The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [245]
So . . . though I was close on eighty years old, I rode forth.
We had come to the chteau of Mirebeau on the borders of Anjou and Poitou. It proved a bad choice for it was not strongly fortified, and I had not been there very long when news came that Arthur and his army, with that of the Lusignans, had had word of my arrival and were marching on the castle.
I laughed and said: “Whenever these Lusignans are about we can expect an attempted abduction. They seem to make a habit of it . . . with me as their intended victim.”
I sent a message to John at Le Mans telling him he must come to Mirebeau with all speed. We then set about fortifying the castle.
It was a horrifying experience to see the armies approaching, because I knew that we could not hold out for long. They would be triumphant, knowing that I was inside the castle and that it would be a simple matter to take me.
Night was almost upon us when the armies encamped outside the castle walls. From a top turret I could see them clearly. I saw Arthur for the first time. My own grandson! He was a handsome boy. I was moved, as I always was by members of the family. I might have been fond of that boy. What a sad thing it was that he was there now, plotting to take me prisoner.
For my own fate I felt little concern. Perhaps one does not care very much when one gets old. My life was finished. What did it matter to me if they killed me in the attempt to take me? It would be that I reached the end a few months . . . perhaps a few weeks . . . before I should at Fontevrault.
What good fortune that they decided to delay the attack until morning! So are great events decided. They had marched through the day and were weary. There was no hurry, they thought. The prey was in her trap and there could be no escape with the army surrounding the castle, and in the morning it would be an easy matter.
I found myself looking forward to an encounter with my grandson. From what I had seen of him, he was a little arrogant, a little imperious. Well, he was but a boy and when too much respect is shown to the young it is not good for their characters.
I slept not at all and that was a long night. I lay on my bed waiting for the morning.
What hope was there that John would come? When had anything John did been a success? I had tried for so long not to see his faults, but of course I had been aware of them. Here I was . . . surrounded by the enemy . . . about to be abducted. Held for ransom, I supposed. How much would John think his mother was worth? It was not the money which was important. The Lusignans did not want the people of Poitou to know that I was coming to them. They wanted them to think of me as an old woman dying at Fontevrault. Then they would say: Here is Arthur. Is he any better than John? Why bother to remain under the rule of foreigners?
It was a clever idea to prevent my reaching my people, and we should have found a stronger fortress than Mirebeau. But there was nothing to do but wait for morning.
Life is full of surprises. For once my son John acted as his father would have. When he received the message that I was at Mirebeau, he rode with his army all through the night and arrived at the castle at dawn. Arthur and the Lusignans were taking a leisurely breakfast before beginning what they would look upon as the easiest conquest of their military careers.
With John was that military genius William Marshal. The timing was perfect, with Arthur and the Lusignans feasting, prematurely celebrating their victory: they were unarmed and when John arrived they were surrounded.
There was no real battle. It was all over very quickly and Arthur and the Lusignans were John’s prisoners.
John came into the castle, his eyes alight with triumph. He embraced me. I was so surprised and delighted that I reciprocated warmly.
“I heard you were in danger,” he cried. “I rode through the night. And see! We arrived just in time. There was no battle. We caught them unprepared.”
I had been mistaken in him. I thought in that moment: He is Henry’s son, a true Plantagenet.