The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [148]
John was a problem. I often look back on those days and feel a twinge of conscience about John. Perhaps he turned out as he did because of his childhood. He was after all my child. But I could not like him. All the time he reminded me of Henry’s deceit and that when he was being conceived Henry had been thinking of Rosamund Clifford; and I despised myself for having remained with him so long. John should never have been born; he was conceived in deceit and reminded me too much of what I wished to forget.
During that Christmas when I had made my intentions clear to Henry, after we had recovered a little from our initial bitterness, and he had realized that I was determined to break up the marriage, we had discussed one or two things calmly . . . for instance, my return to Aquitaine and how I should be conducted there, and we also talked of John.
I said: “There ought to be one member of the family who should go into the Church. You have distributed your dominions among your sons, but what of John? What is there for him?”
“Poor John. He will be ‘John Lackland,’ I fear.”
“That is why he should be the one to go into the Church.”
“Archbishop of Canterbury . . . or perhaps a cardinal. Head of the Church in this country . . . or maybe Pope. Either would be useful to the crown.”
I could not help laughing. He turned everything to the advantage of the crown. However, he agreed that it was to be John for the Church.
So I suggested that he go into Fontevrault, the abbey which had been founded by Robert d’Arbrissel and supported by my grandmother, one in which I had taken great interest. There John could be brought up. It seemed an ideal solution.
Peace settled on Aquitaine. I was there to stay, they believed. It was a return to the old days. We had pageants and ceremonies such as the people loved; we paraded in our splendid robes. I never lost an opportunity of staging these pageants. I did them well, as my forebears had. Aquitaine was content with the new rule, which was, after all, a return to the old.
I was content in my little world, but that did not mean I was not concerned with what was happening outside it. I followed Henry’s actions with the utmost interest, rejoicing in his difficulties, though I must admit to feeling often an admiration—rather grudging—for his adept way of extricating himself from trouble and generally managing to get the better of his opponent.
He was in constant conflict with Louis. My first husband appeared to have changed since the birth of his son. The event had given him new vigor. He was more aggressive. Perhaps he was looking ahead to the days when the God-Given would take the reins. I was sure Louis would want to hand them over as soon as he could. Perhaps he would retire to a monastery then and relish a longed-for dream. However, I think Henry found it more difficult to hoodwink him than in the past.
There was a great deal of conflict between them over the Vexin. Their affairs moved to a stage when they were both seeking peace, and a conference was arranged to take place between them.
Louis, of course, did not like to see so much of France under Henry’s domination and might have thought it would be better to proclaim Henry’s sons rulers of the various provinces. I wondered afterward if Louis had an inkling of the feelings of Henry’s children toward their father. Henry was a strong man but he was not one to inspire affection in the young. It must have been apparent that our children turned to me rather than to him; and Louis, who did know a little of me, might have guessed at the state of affairs between Henry and me. One could not give Louis credit for shrewd planning; however, this scheme of his was, looking back, not without a certain wisdom. At the conference he suggested that the various Princes be given their lands and swear allegiance