The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [195]
I remembered Hugh de Lacy. He was a very dark man, by no means handsome, with small black eyes and a flattened nose; he was short of stature and far from elegant; but he had power, I remember. I could imagine his dismay at having John giving orders above him.
After a while, having run out of money, John returned to England, where Henry apparently received him warmly, still deceiving himself that this was the one son who loved him. I could imagine John’s playing the affectionate son, laughing inwardly at the old fool, determined to get what he could out of him.
Soon after that Hugh de Lacy was murdered. He was in the process of building a castle at Durrow when a man from Teffia with an unpronounceable name—I think it was Gilla-gan-inathar O’Meyey—picked up an axe and severed his head from his body.
Henry was deeply shocked and perturbed for de Lacy had kept good order in Ireland. John’s comment was that it was the old fool’s just reward.
In the meantime Geoffrey was at the French Court. Henry was uneasy about his sons’ friendship with the French King. I wondered if Philip Augustus knew that Henry’s worst enemies were now his own sons; and of course Philip Augustus was Henry’s perennial enemy—just as his father had been. There would always be strife between the kings of France and England while England owned so much of France; constantly there would be on one side the desire to retrieve and on the other to acquire more.
But between the King of France and Henry’s sons there was a great attraction. Philip Augustus was a clever young man, quite different from his father. He might not be as powerful on the battlefield as Richard, so successful at the joust as Geoffrey, but he had a subtlety they lacked.
At the Court of France Philip Augustus was now treating Geoffrey as an honored guest. It might have been that he was trying to sow further distrust between Henry and his sons. That would not be difficult. However, the entertainment he arranged for Geoffrey was lavish.
Geoffrey loved tournaments above everything else. He was brilliant in the lists, and it was only natural of course that with a prince from England there should be rivalry between the two countries, and as the jousts were conducted as a war, the two sides should vie with each other for victory.
They had agreed that this should be a mock battle. The two sides were to face each other, and if one member of the party could be separated from the rest and forced to dismount, that was considered a capture. Later they would count their “prisoners.”
Constance, Geoffrey’s wife, was with him. She was pregnant at the time. They had one daughter only, Eleanor, named after me, and this time they were hoping for a son.
He wore her colors, I was told, as he rode confidently out.
None quite knew how it happened. Perhaps he was overconfident. Perhaps he was taken by surprise. The joust had scarcely begun when a lance struck his horse, and the creature reared and fell, throwing Geoffrey. He was called upon to yield in the name of the King of France. I could imagine his chagrin. He, Geoffrey Plantagenet, to yield to a knight of Philip Augustus! He raised himself and as he did so a rider and horseman came thundering past. The horse’s hoof caught him at the side of his head and he lost consciousness immediately.
He was taken into the castle. Constance ran to his side while Philip Augustus shouted for doctors.
But when they came it was too late. Geoffrey was dead.
We had lost another of our sons.
I was grief-stricken and knew that Henry would be, too. What was this ill fate which dogged him? Did he remember the curse of Heraclius? Did he go into that chamber and look at the eaglets? One would not now peck him to death.
Two remained—Richard and John—and he was at odds with Richard