His son Geoffrey was in fear of what would happen next. He implored his father not to blaspheme. They needed God’s help as never before.
“He has deserted me. I will plead with Him no more,” shouted Henry.
Geoffrey was greatly distressed. I think that must have comforted him a little. He had been good to Geoffrey, and Geoffrey had always adored him and had had that attitude toward him for which he had looked in vain from his legitimate sons.
Then came news that the French were preparing to advance. William Marshal urged him to mount his horse for they must retreat at once.
Henry, the great warrior in retreat! The humiliation must have been intolerable to him. Old, tired, sick, the only son left to him, John, about whom he must know he was deluding himself; and thebastard Geoffrey, of course, was the only one on whom he could rely.
Richard told me about an incident which occurred at that time.
Intending to parley with his father, Richard set out with a few men. Unarmed for combat and isolated from his party, suddenly he was halted by a man on a horse who had a lance which he pointed at Richard’s throat.
“It was too late for me to do anything,” said Richard. “He could have killed me. I knew the man. It was William Marshal. I said, ‘You are going to kill me, William Marshal. But see, I am unarmed.’ He paused for a moment, then he said: ‘No, I will not kill you. I will notbe the one to send you to the Devil.’ And with that he slew my horse from under me and rode off. I could only find my men and lead them back to the French camp, thus allowing my father to escape.”
I should always be grateful to William Marshal. I knew he was a good man. He might have considered it his duty to kill the King’s enemy, and Richard at that time was one.
Henry must have known that he was no match for the French. Le Mans was a burned-out town, burned out by his act which made it all the harder to bear. William Marshal and Geoffrey and the others discussed what they should do next. Marshal thought they should make for Normandy, where they would find men to rally to their banner. The King was too tired to make plans. He wanted to know where his son John was; he wanted to discuss with him what was the best thing for them to do.
John could not be found.
“He has gone off to find men to come to our aid,” said Henry. “Soon he will be with us. And then we shall be ready for the enemy when they come.”
There were messengers from the King of France. He wished to parley with Henry once more.
As usual Henry prevaricated. He felt ill and he looked it. I guessed he was too proud to be seen in such a state. No doubt he thought a few days’ rest would be beneficial.
He tried to delay, but Philip Augustus made it clear he would wait no longer. If Henry did not agree to a conference, it would be a matter of all-out war.
So he rode to the meeting. Richard told me about it afterward.
“The King could scarcely sit his horse. William Marshal and Geoffrey rode close to him one on either side. I think it was because they feared he would fall from his horse.”
Philip Augustus’s terms were that Henry must pay homage to him for his lands in France. He, Philip Augustus, and Richard were going on a crusade and as soon as they returned the marriage of Richard and Alais must take place. Richard must be proclaimed heir of all his father’s dominions, and Henry must pay for the cost of the war. If he did not adhere to these conditions, the knights and barons of England were to desert him and join Richard.
“My father was overcome with shame, but there was no alternative. It was either submit or become the prisoner of the King of France. Can you imagine my father a prisoner! He had to accept. The King of France was insistent. He gave me the kiss of peace before all assembled there. We embraced and as his face was close to mine I saw the hatred there. You know how he could not hide his feelings. His lips were close to my ear. He said, ‘I pray God I live long enough to take my revenge on you.’ I took no notice. I thought it better not. And then he went away.”
I heard the rest from William Marshal later.
Henry was overcome with exhaustion, depression and the pain he was suffering. The castle of Chinon was not far away and there he could rest for a while and recuperate his strength.
William Marshal said it was pitiful to see him attempt to mount his horse. Geoffrey, who could speak to him more frankly than the others, insisted that he be carried in a litter. The King protested. He, who had been more at ease in the saddle than on his own two feet, to be carried in a litter like a woman! But Geoffrey was firm, and it was an indication of Henry’s weakness that at length he agreed. And so, by litter, he was carried to Chinon.
What distressed him so much was that after the incident of the fire at Le Mans several of his knights had gone over to Richard, which meant going over to the French. He could not abide traitors. He wanted to know who they were.
He said to Marshaclass="underline" “I want a list of those knights who deserted me. I am sure the King of France would not deny me this. Nay, perhaps he would take a pleasure in giving it to me.”
Geoffrey said: “Perhaps it would be better to forget them. They are not worthy of a moment’s thought.”
“Don’t be a fool,” retorted the King. “I must know my enemies and I regard these as such.”
Geoffrey suggested that he should try to rest.
“Send my son John to me as soon as he comes,” said the King.
He did sleep after that. There was terrible consternation in the camp, for everyone knew how ill he was. The fact that he would not admit it could not disguise it.
When he awoke he saw Geoffrey and William Marshal whispering together. He heard Geoffrey say: “Better not to show it to the King.”
Henry was then fully awake, demanding to know what was not to be shown to him. They were holding something back. What was it? They tried not to tell him but he saw through their ruse and demanded to know.
At length they admitted that it was the list which Philip Augustus had obligingly supplied.
Why were they hiding it? They should bring it at once or feel the weight of his wrath.
I could imagine his anguish when he saw that the name at the head of the list of those who had deserted him was that of his son John.
He could no longer deceive himself.
Did he think of that picture at which he had often looked so sadly? Did he see how true it was? The old eagle worn out ... finished ... and the young eaglets waiting to finish him off. They could not wait for him to reach his end gracefully. They were ready to snatch from him that which he had been so reluctant to give during his lifetime.
Gone were all his illusions. He had gained much territory; he had been the most powerful man in Europe—but he had failed to win the love of his sons, and that was something he had dearly wanted.
He did refer to the picture, they told me. He said: “You see, it was right. My youngest was waiting for the moment when it seemed that all was lost to me, that he might peck out my eyes. I no longer wish to live ... unless it is to take revenge on them. They are her children ... all of them. That she-wolf ... who laughs at me. I made her my prisoner but still she laughs at me, and she defeats me through her sons ...”
I think he must have been delirious then. He talked about the early days of our marriage and of Rosamund and Alais ... the three women who were most important to him among the myriads he had known.
Geoffrey was beside him, for he was uneasy when this son was not there.
“Would to God you had been my legitimate son,” he said to him. “Why did it have to be the bastard who was loyal to me?” He asked Geoffrey to call him “Father.” He said: “You are the best son I ever had. The sons of the Queen have been my enemies, and the son of a whore my friend.”