The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [115]
During the last year he had been very ill, and it was known that death was not far away. He had written several times to Henry, begging him to return to England that he might behold “his son, the Lord’s anointed, before he died.” Henry could not, of course, allow sentimental attachments to defer him from protecting his lands overseas, so Theobald’s request went unanswered. Theobald also asked that Thomas Becket, his archdeacon, might be spared to visit him. But Henry would not send Thomas either.
They had patched up their quarrel over the action at Toulouse, but I imagined Thomas had learned a lesson. He could go so far and no farther—although that was a great deal farther than most men would dare go.
Theobald expressed the hope that the King would consider Thomas Becket to fill the post of Archbishop of Canterbury which would fall vacant on his death.
Theobald died that April. Henry was upset that he had lost such a good man, but he said he was in no hurry to fill his post. He could very well do without an Archbishop of Canterbury.
I was surprised that Theobald had suggested Becket. That worldly man—whose vanity was clearly a part of his nature, for otherwise why should he always appear in such exquisite garments and surround himself with beautiful possessions and revel in the life of luxury—Archbishop of Canterbury! It must have been a joke.
“Of course,” said Henry, “if he were my Archbishop I could expect to be on better terms with the Church than I and my ancestors have sometimes been.”
“Thomas is a man who has his own opinions. Remember what he felt about Toulouse.”
“Thomas comes around to my way of thinking when it is necessary to do so.”
“Have you broached the subject with him?”
Henry shook his head. “Not yet. I am unsure . . . so far. There is another matter I have to discuss with you. It concerns young Henry.”
“What of him?”
“He is now a married man.”
“He is six years old.”
“Too old for a future king to be in his mother’s nursery.”
“I have always watched over the care of my children.”
“Which you must admit is not quite expected for a royal brood.”
“I care not what is expected. These are my children.”
“But listen to me. Henry has to be brought up in the household of a nobleman where he can learn the manly arts . . . where he is not able to run to his mother when he hurts his little finger.”
“That is not how the nurseries are run. The children are taught to be strong and resolute.”
“I know your feelings for them and I applaud them . . . in a measure. But Henry has to get out into the world. It has always been thus.”
I pondered this. It was true. Henry was getting to an age when he must leave the family nest for a while. I should not lose him altogether. Like all my children he was especially devoted to me. Henry’s relationship with his children was perhaps the one part of his life in which he failed. His attempts to show affection were often clumsy. They respected and admired me; they liked my beautiful gowns; they would stroke the material and I would explain to them what it was and how I had designed my gown myself. They were my children more than his.
Henry would have to go, of course. I was delighted that Richard had quite a long time to stay with me.
I said: “Into whose household did you propose to send him?”
“Why, Becket’s, of course.”
“Becket’s!”
“Why not? I shall send him to England with the child very soon.”
“You have told Becket?”
“I have.”
“And what does he think?”
“He is delighted. He already loves the boy.”
I said: “At least he will be brought up to have a pride in his appearance.”
That amused Henry. “True,” he said. “He will be turned into an exquisite gentleman who will please his mother. Becket will make a man of him as well.”
Of course the boy would have his riding masters, his archery instructors; he would learn the laws of chivalry and everything that was necessary to his upbringing; and with Becket he would be trained in art, literature, music