of the cold if it lasts much longer.’
‘You need a good warm cloak,’ said the King. ‘What would you say if you were given one?’
‘You mock me, sir,’ said the old man attempting to pass on, but the King detained him and turning to Thomas he said: ‘I see you long to perform this act of charity. Why, look what a fine cloak you are wearing! It is of rich scarlet cloth and lined with fur. Give it to this poor old man.’
‘My lord,’ said Thomas, turning pale, for the thought of riding through the cold streets without his cloak horrified him, ‘you suffer less from the cold than I do. If you gave him your cloak you would not notice it as I should.’
‘That is true,’ said the King. ‘Therefore it is a more noble act for you to give him your cloak.’ With that he attempted to pull it from Thomas who sought to retain it and in a short time the two of them were fighting together - Thomas to keep his cloak, the King to drag it from him.
Henry was laughing so much that the old man thought they were both mad.
‘Come, you good man,’ said the King. ‘Come, Saint Thomas Becket. This poor man needs a cloak and you have it. Give it to me. You shall. You shall.’
Thomas was no match for the strength of the King and finally Henry had wrested the cloak from him.
‘Take it, my good fellow,’ said Henry to the old man. ‘It will keep you warm many a day and night. Forget not in your prayers the man who gave it to you for though he was not the owner, it is by his good graces that you have it.’
The old man, who could not believe his good fortune and thought that the two noblemen were revellers who might change their minds, wrapped the cloak about him and scuttled off as fast as he could.
Henry’s laughter rang through the streets.
‘Why Thomas, how blue your nose has become. What an icy wind! You should be thankful that I did not command you to give the poor old man your gloves. What a tragedy if those delicate white digits should have become red and chapped like those of your royal master. Praise be to God, Thomas Becket, I have made a charitable man of you.’
Henry thought it a great joke. Thomas riding through the cold streets was less amused.
But the incident was typical of the friendship between them.
Chapter X
THE VACANT SEE
For two years Eleanor had been free of child-bearing. She began to feel young again. Little Richard was nearly three years old - the brightest and most handsome of her children. She always thought of him as her special child. Her preference was obvious, also her dislike of the elder Geoffrey. The Princess Marguerite was in England but Louis had not wished his daughter to be brought up by the woman who had once been his wife. He felt it would have made a situation which could have its dangers. It had been agreed therefore that little Marguerite should be placed in the household of a certain Robert of Newburgh who was known as a virtuous man of the highest character.
Eleanor said goodbye to her children and joined Henry in Normandy. She wished to make a journey to Aquitaine. Whenever she appeared in her native land there was rejoicing. No matter what rumours there were concerning her she was always welcome there. Once more she set up her little court and the troubadours came to her; once more they sang of love and it seemed that Eleanor, no longer young, the mother of six living children, was as desirable as ever.
She thought now and then of Louis who had had three daughters only - and two of them by her. Marie and Alix were betrothed by now, Marie to Henry of Champagne and Alix to Theobald of Blois. Did they ever think of their mother? And how envious of her and Henry with their fine sons, Louis must have been when his little Marguerite was born. At least that child had strengthened the alliance between France and England, and the bond would be greater when she was in fact married to young Henry.