The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [183]
Henry protested that his father was siding with Richard against him and Geoffrey, although Richard had stalked out at Caen and refused obedience.
“There must not be war in families,” reiterated the King. “If we do not stand together, we are doomed.”
“The people of Aquitaine do not want Richard.”
“Richard is the rightful heir.”
“Father, if you came to Aquitaine, if you asked the people which of us they wanted, they would listen to you. Will you do this?”
“I will consider,” said the King.
Young Henry went back to the town, and the King stayed in the camp outside.
I was sure he would not easily forget the arrow which had pierced his cloak. I could imagine how he spent that night. He must have been full of misgivings; surely the truth must have begun to dawn on him then. He must have seen that his son’s tears and grief had been a pretense, that he wished to gain time for the fortification of Limoges, that he was ready to go into battle against his father.
Geoffrey was with him—two traitor sons, and Richard defying him.
The next day he rode toward the town intending to speak once more with Henry. He took with him only his standard-bearer and two knights. There could be no question that he came in any attempt to take the town. Yet he was greeted by a shower of arrows, and this time one of them struck and killed his horse. The King was thrown to the ground.
His standard-bearer and the knights knelt beside him in consternation.
“I am unhurt,” he said. “It is just my poor horse who is killed.”
While the King was getting to his feet, young Henry came riding full speed toward him. He was preparing to weep, to tell his father how distraught he was.
The King said coldly: “You should train your archers better. You see, the second time they have failed.”
“My father . . .” began young Henry.
But even the King understood now. He leaped onto the horse which his standard-bearer had brought to him and turned his back on his son.
How bitter his thoughts must have been as he rode back. His sons were against him. They had defied him; one had tried to kill him. He would not be duped any longer.
He thought then, I believe, of Geoffrey, the son of a prostitute; he had never had anything but devotion from that one. How ironic that his legitimate sons should have turned against him, and he had only loyalty from his bastard!
There was one who had not stood against him. He was too young to do so. That was John.
Henry would always care for his illegitimate son Geoffrey and keep him near him; but alas, when all was said and done, he was a bastard. It was a legitimate son he needed to stand beside him and give him that affection for which he craved.
And there was John.
From that time he transferred his affections from his eldest to his youngest son. John became the center of his ambitions.
I was very involved with my children even though I did not see them, and young Henry was constantly in my thoughts. I had known of his weakness long before it had been revealed to his father. I had eagerly gleaned everything I could hear of him, and in spite of our separation I knew him well.
I fervently hoped his folly would not destroy him.
One night I had a strange dream. I thought I was in a crypt. The coldness seeped into my bones; there was a faint light which seemed to beckon to me, and I followed it. When it stopped, I was looking at a man who was lying on the stones of the crypt, and that man was my son Henry. Looking closely I saw that it was not in fact my son but an effigy as one sees on a tomb; there were two crowns above his head—one the crown of England, the other in the form of a halo, and there was a look of infinite peace on the carved face.
When I awoke, I said to myself: My son Henry is dead.
It was some weeks later before I heard what had happened.
There was only one course open to the King. He was at war with his sons, and he was going to lay siege to Limoges. He was now ranged on Richard’s side.
Young Henry must have been really frightened. Twice he had tried to kill his father and