The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [113]
That was not true. Henry never did that. Even his rages were calculated to terrify people and remind them of their fate if they offended him.
Henry cried out that Becket had better have a care. He would do well to remember who was the master of us all.
Becket must have been nonplussed. I was rather pleased that the arrogant man had been taken down a step or two, but he apparently realized he had gone too far and that because Henry had shown him unusual favor he must not take advantage of that. The King had helped him rise. He could as easily put him down. I could not believe for one moment that Becket would want to lose all that magnificence by which he set such store.
Henry withdrew his army but he did capture a few strongholds and peace was concluded. Alas, Toulouse remained out of our hands. It was a terrible disappointment to me. I had always had a special feeling for Toulouse and I had believed that Henry would bring it to me. In a way, Louis had scored over him. It had been a masterly stroke to go to the city when he knew an attempt would be made to take it. It showed real courage and perhaps—though unlikely—shrewd reasoning. Had Louis guessed that Henry would not attack when he was there? He was of course taking a great risk, but Louis had never been a coward. The care of his own skin had never come first with him; as long as he was sure he was in the right, he was contented.
So . . . Henry had failed.
Perhaps he was not the mighty figure I had imagined him. In fact, he was by no means the man with whom I had fallen passionately in love. Unfaithful . . . from the start of our marriage . . . slovenly, often ungracious, far from good-looking. In fact, with every year he grew less so. His skin was freckled and rough from the wind, his curly hair allowed to go its own way. He cared nothing for the gracious way of living.
Why had I married him?
Physically he was still exciting. It was, I suppose, that immense strength, that arrogance, that power. But I was beginning to think that I had been unlucky in both my husbands.
Events being as they were, he must stay on the Continent, but I must return to England. Both of us could not be away too long. I was nothing loath. I wanted no more children and I feared that if Henry and I remained together the inevitable would happen.
I enjoyed being in England with my children—particularly Richard, although I loved them all. I fancied they were all fonder of me than they were of Henry who had no idea how to behave with children. He overawed them. They were suspicious of him when he tried to be jocular with them. I was the one to whom they rushed for comfort.
My little Richard grew more beautiful every day. He was a true Plantagenet and did not resemble my side of the family at all. He was golden-haired and blue-eyed, with a beautifully clear skin. He was going to be taller than the others.
I heard news from France, from Henry, who wished me to pack up and join him without delay.
Louis had been married to Constance for six years and had managed to produce one daughter, Marguerite, now betrothed to our Henry. But news had seeped out that at last Constance was pregnant again. I laughed to contemplate it, imagining all the efforts Louis must have undertaken to achieve this result. I pictured those nights on his knees beside the royal bed before he took the plunge and managed after an effort to perform his duty for France.
Now his efforts were crowned with success.
Henry was far from pleased. What if the child should be a boy? Young Henry would be cheated of the crown of France. There was only one thing we could do. We could betroth our little Matilda to the boy as soon as he was born, thus making sure that, if our son could not be King of France, our daughter should be Queen.
I laughed aloud. The man’s mind was so devious. One had to admire him. He let no opportunity pass.
I prepared to travel with the children.
When I joined Henry in Rouen, he was in a mood of great excitement. The birth was imminent.
“Becket will