The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [187]
“Burials are a dismal subject,” I said, “and now we are together after all these years let us not be dismal.”
I learned a great deal about her life: the joy she had in her children and how she missed little Lothair, who had had to stay behind in Brunswick; she looked forward to the birth of another little one.
The quarrel with the Emperor Frederick had been their undoing. He wanted all the governors of the Saxon towns to accept him as their overlord. She had discovered his intentions while Henry was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and she had sent a messenger to him to tell him of her fears. They were anxious days until Henry returned. Before he had left he had built Der Hagen, a hunting park, for her.
“I always remembered Woodstock,” she said. “I wanted to make a Woodstock there. Der Hagen was not quite the same, but I used to go to the hunting lodge there and think of England while I was waiting for Henry to come back. I thought a great deal of England, and it seemed a kind of haven to me then. But you know of our trouble and our exile.”
“I am glad of one thing,” I said. “It brought you here. Do not speak of it though. It makes you sad. Here you are and we are together. Let us be happy for a while.”
“And all this time, dear Mother, you have been a prisoner, my father your jailer.”
I laughed. “Don’t pity me, dearest child, for I do not pity myself—though sometimes the cold stones of Salisbury seem to seep into my bones. But I kept myself warm and I had good friends about me. My dear Amaria has been a great comfort over the years; little Bellebelle amuses me, and there are the other women too. They bring me news. I have enjoyed piecing it all together. It has been like a great picture puzzle to me, and I think that being apart from events I have perhaps been able to see them more clearly. I know so well all the actors in the drama, it is as though I sit before a stage watching their performances.”
“And now Henry is dead.”
I nodded. “Poor Henry. He always strove for the unattainable. Your father made the biggest mistake of his life when he crowned him.”
“He knows it, but it does not ease his pain. He thinks a great deal about Henry . . . and Richard and Geoffrey and John . . . all the boys. He knows Richard hates him, yet I think he admires him in a way.”
“No one could help admiring Richard.”
“Yet it seems it is John he loves now. He talks constantly of John.”
“He must be about seventeen now.”
“He is ambitious, Mother. He wants to be King.”
I laughed. “The crown is for Richard. Richard will be King of England.”
“But what of Aquitaine?”
“Richard will be the King of England and Duke of Aquitaine.”
“I think my father wants Aquitaine for John. I even think he wants the crown of England for him, too.”
“That will never be.”
“If my father decided . . . who could stop him?”
“Richard would. And he will never give up Aquitaine.”
She nodded. “Yes, Richard is a great warrior.”
“Have you seen John?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, what sort of a man is he? I saw little of him in his childhood, you know. He was at Fontevrault and then under the care of Ranulf de Glanville.”
“I do not like Ranulf de Glanville, Mother.”
“No?”
“I think he has allowed John to go his own way. He . . .”
“Tell me.”
“He is dissolute. There are always women and . . . he is rather cruel. I think he finds pleasure in hurting people. He is like our father in one way. He falls into rages. He lies on the floor and kicks and gnaws the rushes.”
“That is certainly like his father,” I said.
“But our father is never unjust in rages. When they are over, he does not look around to vent his spite on anyone who happens to be nearby.”
“No, he did not do that. And John does?”
She nodded. “I know it may seem strange but I am sorry for my father now that he is turning to John. I think he is going to be very disappointed.”
“He was always a fool where his family was concerned. He could never see those who would be loyal