The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [180]
I could never feel indifferent about Henry. I could hate him fiercely. Who would not hate a husband who had kept her incarcerated for years? But I understood him. He had to keep me incarcerated, for how did he know what I would do if I were free? I was sorry for him in a way as I was not for myself. My captivity had given me time for reflection. My mind had always been too active for it to become sluggish. Here I was removed from events, looking in from the outside and finding it all fascinating. I was not one to sit down and weep for my misfortunes. I could see many sides to every question and, because I was so interested in people, I could understand their motives and realize that from their point of view they were in the right.
My feelings for Henry were similar to those he had had for Becket. I had loved him; I had hated him; but always he had been of vital interest to me, and I could picture his snatching that brief period at Argentan when Matilda’s children played with him, showed their pleasure in having him with them and gave him what he had missed in his own children.
Young Henry could not learn his lessons. As soon as his father was no longer there to overawe him, his ambitions began to return; and there was Bernard de Borne to feed them.
Bernard de Borne probably suggested that he had been too meek with his father. Men like the King of England understood strength and respected it.
Aquitaine was now out of the question. Richard was securely installed. The King had shown that he stood firmly behind him on that matter, and Henry must needs accept that this was so, and although the people thought Henry might bring softer rule, they had no wish to go to war.
There was Normandy, of course. Why should he not have Normandy?
With the praises of Bernard de Borne ringing in his ears, he wrote to his father demanding that he be given control of Normandy.
The reply came back. The King had no intention of relinquishing any of his possessions while he lived. He expected his sons to serve him and reminded Henry of the oath he had taken to do just that.
More frustrated than ever, raging inwardly, listening to the flattering poems of Bernard de Borne, young Henry looked around for trouble.
It came when he discovered that Richard had built a castle near the frontiers of Poitiers but which was actually in Anjou. Anjou, of course, was territory which would become Henry’s on his father’s death, and in building the castle Richard had encroached on land not his. This was the opportunity. Henry wrote to his father demanding that the castle be handed over to him.
I could imagine the King’s groans when he read of this. I wondered if he went into one of his rages. Perhaps not; there would be no point in doing so. This squabbling in the family was dangerous. Did these sons of his not see that their strength was in their union! He wrote to Richard telling him he must immediately hand over the castle to Henry as it had been built on land not his.
Richard’s reply was a blank refusal. The castle was necessary for defense.
“Hand it over or I shall come and take it,” replied the King.
Richard was first and foremost a soldier; he and the King should have been close; it was a pity they disliked each other. The King knew that Richard was a good soldier. How well they could have worked together for the aggrandizement of the Plantagenet empire! But Richard hated him because of his treatment of me; and there was another matter: Alais Capet, who had been destined for Richard and with whom the King had fallen in love. His feelings for Alais were, I believe, similar to those he had had for Rosamund Clifford. It went deeper than lust. Both women were beautiful and gentle. I had been beautiful but never gentle. They were the kind of women he needed—not to plague him but always to be there to soothe him, with no recriminations when he returned from those little respites which he allowed himself.