He was growing a little suspicious.
He sent for Hubert de Burgh. Hubert was back in favour but the relationship between them would never be the same as it had been. Once when he was but a boy he had idolised Hubert, for Hubert – with William Marshal – had given him his crown. He had been but a boy of nine, the French in possession of the key towns of England, his mother recently free from the prison in which his father had placed her, when Hubert and William Marshal had set him on the throne, rallied the country and made it possible for him to be a King.
Such a deed should have made Hubert a friend for life, and when William Marshal had died Hubert became his Chief Justiciar and adviser. Henry had listened to Hubert, had believed in Hubert, but as Hubert grew more and more influential he had become richer and had taken advantage of every situation to enhance his own power and that of his family. He had even married the sister of the King of Scotland. Hubert’s enemies then began to pour the venom of envy into Henry’s ears and he had believed it. After all there must have been some truth in what they suggested. Old Hubert had been hounded from his posts, his life placed in danger, and Henry himself had come near to killing him with his sword on one occasion. Something he regretted later for he was not by nature a violent man. But what he could not bear – and it had been so particularly at that time – was anyone to suggest that he was young, inexperienced and incapable of making decisions. He had had to endure too much of that when he was very young, surrounded as he had been by advisers who fancied themselves so wise.
But now Hubert was taken back into favour. His lands and honours were restored to him; and to show his contrition Henry tried to behave towards him as though that terrible time when he had been hounded from sanctuary and come very near to violent death had never taken place.
Hubert arrived and came straight to the King’s apartment.
Poor Hubert, he had aged considerably. He had lost that buoyancy which had been a characteristic of his; his brow had become very furrowed and his skin had lost its freshness. Moreover there was a look of furtiveness in his eyes as though he were watchful and would never trust those about him again.
This was understandable. He might so easily have ended up a prisoner in the Tower of London to emerge only to suffer the traitor’s death. It had happened swiftly and suddenly and in Hubert’s mind without reason. He would never rid himself of the fear that it could come again.
‘Ah, Hubert.’ The King held out his hand and smiled warmly.
Hubert took it and bowing low, kissed it. So he was safe for today, he thought with relief. The King was concerned but Hubert was not to be held responsible for what was troubling him. Hubert softened a little. Henry was not to be blamed entirely. He had been led away by malicious men who had been determined to destroy Hubert de Burgh, a man whose possessions and standing with the King they envied. But that was in the past. By great good fortune from Hubert’s point of view, Edmund the sainted Archbishop of Canterbury had deplored the influence Hubert’s arch enemy, Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester, was gaining over the King. He had not been alone in this and backed by powerful barons the Archbishop had threatened the King with excommunication if he did not dismiss the Bishop.
Henry, whose religious instincts were strong, had been impressed by the saintliness of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and in due course dismissed Peter des Roches. Thus the way had been paved for Hubert’s return to favour.
But there must be tensions between them which could never be overcome. Hubert could not forget that the King had turned against him and only extreme good luck had prevented his enemies from destroying him; Henry would always remember the rumours he had heard of Hubert. They would never again entirely trust each other.
Peter des Roches had left England taking with him much of his wealth which he had placed at the service of the Pope who was engaged in war with the Romans. But his memory lingered on and the harm he had done to Hubert would never completely be eliminated.
All this they both remembered as they faced each other.
‘The messengers are long in returning from Ponthieu,’ said Henry.
‘My lord, there is much for them to settle. When they return the contracts will have been agreed and your bride will be making her preparation to come to England.’
‘I trust she is as comely as we have heard, Hubert.’
‘She is young and I doubt not that she is also comely.’
‘This time,’ said Henry, ‘I shall make sure that nothing prevents my marriage.’
‘I see no reason, my lord, why it should.’
For a moment Henry regarded the Justiciar through half-closed eyes. Was it true or malicious talk that Hubert had been responsible for stopping the negotiations for those other matches? No, he did not believe Hubert would behave so. Moreover, what point would there have been?
‘The Count of Ponthieu is eager for the match,’ went on Hubert, ‘and so I believe is his daughter. In fact, my lord, I have it on the best authority that they cannot believe their good fortune.’
‘This does not surprise me,’ answered Henry complacently. ‘Ponthieu is of no great moment when compared with England. It will be a grand match for the girl.’
He smiled. He would enjoy being kind to his bride, showing her what a fine match she had made, letting her know that in every way he was her superior. How she would love him for showering such benefits upon her!
‘Hubert,’ he said, ‘I want you to press ahead with this marriage. There has been too much delay.’
‘It was my intention to do so, my lord,’ replied Hubert. ‘Rest assured that within a few weeks your bride will be here.’
When Richard had returned to England his first duty was to present himself to his brother. Even as they had greeted each other they were both aware of the caution which had crept into their relationship. They had lost the trust they had once had. Since that day when Henry had quarrelled with Richard and had even thought of making him a prisoner, and Richard had gathered together some of the chief barons to side with him, Henry had been wary of his brother. From the very day he had ascended the throne in the manner of every baron about him had been the implication that he must remember what had happened to his father. Runnymede! The very word held a grim warning. It happened to King John; it could happen to you. The barons would never again let any King of England forget what a power they were. And when a King had an ambitious brother who had already shown himself capable of standing against him, he must indeed be cautious.
Richard would never forget that, urged on by the Justiciar, Henry had once been on the point of arresting him and but for the loyalty of some of his servants and his own prompt action he might have found himself the King’s prisoner. He had been forced to arouse those barons who were watchful of the King and ready to side with him before he was able to feel free again. And although he and the King had become friends afterwards, such incidents left their mark.
Richard was intensely aware of the rivalry between them. He himself could never forget that it was only the timing of their birth which had placed Henry in the superior position and he naturally thought that he would have made the better King. Henry was aware of his feelings and this did not endear him to his brother.
Still, because of their close relationship they both knew that outright animosity between them would be uncomfortable for both of them.
Henry was irritated because his matrimonial adventures had failed but at the same time pleased because Richard’s adventure in that direction, although positive, was far from satisfactory.
‘So, how did you fare?’ the King asked.
‘Well enough.’