The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [138]
August had come. In two months my child would be born. This was a wearisome time, when I was feeling exhausted by the least exertion. This was different from my first pregnancies, when I had eagerly looked forward to the birth. I had already proved my fruitfulness to the world and had enough sons to govern our empire and two daughters to make alliances beneficial to us. I had done my duty and had had enough.
I shall never forget that day. A messenger came to the castle, and as soon as I saw him I knew he had important news.
“A son!” he panted. “A son for the King of France. The Queen has given birth to a son. There is rejoicing through France.”
I could not believe it. Louis the father of a son! After all these years of endeavor! It was not true.
“I do not believe it!” I cried.
“It is true, my lady. They are singing in the streets of Paris. They are calling the child ‘the God-Given.’ They say he is going to save France . . . from the English.”
I felt dismayed and at the same time a kind of mischievous amusement. I was imagining the news reaching England. How would Henry take it? Would he lie on the floor and gnaw the rushes? It was almost certain that he would. And he would have good reason for anger on this occasion. His most glorious plans quietly dispersed by the birth of one small boy to the King and Queen of France! Our Henry could not be King because this little boy would wear the crown. Equally he would imagine Louis’s joy, the hours of kneeling in thanksgiving. In the churches there would be paeans of praise to God who had granted this longed-for wish.
I was soon hearing accounts of that rejoicing. There was talk of nothing but the heir to the throne of France. Paris went wild with delight. Bells rang through the nights; the people danced in the towns, and bonfires were lighted at every street corner.
France at last had an heir. He was called Philip Augustus. He was the hope of France. Merely by being born he had scored the greatest possible victory over the English.
And Henry—in Woodstock, of course, where he seemed to spend a great deal of time nowadays—would be gnashing his teeth in rage.
It was a sobering thought that all his devious plans could be destroyed by one stroke.
In October our daughter was born. She was called Joanna.
I had expected Henry to come to Angers. Christmas was approaching, and it was a custom to spend it together with the family. I wondered what was keeping him in England. I had heard of no reason, and he was usually so restless. It was rare for him to spend so much time in one place. He was at Oxford or Woodstock most of the time.
Of course, he must have been deeply shocked by the birth of Louis’s son, but I should have thought that event would hardly produce listlessness, rather would it have goaded him into action. I began to wonder whether he was ill. He must have fallen into violent rages when he heard the news from France. It had often occurred to me that he might do himself an injury when he was in such a state.
Christmas came. It was pleasant to have the children around me, and the new baby brought joy to me. There was unrest in the provinces over which I had jurisdiction and, of course, the fact of Philip Augustus’s arrival had weaned Henry of a certain power, and those who had hesitated to rise against him before might be bolder now. On the other hand the people had a certain affection for me, and I felt I could keep the revolt simmering without its actually boiling over. With his sweeping reforms, his disciplines and his uncouth appearance and manners, Henry had alienated my people.
We heard he was coming over in early March, but that was canceled and he remained a week longer in Woodstock. It was not until April that he arrived in Maine, and then he traveled through Alenon and Roche-Mabille to Angers.
He was delighted with the new baby. Matilda was indifferent to his presence. She was getting apprehensive about her marriage, poor child.