He thought of himself presiding over the great tables in his castles. There would be song and laughter; he would delight his subjects with the tournaments he would devise. He saw himself riding into the arena and the ladies would smile at him from the dais. All would vie with each other for his favours. Marguerite would be proud of him. He would wear her colours.
That was the way to rule. That was the way the Provençals wanted it. Richard had no understanding of them.
What great good fortune for him that Richard was hated so much.
When he reached the borders of Aquitaine many nobles were waiting for him and with them their followers.
He would have a great army. He could not fail.
Very well, Richard, he said to himself, you would not swear fealty to me. I can do without your oath. I shall simply take what you will not give.
When the King heard what was happening in Aquitaine he was filled with anxiety.
Brothers fighting against each other! It was the way to disaster.
What kind of men have we bred between us, Eleanor and I? he asked himself. Why was it that the sons he had had by other women had been his good and loyal subjects? Was it, as Eleanor had said, because they had no rights and all their benefits came from him, whereas those who had been born in wedlock believed what was his became theirs by right. Was it because his union with Eleanor had always been doomed?
There were rumours about his ancestors. It was said that one of the Counts of Anjou when riding in the forest met a woman of such beauty that he was captivated by her and married her. Her beauty was such that all marvelled at it; however she was reluctant to enter a church and when she did always left before the consecration of the Host. This puzzled her husband and several years after their marriage one day just as she was about to leave the church he caught hold of her cloak and he would not release it.
Suddenly she was said to have floated upwards, holding two of her children by the hand. She disappeared, leaving her bewildered husband holding her cloak. It was said that she was a witch and a servant of the devil. Although she had taken two children with her she had left two behind and one of these became the next Count of Anjou.
This legend lived on and because of it many said that there was a satanic streak in the blood of the Angevin Counts.
Was it true? wondered Henry. Had it come down through him? Was it this in him which had made him seduce his son’s betrothed? Was it this that set his sons warring against each other and their father?
Nay, he told himself, it is from their mother that they get their natures.
What was his sin in taking Alice compared with Eleanor’s incest with her uncle?
And what could be expected of the offspring of twp people such as himself and Eleanor?
But he must stop this brooding. There was work to be done. He would go with all speed to Limoges where Henry was encamped and put a stop to this attempted fratricide without delay.
On the way he met Richard who welcomed his coming.
With his father on his side against his brothers he could not fail to succeed.
‘This grieves me greatly,’ said the King. ‘Does nothing I say have any effect on you?’
‘You have always favoured Henry,’ Richard reproached him. ‘Yet he has deceived you right and left, and shown quite clearly that he is unfit to govern.’
‘He is my eldest son and you have all defied me. My sons are a bitter disappointment to me … except John.’
‘John is as yet too young to have a mind of his own,’ replied Richard.
‘I trust in his affection.’
The King decided that he would have to parley with Henry who was in Limoges.
‘I will accompany you,’ said Richard, ‘and we will take a company of troops with us.’
‘Nay,’ said the King. ‘I’d have them know I come to talk in peace. They will recognise me and no harm will come.’
‘I trust them not,’ said Richard.
‘You will remain here while I go forward to the town and I shall take with me but a small company of knights.’
‘I do not like it,’ replied Richard.
‘My son, you will have to learn that I do as I will.’
As he rode forward he was thinking: Oh, Henry, my son, why cannot you be the affectionate little boy you were in the nursery, before your mother changed you? Why did your ambitions have to rob you of your sense of honour? How can I give you what you ask? I must rule. I am experienced in the ways of rulers. You do not understand. To rule is not to enjoy a life of pleasure. What pleasure I have had has been snatched in between forays here, punitive expeditions there and all the cares that beset a king who has wide-flung dominions. If you understood you would rejoice that I am here to rule and you to learn from me so that in time you can keep your kingdom in your hands.
They were approaching the town. He rode at the head of the company. Above his head fluttered his pennant proclaiming him as the King of England, sovereign of them all.
Suddenly a stream of arrows shot up in the air. One of his men shouted: ‘The King comes.’
There was another flurry of arrows. One pierced the King’s cloak.
‘My lord,’ said his standard bearer, ‘they know who you are and they are trying to kill you. We are not fitted to meet their attack.’
‘You are right,’ said the King. ‘We will turn back.’
He withdrew the arrow from his cloak.
He looked at it. It could so easily have pierced his heart. And Henry’s men had sent it.
Back in his camp he told Richard what had happened.
Richard’s cold face expressed no fear for what might have happened; there was only scorn for his father’s folly. Had he not warned him? Why did he go on trusting his eldest son when time after time he had been proved to be of a light nature capable of playing the traitor to his father and brother?
Henry sat ruminating, the arrow before him.
My son wishes me dead. So does he long for my crown that he would hasten my end to attain it. There was a sadness in his heart, and more than ever he yearned for the affection of his family.
As he sat brooding a messenger came in to tell him that his son Henry was without and begging to be seen.
‘Send him to me,’ he said.
Henry came in; he took off his helmet and his beautiful fair hair fell about his face; he knelt before his father.
‘Well, my son,’ said the King.
‘Oh, Father, when I saw what had happened …’
‘You saw the arrow, did you? You saw it pierce my cloak?’
‘I rejoice that it was nothing but your cloak.’
‘St Thomas was watching over us … you and me. He saved me from death and you from becoming your father’s murderer.’
‘Oh, God help me,’ murmured Henry.
He lifted his face to his father’s and there were tears in his eyes. The King stood up and drew his son to his feet. He embraced him.
‘My son, my son,’ he said, ‘let us put an end to this strife.’
‘Oh, Father, you forgive me then?’
‘I know it was not you who shot the arrow.’
‘Nay, but it was those who thought to serve me.’
‘We must put an end to this strife, Henry. It will destroy us all.’
‘I know it, Father. And this day … when I thought you could have died …’
‘We will forget it. You are my son and I must love you. You know full well how I have always deplored this rift between us.’
‘If you would but give me some authority …’