The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [209]
I thought Henry’s illegitimate son Geoffrey might have had pretensions too. Henry had made so much of him and on his deathbed, when this Geoffrey was the only son who remained faithful to him, he had said something about his being his only true son.
A country without an heir is in danger. Richard was now thirty-three years old, an age when a King should be married and have produced several heirs. Of course, the circumstances of Alais’s connection with Henry had been the cause of the present position, but I believed it should be remedied without delay.
I tried to get Richard to pay some attention to this all-important matter, but it was quite difficult to draw his attention from the crusade.
“Richard,” I said firmly, “you must marry.”
He looked absent-minded. “Oh, that can wait until I return.”
“It cannot wait,” I said. “It is imperative that you produce an heir.”
He looked at me steadily for a few moments, then he said: “Dear Mother, I have no desire for marriage.”
“You . . . a King . . . can say that?”
“It is true.”
I had heard rumors. There was the passionate friendship with the King of France. “The King likes better to toy with his own sex than with women.” That had been said. I had refused to accept it then. He was so good-looking, so essentially masculine.
He read my thoughts. He said: “It is so. You see, women have little attraction for me.”
I said: “Your friendship with Philip Augustus . . . you were lovers?”
“You could say that.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “But that does not prevent your marrying and having a child. There have been other cases . . .”
“I suppose it will have to be done.”
“Of course it will have to be done. There is a crown to think of. Imagine what would happen if you did not have an heir. Think of John on the throne of England!”
“Arthur is the heir to the throne.”
“A young boy. Do you think the people will want him! He is a foreigner. You know how the English hate foreigners.”
“They could call me that.”
“No. Not with your fair looks. They say you are the perfect Englishman.”
“Who has lived so little in England.”
“You must remedy that, Richard. When this crusade is over . . . Oh, I wish to God it had not been necessary to do it so soon.”
“It was when the call came.”
“But your marriage. What of this Berengaria of Navarre? You mentioned her once. I thought you had taken a fancy to her.”
“I did. I do not want marriage . . . but if it were necessary . . .”
“It is necessary. We must approach Sancho for Berengaria.”
“What of Alais?”
“She shall go back to France. Philip Augustus must understand that in view of what has happened you can not make her your Queen.”
“He will expect it.”
“Then he must needs do so. I must arrange this marriage with Berengaria.”
Richard did not answer. I guessed his thoughts were elsewhere. But I began to plan vigorously.
I was a little taken aback by what he had admitted. True, it was not exactly a surprise to me. It was something which had been in my mind for some time, and because I had not wanted to admit it, I had allowed it to remain a vague suspicion.
Men had such leanings but they did not prevent their begetting a family, which they must do if they were kings. I could see that Richard was going to be very lackadaisical about marriage, and it was my duty to see that it took place as soon as possible. I was certainly not going to wait until his return from the crusade.
There was only one course open to me. I must go to Navarre. I must bring Berengaria out with me, and we must meet up with Richard somewhere and get them married.
For a woman of my age this was an undertaking which might prove a little daunting. But I was no stranger to the hardship of crusading, and though at the time when I suffered