The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [137]
Henry left for Normandy in March. I now had to face the fact that several months of discomfort lay ahead of me. I was certainly not a stranger to childbearing, but I was getting rather old for it.
In the meantime I devoted myself to my children. Young Henry was getting a little proud of himself. He and Marguerite had their own establishment now, and he was convinced he was going to be King of France. Too much adulation came his way, and the King was now openly talking of having him crowned. That would be difficult, because the Kings of England were supposed to be crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury. And where was the Archbishop of Canterbury? Everything seemed to come back to Becket.
For two months I enjoyed the domestic life with my children. My favorite would always be Richard. He was so tall, so fair and golden, quite the most handsome of them all in my eyes, though some would say that Henry was more so. Poor little Geoffrey had missed those good looks and lacked the height of the other two. One should not allow looks to influence one, but how could one help it? Moreover, Richard was so like me in character. He loved poetry and had a beautiful singing voice. I felt he would have been at home in my grandfather’s Courts of Love.
I heard from the King. There was a great deal of trouble everywhere. He believed Becket was stirring it up. Not that he did anything very much. He was just there, playing the martyr and making Henry the tyrant. Of course, he was getting help from Louis. A plague on the man!
Henry wanted me. He needed me in Anjou and Maine. I must leave at once. Leicester and de Luci could take care of England, as they had so well in the past.
So in May I left England with Richard and Matilda. We stayed briefly in Normandy, paying a visit to the Empress Matilda in her palace near Notre Dame des Prs. She was delighted to see the children and me but I was saddened to see that her health was deteriorating. She had changed a great deal since her fiery youth and was giving herself over to good works. But she cared deeply for her family and was distressed by Henry’s quarrel with Becket.
“It should never have happened,” she said. “He should never have given him Canterbury.”
How right she was! On the other hand, she was delighted by her namesake’s coming marriage. She said she had never really felt well since her illness five years before. But she did not altogether regret it, for being less active gave one time for reflection.
When we left her, we made our way to Angers, where I was to stay and act as Regent.
I was quite happy to be in Angers. It recalled the days when I was the Queen of Love, and poets and musicians sang their songs to me.
I reviewed my life. I had had two husbands, and neither of them had given me the satisfaction I needed. Louis was incapable of it but he was a good and gentle man. I had hoped for much from Henry but he had failed me and the disappointment was bitter. Chiefly I resented his infidelity; his driving ambition I could understand; the childish rages could be excused; but his attitude to women, his picking them up and casting them aside, his ability to take equal satisfaction from a night with a prostitute and a wife who loved him . . . that was something I could not tolerate.
No, he had killed my love for him.
I had loved my uncle Raymond in Antioch. Looking back, it seemed that that was the most satisfactory love affair of my life. And I was old now and could no longer expect the raptures of youth.
Henry was back in England now, in conflict with the Welsh. He had failed there once, and failure rankled with Henry.
Meanwhile here was I in Angers, not greatly caring that we were separated. I knew I could rule my own people better than he could because I understood them. I had my little daughter Matilda to