The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [193]
Henry was trembling with rage.
Heraclius mocked him. “I do not fear you,” he said. “I fear only God, and He is on my side. Murder me if you will, as you murdered that saint Thomas Becket. I could esteem the infidel in his ignorance who knows not what he does . . . yes, I could esteem him more than I do you.”
Henry was very shaken. That talk of God and Becket and the Devil unnerved him now that he was getting older.
I was sorry for him.
I had a feeling that I might comfort him more than anyone else could just now. I could laugh at the fiery Patriarch who used God as his ally to get his own way.
By chance I came across him alone in one of the chambers. The door was ajar, and when I looked in he was staring pensively at the wall. I believe he often went to that chamber, and it was said that he liked to remain there alone and study the murals.
“Henry,” I said quietly.
He looked up and I could see that Heraclius and of course Becket were not far from his thoughts.
“The Patriarch is a very fierce man,” I said.
“He cursed me.”
“I dareswear he distributes his curses widely. It is a method of getting his own way. Not a bad one really. It is amazing how those so-called holy men can strike fear into the bravest.”
“I did say I would go on a crusade.”
“When the time is ripe. It has never been ripe and never will be, I fancy. You have not broken your oath. It is only when the time is ripe that you have said you will do it.”
“It is so.”
He put his hand to his head. A rare gesture with him. It suggested weariness.
He was standing before one of the paintings on the wall. I had seen some of them before. They were allegorical studies of life . . . very cleverly done. This one was new to me. It was of an eagle and four eaglets.
“This is new,” I said.
“Yes. I recently ordered it to be painted.”
“It means something.”
“Yes, I am the eagle. The four eaglets are my sons. Look. They are preying on me. There are Henry, Richard and Geoffrey.”
“And the fourth is John.”
“Yes, that is John. He is waiting until the others have all but finished me, and then he will pluck out my eyes.”
“Oh Henry,” I cried. “What a terrible picture.”
“I face the truth now and then in this room. They are my own sons. I have given them affection. I have planned for them. I wanted them all to be great men. Between them they were to own the whole of Europe . . . and there is not one of them who has given me any affection. They are all ready to wrest from me what I have been preserving for them.”
“I did not realize you knew all this.”
“You know it?”
I nodded. “You were a fool to crown that boy, Henry.”
“I see it.”
“You were told . . . yet you did it. You would listen to nobody. You did it hastily so that you could show Becket that you did not need him. You have thought too much of Becket.”
“I loved that man.”
“That was clear enough. You loved the wrong people . . . apart from Rosamund and Alais. Oh yes, I know about Alais, your son’s betrothed and your mistress. They were gentle, kind, unquestioning. They gave you comfort. You did not get that from me. But it was more exciting, was it not? You and I could have done much together, but I was no Rosamund . . . no Alais. If you had been a faithful husband we could have worked together.”
“You did not care for me.”
“I did . . . in the beginning. It was when you brought that boy Geoffrey into the nursery that it changed for me. Unfaithful immediately after our marriage! It was too much for me to endure. But it is all over. You have treated me shamefully. That was a mistake. It has hurt you more than it has hurt me. Look at me. Look at yourself. And ask who has suffered more from your ridiculous behavior . . . imprisoning your own wife, the Duchess of Aquitaine at that! Do you imagine I am the sort of woman who sits down and weeps and tears her hair at misfortune?”
“Never that,” he said.
“Then at least you have learned something. But it is too late for your eaglets.”
“They are against me . . . all of them.”
“Richard might have worked with you.”
“He hates me more than any of them.