Jean Plaidy - [Queens of England 05] by The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine

Author:The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: 1137-1180, Historical, Eleanor, Biographical, Queens - France, Great Britain - History - Henry II, Biographical Fiction, France, France - History - Louis VII, Great Britain, 1154-1189, Historical Fiction, Queens - Great Britain, Fiction, Queens
ISBN: 9780307347077
Publisher: Broadway
Published: 1987-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

The Fair Rosamund

HENRY’S REACTION WAS WHAT I should have expected. When he finally realized that Becket had escaped him and landed in Flanders and was doubtless on his way to take advantage of Louis’s offer of protection, he was overcome with rage.

This time he did not attempt to suppress it. He raved and ranted, tore at his hair, screamed abuse, lay on the floor, kicked the furniture and, seizing handfuls of rushes, gnawed them.

I stood watching him dispassionately. Everyone else made haste to get out of the way when these moods took him.

He was aware of my analytical gaze. It angered him. He would have liked me to be terrified. I just thought he was behaving like a spoiled child.

At length he grew calmer. He stood up and, after kicking viciously at the legs of the table sat down heavily and stared into space.

“He’ll go to Louis,” I said. He nodded.

“And Louis,” I went on, “will make much of him.”

“Oh yes, indeed he will. He’ll do anything to make trouble for me. He will be laughing at this. These two good men of the Church will put their pious heads together. I can see that. I must write to Louis without delay. I must tell him my side of the story. I shall demand that Becket be sent back to me. What right has Louis to keep a subject of mine?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “If he is there and Louis allows him to stay, he will,” I said.

“Oh yes, yes, he’ll be there . . . with his tales of the wickedness of the King of England.”

“I daresay he will tell what actually happened.”

Henry sent for writing materials. I saw what he wrote.

“Thomas, who was my Archbishop of Canterbury, has been judged in a court of a company of lords, a traitor against me. I beg you not to allow this guilty man to remain in your kingdom. Let not this enemy of mine have help from you, as I would never give to any of your enemies . . .”

Becket had gone but could not be dismissed. Henry would sit glaring before him and I knew he was wondering: Where is Becket now? What is he doing?

We left Northampton and traveled by degrees to Marlborough where we were to spend Christmas. I guessed that it would not be a very merry one, haunted, as I was sure it would be, by the ghost of Becket. We were already at Marlborough when messengers returned from France. They brought no reply from Louis but did report on the manner in which he had received Henry’s information.

Louis had read the letter with some amazement and all he had said was: “The King of England states that Thomas Becket was his Archbishop. Has he been deposed then?” The messenger had not known how to reply to that, for in truth Becket had not been deposed. “It must be by the King of England,” Louis replied. “I can think of no other. I am also a king but I do not have the power to depose the humblest cleric in my country.

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