‘Now, Hubert,’ said Henry, ‘you shall invite him to a banquet and there all will see that you truly repent of your mistake and that my uncle understands full well how it came about.’
‘With all my heart,’ said Hubert and somewhat ungraciously the Earl of Salisbury accepted the invitation.
It was a very grand banquet. The King was present and the Earl of Salisbury sat on the left hand of Hubert de Burgh. They talked amicably together and all said that the unfortunate incident was over and it appeared to have brought these two men – who were not natural friends – together.
Salisbury was a great soldier. With the young Earl of Cornwall he had achieved victories in France and he had shown the people that the humiliating days of John’s reign were behind them. People had feared him in the past; he had been noted for the cruelties he carried out in the name of John; but a well governed country meant the return of law and order and with such a state of affairs Salisbury would dispense with his cruelty and be the good soldier ready to lead his country to more victories.
But when he reached Salisbury Castle, he was overcome by violent pains which were followed by a high fever and was forced to take to his bed, where his condition did not improve.
In a few days he was so weak that he feared his end was near.
‘Bring Bishop Poore to me,’ he said, ‘for I must confess my sins and receive the last rites.’
As he lay in bed awaiting the coming of the Bishop memories came back to him. He wondered how many men he had murdered in the name of King John … and not only in his name. He remembered the thrill of sacking a town and the needless suffering he had inflicted on its inhabitants – not because such conduct furthered the progress of the war but because he considered it good sport and enjoyed it.
Agonised faces haunted him from every corner of the room. He could hear the cries of mutilated people as they were deprived of feet, hands, noses, ears and their eyes were put out.
Any amount of candles to the Holy Virgin could not save him. He had to face the fact that he had led a wicked life.
He deserved to hang – the death of a common felon was not too good for him.
He should have been warned when he was shipwrecked. The Virgin had given him another chance but he had not taken it. He should have spent the last weeks in preparing for a crusade rather than furthering his quarrel with Hubert de Burgh over the Countess.
He rose from his bed and stripping off all garments but a loin cloth, he called for a rope which he put about his neck, so that when Richard le Poore, Bishop of Salisbury, arrived, he found him thus.
‘My lord,’ cried the Bishop, ‘what has happened to you?’
‘I am the worst of sinners. I fear eternal damnation.’
‘Oh, perhaps it is not as bad as that,’ replied the Bishop comfortably. ‘There is time for you to repent.’
‘I shall not rise from the floor until I have confessed my sins to you – as many as I can remember. I have been a traitor to God. I must receive the sacrament without delay.’
Before the Earl died, the Bishop did all that the Earl required of him and eased his conscience considerably.
Poison, was the verdict. Of course Hubert de Burgh poisoned him. It was at the banquet, for would he not know that his conduct over the Countess and his nephew would always be remembered? The Earl would be Hubert’s enemy for as long as he lived – and Hubert was a man who could not afford powerful enemies.
This suspicion was stored away in people’s memories to be brought out when required. There was no danger of its being forgotten. Men such as Peter des Roches would never allow that.
As for Hubert he realised that Reimund could scarcely go wooing the Countess of Salisbury after what had happened. She should be left well alone.
But his indefatigable efforts on his family’s behalf procured another rich widow for his nephew and shortly after the death of the Earl of Salisbury, Reimund married the widow of William Mandeville, the Earl of Essex, who brought as much to the family as the Countess of Salisbury would have done. Another nephew became Bishop of Norwich; and as his brother Geoffrey was already Bishop of Ely, Hubert could congratulate himself that he had his family well and strategically placed, which was what all ambitious men realised they must do.
His enemies continued watchful, but Hubert felt strong enough to defy them.
FRANCE 1223–1227
Chapter X
THE AMOROUS TROUBADOUR
Blanche was uneasy. She felt very much the responsibilities which had been thrust upon her since the death of Philip Augustus. There was one secret anxiety which was something she would not have discussed with anyone and scarcely liked to admit to herself. Louis was not a great soldier; in her heart she doubted whether he was a great king. She herself had been endowed with the qualities of leadership but Louis had not been so fortunate. Louis was a good man and – so rare a quality – a faithful husband and a loving father. His children adored him as he did them. If he had been a minor nobleman, his castle situated in some quiet part of the country where he need not trouble to defend himself, with his family about him and those dependent on him to work for him, he could have been a happy man.
Such had been his grandfather. The tragedy of their lives was that kingship – which so many men would have risked their lives to possess – was not desired by them, for the simple reason that, being men of deep intelligence, they knew their inadequacies to meet its demands.
But Louis had a wife.
‘O God,’ prayed Blanche, ‘help me to act for both of us.’
She was supervising the upbringing of her children with the utmost care – particularly that of young Louis. How she loved her eldest son! She was fond of the others – without doubt – but she could sense in young Louis the making of a great king. When his time came – and she trusted that it would not be for many years – she must see that he was ready.
She was preparing him; but his sovereignty was innate. Moreover he was possessed of striking good looks. His features were clearly chiselled; his skin fine and fair, glowing with good health; he had a mass of blond glossy hair which he had inherited from the beautiful Isabella of Hainault, his paternal grandmother. He was kindly like his father but there the resemblance ended. Louis was good in the schoolroom, for he had a lively interest in all subjects, but he also liked the outdoor life; he enjoyed all sport and in particular hunting and he loved his dogs, horses and falcons. He was all that a healthy boy should be – but there was more than that. He was careful in his dress displaying an elegance even at his age.
If ever a boy was born to be king, that boy was Louis.
Yet she was fearful. She would not coddle him as Philip Augustus had tried to coddle his son Louis. She wondered what young Louis’s reaction would be if she attempted to. She doubted he would take it without protest as his father had. Yet he was a good and dutiful son. She could not forget the loss of her boy Philip at nine years when death had suddenly risen to smite him spitefully as though to be revenged on the boy’s parents.
But Philip had lacked the qualities of his younger brother Louis, so perhaps fate had struck him down because Louis was destined to be King.
Such thoughts were unprofitable. Philip was dead and Louis was the eldest son. They were indeed fortunate to have such a family. She must be grateful and not fret because she feared for her husband’s health and strength as a ruler. She should thank God for giving her such a wonderful son; and for having endowed her with qualities – which it would have been foolish and falsely modest to deny – which made her competent to guide him and shoulder his responsibilities.