The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [135]
“Thomas, who was my Archbishop of Canterbury, has been judged in a court of a company of lords, a traitor against me. I beg you not to allow this guilty man to remain in your kingdom. Let not this enemy of mine have help from you, as I would never give to any of your enemies . . .”
Becket had gone but could not be dismissed. Henry would sit glaring before him and I knew he was wondering: Where is Becket now? What is he doing?
We left Northampton and traveled by degrees to Marlborough where we were to spend Christmas. I guessed that it would not be a very merry one, haunted, as I was sure it would be, by the ghost of Becket. We were already at Marlborough when messengers returned from France. They brought no reply from Louis but did report on the manner in which he had received Henry’s information.
Louis had read the letter with some amazement and all he had said was: “The King of England states that Thomas Becket was his Archbishop. Has he been deposed then?” The messenger had not known how to reply to that, for in truth Becket had not been deposed. “It must be by the King of England,” Louis replied. “I can think of no other. I am also a king but I do not have the power to depose the humblest cleric in my country.”
The messengers reported that Louis had then said to the papal representative, who happened to be present: “Pray tell my lord Pope Alexander that I hope he will receive the Archbishop of Canterbury in friendship. I fear that unjust accusations have been made against him which must be ignored.”
It was obvious whose side he had been on. It was no surprise. For all their show of friendship in the past, and the fact that Louis’s daughter was married to Henry’s son, they were enemies and, I feared, always would be.
The return of the messengers brought on another of Henry’s rages, which were becoming more and more frequent—and it was all due to Becket. That man was the most important person in his life and always would be until the death of one of them.
He turned to me. There was a certain bewilderment about him, as though he were asking me where he had gone wrong. I felt pity for him and a slight return of the affection I had once had for him. Over that Christmas we were together again—not as we had been in the beginning, but Henry was a very sensual man and he did gain comfort from physical contact.
Our children made a bond between us. Henry’s eyes would grow acquisitive as he discussed them. Through them he intended to govern the whole of France. Young Henry would be King of France one day. He had plans for Richard—another daughter of the King of France, young Alais—just to be on the safe side. Geoffrey? Well, there might be a marriage into Brittany for him. The whole of France would fall into Plantagenet hands. He was also thinking of our daughter, Matilda. She was eight years old now. Quite young, but it was not too soon to look around for her.
Then to my great dismay I found that I was once more pregnant. I had thought to be done with childbearing. I was nearly forty-three years old, and that was surely an age when I could expect to have a rest from the wearisome business. True, I was well preserved. I had always taken the utmost care of my appearance, and when a woman looks younger than her years she usually is. But there was no denying the facts: I was too old to want this now and in any case we had a good family—three boys and two girls; and I had had two by Louis before I began to breed Plantagenets.
However, what was, must be and I had to endure it, so I gave myself up to the contemplation of my daughter Matilda.
She was very dear to me—as all my children were, but Matilda had been my constant companion since her birth, and although we were very different in character—she was of a gentle nature, quiet and retiring—we were very close.
Henry, ever aware of the advancement of his family, had been putting out feelers for some time and he was delighted with the response he had had from Henry, Duke of Saxony and Bavaria, known through Europe as “Henry the Lion,” because he had proved bold