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 Marshaclass="underline" 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.
‘She must not be allowed to get there,’ cried Arthur, ‘for if she does the whole of Aquitaine will rise up to help her. She may be my grandmother but she is no friend of mine.’
‘It is difficult to be a friend of a grandson if it means being an enemy of a son,’ Eleanor reminded him. ‘What a pity that there have to be these rifts in families!’
‘It is no use getting sentimental,’ Arthur told her sharply. He turned to Guy. ‘What are we going to do about my grandmother?’
‘As you say, we have to prevent her reaching Poitiers and that means we must lose no time in going in pursuit of her.’
‘Then why are we wasting time?’ asked Arthur imperiously.