The Revolt of the Eaglets - Plaidy Jean (бесплатные полные книги TXT) 📗

Richard himself knew that the only way to establish peace in Aquitaine was to bring back his mother. She was their Duchess. In their eyes her marriage to Henry Plantagenet had been a disaster. She had made him their Duke, a fact which they had never accepted; and borne sons – such as Richard – who brought to Aquitaine a way of life which was unacceptable.

There would be no end to conflict; and because he realised this, he had decided to accept this invitation to Pampeluna, that he might get away to think more clearly of the situation which faced him.

As they rode side by side, their followers behind them, they sang, often songs of their own composition. Sancho’s songs glowed with the warmth of the South; but those who listened detected as others had before them, a hint of the North in Richard’s songs. Those of the South were languorous, those of the North filled with vigour.

Even those closest to Richard thought: He is not one of us.

When they came into Pampeluna travellers were already arriving for the tournament which was to take place in a large meadow outside the castle walls. The inns were overflowing; beggars stood by the wayside, pathetic and cunning; thieves and vagabonds mingled with the respectable citizens, all looking for a picking. Stalls had been set up on which were all kinds of wares: girdles and buckles, purses, laces, brooches, razors, dice, rasps for scratching itchy skin, otter skins for making pelisses, and furs made into garments, pestles, wine, wool, barley – in fact goods of all kinds were laid out for show.

People stood in awe as the cavalcade passed. They gazed at their handsome Prince Sancho and they felt a little apprehensive at the sight of Richard of Aquitaine. There was something repelling about him, while yet fascinating. He was so tall; they rarely saw such a tall man in these parts and he sat his horse as though he and the animal were one – some strange being from Heaven or hell. His reputation had travelled ahead of him. Richard, son of Henry Plantagenet and Eleanor of Aquitaine, a man who had set the whole of his Duchy up in arms, a man who sought to subdue them by terror.

There had been many rumours. He was as great a fighter as his father and his father was a great-grandson of the mighty Conqueror whose name continued to reverberate through the land even though it was years since he had died. It was said of Henry Plantagenet that he had many sons. There were four born of Eleanor and many more he had got of other women. Rumour had it that they were not indeed sons of the Plantagenet but of the Devil. To see this tall man with the hair which was not exactly red nor yellow but somewhere in between and the eyes that were blue and cold as ice was to believe there could be some truth in the story.

It was said that when he sacked a town he took the women and indulged in debauchery and when he had had enough of them he turned them over to his men. It was hard to believe this of the cold-looking man and it was well known that a man’s enemies would tell any tale to discredit him. That he was cruel they could well believe.

The women smiled at Sancho warmly. How different was their handsome young Prince! It was true he seemed insignificant beside the other, but they loved him all the more for that. He was Sancho the Strong, who had excelled in battle and gave them such pleasure in the joust.

‘Long live Sancho the Strong,’ they cried.

The King of Navarre greeted Richard warmly. It delighted him, he said, to have the son of King Henry and Queen Eleanor at his Court. His son Sancho had told him often of Richard’s talents and he had wanted to meet him.

The tournament would begin on the following day and he trusted that Richard would add to the pleasure of the spectators by taking part in it. Richard declared his intention of doing so.

‘This night,’ said the King, ‘we shall feast in the hall and later I hope you and your attendants will enchant us with some of the melodies for which you are renowned.’

Richard replied that he was eager to hear the songs of Navarre which he was assured equalled in charm and beauty those of Aquitaine.

‘You shall be our judge,’ said Sancho. ‘My son and my two daughters shall sing for you.’

Sancho, King of Navarre, was by descent Spanish, his ancestor being the Emperor of Spain. He had married Beatrice who was the daughter of King Alphonso of Castille. He was extremely proud of his family – his beautiful wife, his son named after him who already had a reputation for valour and had earned the soubriquet of ‘The Strong’, and his two lovely daughters Berengaria and Blanche.

Richard as guest of honour sat on the King’s right hand and next to Richard sat the King’s daughter, Berengaria. She was very young, dainty and with a promise of beauty.

They feasted and drank while Richard watched the lovely young girl at his side. She was a child in truth but her intelligence astonished him and later when she sang he was enchanted by her and found it difficult to withdraw his gaze from her.

Her father, watching, was aware of this and he thought that if Richard were not betrothed to Alice of France there might have been a match between them.

Richard sang songs of love and war and somehow it seemed he sang of war more frequently than he did of love. Sancho the younger was different. This hero who had distinguished himself in battle against the warlike Moors made all aware by the trembling passion of his songs that he was also a lover.

The King remained at Richard’s side and he told him that he knew of the state of affairs in Aquitaine and was sorry for them.

‘The people want your mother back. There is no doubt of that.’

‘I know it well,’ replied Richard. ‘I would to God my father would see the reason of this.’

‘It seems so unnatural … a husband to make a prisoner of his wife.’

‘My father can be a most unnatural man.’ There was a venom in Richard’s voice which startled Sancho. It was true then, he supposed, that the sons of the King of England hated him. He looked at his own handsome Sancho and his lovely daughters and thanked God.

‘Yet if he realised that the people of Aquitaine will never settle while she remains a prisoner, it might be that he would see the wisdom of releasing her.’

‘They hate each other,’ said Richard. ‘They have for years. I was aware of it in my nursery. He brought his bastard in to be brought up with us. It was something my mother’s pride would not stomach.’

‘That is understandable.’

‘Indeed it is. When they married my mother’s position was higher than his. Then he became King of England. She would have been beside him to help him … but he spoilt that … with his lechery she used to say. I used to listen to them, taunting each other.’

‘You love your mother dearly, I believe.’

‘I would do a great deal to bring about her release. I plan to reduce my father to such a state that he will have to listen to my terms and the first of these shall be the freedom of my mother.’

Sancho nodded sympathetically but he thought: You would never bring Henry Plantagenet to his knees.

‘At this time it might be better to persuade him what her release would do for Aquitaine.’

‘I have done this. He will not listen. He sees me as my mother’s partisan and he believes that she is only capable of treachery towards him.’

‘Perhaps if another were to put the case to him.’

Richard’s heart leaped with joy. It was for this he had come to Navarre.

‘You mean … you would?’

‘I mean I could try.’

‘By God’s teeth, he would listen to you.’

‘Then let me try. I will send a message to him. I will tell him that as an outside observer I see how matters stand in Aquitaine and that the people there will never be at peace while the Duchess is a prisoner.’