The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [232]
“I swear to God . . .”
“I should not if I were you. Those who break their vows to men are treacherous, those who break them to God much worse.”
He went away and I thought a great deal about him. I had never liked him. I remembered always that it was at the time of his birth that I discovered I no longer loved Henry, and I had resented the fact that I was pregnant with his child. Perhaps I had been at fault. I had sent him to Fontevrault. I had given all my love to the other children—particularly Richard—and there had been none to spare for John.
Now I saw him clearly—ambitious, avaricious, self-seeking, sensual as his father was; but there was something sadistic about John which had never been there in Henry. We should have to be careful of John. Naturally I did not believe in his repentance but I should have to pretend to. We had to break John’s friendship with the King of France. We could not have brother against brother.
I told Richard my feelings in the matter.
“He is coming to ask your forgiveness. You must give it to him, Richard.”
“Willingly.”
“No, not too willingly, but for the sake of expediency. Never forget that, if the opportunity arose, he would betray you. But let it be thought publicly that you are good friends.”
I was present at the reconciliation scene. John went to his brother and threw himself at his feet. He would have given quite a good performance but he was always inclined to overact.
He seized Richard’s legs and gazed up at his brother.
“I deserve to be punished,” he said. “Punish me, Richard. Devils possessed me. How could I behave so to a brother I hold in such great honor . . . as does the whole world. I am so proud of you, Richard. I would I could be more like you.”
“It was evil counselors, not devils,” said Richard. “You are young, and the young fall easily into the scheming hands of unscrupulous men. Come. Do not grovel there. Stand up.”
John did, and Richard kissed him.
There was peace between the brothers.
There was still no mention of Berengaria.
I brought up the matter again. “You are thirty-six years old, Richard. It is time you had a son.”
“I have many years left to me.”
“That is what I pray for. But you should have children by now. If you do not live with your wife how can you get legitimate sons?”
“She shall come here.”
“When?”
“When I have settled Normandy. There is much to do here, Mother.”
Later he said he thought we should send for Arthur.
“Why?” I asked.
“So that he learns to speak English and becomes accustomed to our ways.”
“You mean . . . because he may be the future King?”
“It is a possibility.”
“Can you imagine the conflict? Do you think John would allow that to happen without a fuss?”
“John is young and headstrong.”
“All the more reason why we should be careful.”
“That is why I believe it would be a good idea to send for Arthur. People should get to know him. He is a handsome boy, I believe.”
I knew in my heart that one of my hardest tasks would be to get Berengaria and Richard together.
I was an old woman, and the agony of Richard’s captivity had taken its toll of me. Now that Richard was home and was taking over the reins of government, I needed a rest—if only a temporary one.
I had always been interested in Fontevrault. It seemed to hold the very essence of peace within its walls. I told Richard that I intended to go there and stay for a while. He thought it an excellent idea and encouraged me in this. I would be close at hand if needed.
I felt as near contentment as I could be there. Richard, my beloved son, was safe and well, and the only regret he gave me was the avoidance of his wife. I understood that the state of marriage did not appeal to him. It was difficult to understand why he—who appeared to be the very essence of manliness—should have what was almost an aversion to women . . . not as women, of course, but as a sexual attraction. No two could have been closer than he was