Alais was there. She was a beautiful girl, very gentle, a little uneasy at this time, particularly as Richard was one of the party. He treated her with a cool disdain almost as though he were unaware of her. I know of no one who could present such an icy front to the world as Richard. Geoffrey was rather amused by the situation, I believe. One had the impression that he was hoping for trouble and if he saw a chance would do his best to provoke it.
John was there. I could not like my son John. He was different from the others. Now he was placating his father at every turn, being the dutiful, affectionate son. Surely Henry was not deceived. Oddly enough he seemed to be. It was strange that he who was so shrewd on all other matters should be so blind where his sons were concerned—believing what he wanted to rather than what was blatant fact.
There were meetings. At some of them I was present.
Henry was trying to persuade Richard to give up Aquitaine, and Richard refused. Henry raged and ranted and Richard stood firm.
Henry wanted to distribute the power among his sons, and for that he had to have my agreement. That was why I was there. He did realize that I was of some significance on the Continent. I believed that a certain amount of his troubles there were due to his imprisoning me.
When he asked me to agree to the distribution of his possessions, of which John was to get the larger part, I stubbornly refused my consent.
“Why do you always go against me?” he demanded in exasperation.
“I only go against you when you act foolishly.”
“You are speaking to the King.”
“I am well aware of that for he never lets me forget it. I remember that he has been my jailer for a great many years.”
“And could be for a great many more to come.”
“If it suits his purpose, I have no doubt.”
“Why cannot you listen to reason?”
“Why do you not do the same?”
“I am the King—I make the rules.”
“As we have seen on occasions ... disastrously. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. Was there ever a greater mistake? Yes, one. The crowning of your son in your lifetime. Think about that, Henry Plantagenet, and then ask yourself whether you have always listened to reason.”
“Be silent.”
I bowed my head. The shafts had gone home.
“There is going to be trouble in Aquitaine. They don’t like Richard.”
“Do you think they would like John?”
“They are stupid ridiculous people. They spend their time singing romantic songs. They think that if you were their ruler it would be paradise. Richard will not give up Aquitaine to John. Perhaps he would to you.”
I stared at him.
He did not look at me and went on: “You could spend some time there. Go among them. Let them see you ... how well you have fared in prison. Satisfy their love of romance. I have no doubt they will make up songs about you.”
To go back to Poitiers, to be in my Court again, surrounded by musicians and poets ... long summer evenings out of doors ... the scent of pines and glorious flowers ... long winter evenings around a fire ... laughing, carefree ... beautiful clothes to wear ... he was opening the gates of Paradise.
“Think about it,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “I will go.”
And I thought: Aquitaine returned to me and held for Richard.
What could be better?
From Windsor the Court traveled to Winchester.
I had told Richard about the King’s suggestion.
“If Aquitaine is mine, it is as good as yours,” I told him. “He is suggesting that I go there to keep order.”
“Which shows how worried he is. It is quiet for a while but revolt is always there ... ready to break out. He thinks you will have a sobering effect and this is his way of bringing it about.”
“But if it is handed back to me—and that will have to be without double-dealing ... if it is all fair and legal ... I shall go there. I shall be free, Richard. And I shall see that, when I am no more, Aquitaine shall be yours.”
“You are the only one I would give it to.”
“So let us think about it. Let us consider every little detail so that he has no opportunity of cheating us.”
Richard agreed that we must do that.
As for myself, I was in a state of bemused delight. I could hardly believe it was true. After years of resignation to quiet living in Salisbury or Winchester or some such place ... I was to be free.
Henry was ready to go ahead with his suggestion. Aquitaine was to be returned to me just as I had given it to Richard. Geoffrey was to go back to his dominions, and John would go to Ireland where he was the King.
I think it was clear to Henry that I was going to insist on this before I agreed to anything. Richard was to be the next King of England. He was the eldest son now, and the people would never accept either of the others.
Richard would suit England better than he did Aquitaine; and in his heart Henry must know that. Henry loved England, although he spent so little time there, but that was only because the other dominions were where trouble was always breaking out.
While we were at Winchester we were disturbed by the visit of Heraclius, the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Henry would have wished that he was anywhere but in England, especially when he was aware of what had brought the Patriarch. Saladin was on the point of taking Jerusalem. King Baldwin was dying and Queen Sybil was pleading for help from the whole of Christendom. Her son was an infant. Prompt action must be taken.
Henry, who was always anxious to appear to his subjects as a deeply religious man, listened sympathetically and declared that he would raise money without delay.
But it was not money that Heraclius wanted. He wanted crusaders.
Henry said: Yes, he could see that, but he himself was in no position to go and fight in the Holy Land.
Heraclius was desperate and did not mince words. He reminded Henry that when he had done penance at the tomb of Thomas Becket he had promised to undertake a crusade to the Holy Land.
Henry was always upset by references to Becket. It was astonishing how that man still haunted him. I was sure he thought of him often. There would be constant reminders ... places they had visited together in the days when Becket was Chancellor, before his disastrous elevation to the archbishopric ... the conversations they had had. There must have been thousands of memories.
“I said I would go when the time was ripe,” he declared. “And when the time is ripe, I will. That time is not yet.”
“This is the time,” declared Heraclius. “The heathen is at the very heart of the Holy Land.”
“I could not leave my dominions now,” said the King and added: “This is too important a decision for me to make alone. I must leave it to my ministers.”
Heraclius was shocked that he could rely on others to decide for him. Had he not taken an oath?
Henry could have retorted that the decision would not depend on them; he would follow their advice, yes, because their advice would be what he had commanded them to give him.
In spite of Heraclius’s disappointment Henry called together a council headed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who obediently rose and announced: “My lord King, your duty lies in your own dominions.”
Heraclius could be very disturbing. Perhaps he guessed Henry’s men were merely obeying his orders. He said he would call on another Archbishop, one whose blood had stained the stone of his own cathedral. He would remember that the King had made an oath to go to Jerusalem.
“When it was in his power to do so,” the Archbishop reminded the vehement Patriarch. “The King has his duties here, and God will agree that it is his duty to remain in his own dominions.”