The Plantagenet Prelude - Plaidy Jean (книги серия книги читать бесплатно полностью .TXT) 📗

‘First of course I must divorce Louis,’ said Eleonore.

Henry agreed. He could not believe that that would be allowed. In the meantime there was no reason why he should not enjoy the hospitality of the Queen.

But Eleonore continued to think of marriage. She was determined to divorce the King of France and marry this young Henry Plantagenet for she believed there was little doubt that he would become King of England. Moreover she was passionately in love with him.

Louis paced up and down the chamber. The Abbe Suger watched him sorrowfully. His father had always feared that Louis had not the strength to make a king. He had made the Abbe Suger swear that he would stand beside him and guide him. He would need guidance. And indeed he did with such a wife. If only he had married a simple docile woman how different everything would have been! Instead of that this brilliant match had been made for him, and what had it brought him? Two girls and a wanton wife, a woman who was openly unfaithful.

And now she was demanding a divorce.

There were tears in Louis’s eyes as he faced Suger.

‘What can I do?’ he pleaded. ‘What can I do?’

‘You can tell the Queen that what she is asking is impossible.’

‘She will not let it rest there.’

‘The Queen must be made to do her duty.’

‘You do not know Eleonore.’

‘Not know the Queen! I know her well. She is without decency, without care that she should do her duty.’

‘I have never been the right husband for her. I have never been able to give her what she wanted.’

‘You gave her the crown of France, Sire. Was that not enough for any woman?’

‘Not for Eleonore. She wanted a lusty man.’

‘For shame! You gave her two children. A pity it is that they were not sons. But doubtless if you go on trying...’

Louis shook his head impatiently.

‘She has asked me to talk to you. She is determined to get a divorce.’

‘On the grounds of consanguinity?’

Louis nodded. ‘It is true that we are fourth cousins.’

‘You could divorce her on the grounds of infidelity.’

‘Nay, I would not do that. Suffice it that the blood relationship is there.’

‘I was saying that you could divorce her for her criminal conduct but you would be unwise to do so. If you divorce her the lands of Aquitaine are lost to the French Crown. Sire, there must be no divorce.’

‘She wants it. She will not rest until our marriage is broken.’

‘Think, Sire. What if she married again? Her husband would rule with her and if he was the owner of vast possessions what a powerful neighbour you would have in Aquitaine. Nay, Sire, I could never agree to a divorce for if the Queen married a powerful nobleman, there would be too much strength in the neighbourhood which would be uncomfortably close to France.’

‘She will give me no peace.’

Suger shook his head.

‘I shall oppose a divorce while there is life in me,’ said Suger, Louis sighed. He knew that Suger would never allow the divorce to go through and that Eleonore would fret and fume and make life intolerable for them both.

Riding back to Normandy the young Duke Henry was thinking about Eleonore.

What a woman! He had never had a mistress such as she was before. She excited him; there was a passion about her which overwhelmed him. He was glad that she was older than he was – eleven years was it? She was so experienced. He had never denied himself his pleasures, and strangely enough, although he was far from handsome, women found him irresistible. At least many had; but they were not of the calibre of Eleonore of Aquitaine. That she – Queen of France, and a woman of great experience who had been to the Holy Land and it was said had had her adventures there – should have found her need of him so great that she had lain with him in her husband’s palace, was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

She was heartily sick of her monk-like husband. ‘He is no man,’ she had complained bitterly. ‘I would be rid of him. He shall go back to his Church and I will go to the bed of a husband who will know how to treat me there.’

And that husband was to be himself – he, not yet twenty years of age, a mere Duke of Normandy, had been chosen by the Queen of France. Of course he had prospects...oh, very great prospects; and many believed that he would fulfil their prophecies. Duke of Normandy, yes, but King of England too? Why not? His mother should be the sovereign of that country now, not that upstart Stephen.

And his Queen – Eleonore! He had to admit that it was an alluring prospect. She was beautiful; she had character; she was different from any other woman he had known; she was clever; she wrote songs and sang them charmingly. He could appreciate that.

He was glad now that his uncle Robert – his mother’s half-brother who was the bastard of King Henry I – had taken charge of his education. Uncle Robert was a man who set great store by education. He had said: ‘One day you will be a king and you cannot be an ignorant king.’ He had taken him to his castle in Bristol and there, as well as teaching him horsemanship and chivalry and how to wield a sword, he had made him study – and among his study was literature – under a man known as Master Matthew.

He had taken to learning as he took to anything that interested him. Now their knowledge of literature was a further bond between him and Eleonore, and when they were satiated with love-making they could chat idly of these matters. She said she had never known a young man so learned; he had certainly never known a woman as clever as she was.

And she could bring him Aquitaine.

The only thing that stood in the way of their marriage was that she was married already – married to the King of France.

‘He shall divorce me,’ Eleonore had cried. ‘He shall. He shall!’

And in the presence of such determination he could believe that she was right.

He was sure his father would be pleased. Geoffrey was an ambitious man. He had fought hard to secure Normandy for his wife, which meant for his son, Henry himself. The thought of allying Aquitaine with Normandy, Maine and Anjou would delight him. It meant that the Duke of Normandy would be more powerful than the King of France.

As for his mother she was obsessed by England and she would rejoice in any move which made the family strong enough to take it.

It was full of confidence that Henry rode into the castle of Anjou to see his father. He knew that his mother would not be there and he must pay a separate visit to her. His parents were rarely together and although in their mature years there had grown up a kind of tolerance towards each other there was no affection between them.

His father was delighted to see Henry, who thought that he looked worn and unlike his usual rather jaunty self. He was handsome as Henry would never be. Yet there was something far more striking about the younger man’s vitality and he had a certain charm which his father lacked.

Henry sought an early moment of being alone with his father, but before he could tell him his news Geoffrey talked to him very seriously of other matters.

He seated himself on a stool, his long legs stretched out before him, looking at his son. ‘Be seated, Henry,’ he said.

‘I have much to say to you.’

‘And I to you, Father.’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘I have much on my mind,’ he said.

‘Have you heard what Bernard of Clairvaux has prophesied? Nay, you could not or you would not look so unconcerned. He has said that I shall be dead within the year.’

‘Did you offend him then?’ asked Henry cynically.

‘A difference of opinion. He wished me to release that trouble-maker, de Bellay. I refused and in doing so he tells me I have displeased God who will be avenged.’

‘Is old Bernard in God’s confidence then?’

‘He is a holy man, Henry.’

‘A plague on these holy men! They work for themselves and deceive us...or perhaps themselves into thinking that their will is God’s. You are not disturbed by this prophecy, Father?’