It was true that she had been present at the treaty with Louis near Staines but somehow she felt that had been a mere formality. She had had no voice in any of the arrangements which had been agreed by the council, the head of which was Marshal and de Burgh. They had made the decisions; she had merely been there to represent the King.
It would not do. She had no intention of being forced into the background. Her best method she believed was to approach her son, and knowing that he was at Windsor with his tutor, Philip of Albini, she went there to him.
She was faintly disturbed to see a change in Henry’s demeanour; then she laughed inwardly and told herself it was natural for a young boy who had suddenly realised that he was a king, and now of course the French were driven from the land his position was very secure.
She embraced him warmly and dismissed his tutor Philip of Albini who seemed reluctant to leave the boy alone with his mother.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘they are making a king of you, my son.’
He replied somewhat haughtily: ‘I am a king, my lady.’
‘Praise Heaven that the French have gone. You must be greatly indebted to William Marshal and perhaps most of all to Hubert de Burgh. His strategy was masterly.’
‘He is a good servant,’ said Henry calmly.
Isabella burst into laughter and taking her son into her arms she held him against her. Sensing his resentment as he stood stiffly in her embrace, it occurred to her then that it was not going to be so easy to rule him as she imagined.
He drew himself from her and for a few seconds they regarded each other; Isabella’s gaze was shrewd; his was wary.
‘I trust, Henry,’ said Isabella reproachfully at length, ‘you will not forget that, King though you may be, you are my son.’
‘It would be impossible to forget such a fact. All the world knows that you were my father’s wife and I the eldest son of the marriage.’
Again she laughed, but uneasily. ‘You are the same in many ways. You were always so serious. Tell me, do you miss your brother Richard and little Joan … and the babies.’
‘No, my lady. I have matters of great import with which to occupy myself.’
‘I’ll swear they are missing you.’
‘I think not, my lady.’
‘Why Joan was speaking of you but a few days since.’
‘Joan … Joan is little more than a child.’
‘Not too young to be betrothed. We shall be finding a wife for you ere long, I doubt not.’
‘The matter will be for me to decide.’
‘Nay, my son. That will be a matter of such importance that you will have to listen to the advice of others.’
‘My marriage will be of more importance to me than to any, and therefore I am determined to see that it suits me.’
‘Why, Henry, what has come over you?’
‘I have become a king, Madam.’
It had occurred to her then that there was a hint of hostility in his manner towards her. They had never doted on each other; she had never experienced that obsession with her children which some mothers felt, but she had perhaps taken it for granted that they must admire her for her beauty and that inherent gift to attract.
‘Dear Henry,’ she said, ‘let us not lose sight of the fact that you are ten years old.’
‘It is something of which Philip constantly reminds me. For that reason I must learn quickly. I must be wary of those who would seek to influence me. I must learn to form judgements and they must be wise ones. William Marshal is often here. It is likely that he will be here this day. He insists that I sit in council with him and other ministers that I may learn quickly; and indeed, Madam, I am determined to do so.’
‘Let us hope that you will be able to spare a little of your attention for your mother,’ she retorted with some asperity.
‘As you see I am doing that now.’
‘With not very happy results. And I see also, Henry, that you have grown away from me.’
‘Was I ever near you, Madam?’
‘My dear son, you know we were in captivity.’
‘I know for what reason.’
‘Your father’s cruelty.’
‘You had betrayed him.’
‘My dear Henry – though you be the King – pray remember that I am your mother. You do not know what manner of man your father was.’
‘I am learning and what I know best is that I must be as different from him as it is possible for one man to be from another.’
‘Well, that is a good lesson to have learned. One day you will understand what havoc was wrought in this kingdom.’
‘I have already learned. My tutors insist that I learn what has happened in this kingdom from the days of the Conqueror that I may profit from the errors of my predecessors. I know this: I must reign well, so that it will not be held against me that I am the son of John and …’
‘And Isabella of Angoulême,’ she supplied.
‘I said of John, my lady.’
‘And stopped in time. You do not appear to have a very fine opinion of your mother.’
He was silent.
‘What do you think it was like, married to such a man?’ she burst out. ‘You know how he lost the crown possessions in France and came near to losing this kingdom. But that is not all. There are matters of which your clever tutors know nothing. I could tell you …’
‘Pray spare me,’ said Henry coolly; and she thought: Is this my son – my ten-year-old who talks like an old man? How did we get such a boy, John and I? There is no laughter in him, no joy in living. He is a king – power stretches out before him when he is old enough to enjoy it, and he is like an old man already. She could see that there was no hope of his listening to her.
She shrugged her shoulders and left him.
Later she spoke with Philip of Albini – a man with a very serious mind who assured her that he, acting under the instructions of William Marshal and Hubert de Burgh, was determined to instruct the King in all matters pertaining to his role in life, while not neglecting his general education. He was happy to report that the young King learned quickly; indeed he had a taste for learning and was particularly interested in literature and the other arts. He was a pupil whom it was a joy to instruct. Philip of Albini could assure the Queen that the Earl of Pembroke was delighted and had even said that it might be an advantage that the King had come into their care while there was time yet to form his mind.
The fool! thought Isabella. He thought he was pleasing her by this praise of her son, when what he was saying was tantamount to pointing out that it was fortunate he had escaped from her care.
Hearing that the Earl of Pembroke would be visiting the castle the following day, she decided to remain to see him; she spent a sleepless night trying to face this turn about in events. It was not going to be as she had planned. She was not going to be there – the power behind the throne, whom all realised they must placate if they were going to find favour with her son. She was going to be the figure in the background, of no importance, the old Queen Mother to whose rank these powerful men would pay a certain homage and that would be the end of it. There was no one among them who would have given up everything to become her lover. They were a dull lot, concerned only with moulding the young King in the way they wanted him to go. It looked as though the future might be bleak for Isabella.
This was confirmed with the arrival of the Earl in the company of Hubert de Burgh. They were delighted with the application and progress of the King; his mother had reason to be proud of him; but both these gentlemen made it very clear to her that her guiding hand was to play no part in the young King’s progress.