A Proud Taste for Scarlet and Miniver

  Everyone began to appeal to the king’s court, and Henry had clerks record what happened. When people came with a complaint similar to an earlier one, Henry would check the records and see how the matter had been settled before. In that way everyone received the same treatment under the law, a law common to everyone, the English Common Law.

  Henry barely stayed still in those days. He spent as much time in motion as the waters of the ocean, and his roar was as loud. He would tell his court that they should be ready to leave at noon. But if Henry happened to be up at dawn, he would be ready to go that minute, and the whole court would be thrown into a frenzy to make everything ready including several wagons carrying nothing but the parchment rolls on which he had written the decisions of his courts. At other times everything would be ready at sunrise, and Henry would sleep until noon. The entire bailey of the castle would be filled with people dozing and waiting for that loud first call of their king.

  Henry dismounted from his horse to sleep, to eat and to pray, but for little else.

  “Henry,” Eleanor said, “the children think their father is a centaur.”

  Henry got down on all fours and chased his sons, Henry and Richard, and caught them. He swung them up, one in each arm, then set them upon his knees, left and right. “A centaur is a pagan invention,” Henry said to them. “Half man, half horse. I am all Christian and all king,” he said.

  “Only the king part is divided,” Eleanor added. “It is half English, half French.”

  “Yes,” Henry agreed. “This is a nice tight little island, this England, but my lands in France need attention. I am appointing a chancellor to take care of things here while I am off to France.”

  “Surely Mother Matilda and I can hold . . .”

  “Eleanor, I need you with me often. We must often appear together. Especially in Aquitaine where I am still regarded as a foreigner. Besides, you add comfort to my rooms and softness to my manners.”

  “Who will be your chancellor?” Eleanor asked.

  “Becket. Thomas Becket. He is highly recommended. He is energetic and efficient.”

  “I have heard that he trained as a priest,” Eleanor said.

  “Yes, but not for the same reasons your Louis did. Louis saw the priesthood as the way to satisfy his ambition to get someplace in Heaven, but Thomas Becket saw the priesthood as a way to satisfy his ambitions to get someplace here on Earth. Louis is a man of lofty birth with plain tastes; Becket is a man of plain birth with high tastes.

  Thomas Becket became my son’s chancellor, his comrade and his adviser. Becket’s home and hospitality became as popular as the royal court. When there was important work or important play, Becket was Henry’s first thought. Eleanor often felt left out. Chancellor Thomas Becket was not a simple man.

  7

  KING LOUIS may have had more thoughts of the Kingdom of Heaven than the Kingdom of France, but he had enough thought left over to want an heir. He married again. This time his choice was Constance of Spain, a girl best described as sweet—an adjective I reserve for women who lack sufficient spirit to cause trouble. Constance presented Louis with a child in the year 1168. We were assembled at Christmas court that year when the subject of Louis’s new child came up.

  “They call this one Marguerite,” I said.

  “How clever!” Eleanor said. “I never would have thought to name a daughter of mine after a flower.”

  “No,” Henry said, “I think it best to name our daughters after queens and mothers of kings, so that they have some notion that they are put on Earth for some reason other than smelling sweet and nodding at the sun.”

  “Marguerite, Marguerite Capet.” Eleanor paused a minute and then added, “I’ve just been thinking, Henry.”

  “You are always guilty of that, madam,” Henry answered.

  “If I know Louis,” Eleanor said, “and I do know Louis, right now he is very concerned about what will happen to his kingdom when he dies. He thinks about death all the time, you know. And if I know Louis, and I do know Louis, he would like to have his newest daughter engaged to a young man of property so that when he dies, at least his grandchildren can hold France. Louis will have to offer a dowry with this daughter, a considerable dowry, so that she can be engaged to a man of property, considerable property, a man with a title worthy of a princess of France.”

  “And you believe that Louis would be interested in a young man of property—considerable property—even if that young man of property has as his father a great rival king?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” Eleanor answered. “And even if that young man has as his mother, Louis’s own former wife.”

  Henry thought a minute, but only a minute. “I’ll have Becket arrange it,” he said. He smiled. “Becket will arrange the engagement of our son Henry to Louis’s Marguerite.”

  “Why Becket?” Eleanor asked. “It was my idea. Besides who knows how to impress Louis’s people better than I?”

  “No one knows better, my dear,” Henry answered. “But Becket knows as well. And besides, the Franks do not resent Becket, but they do resent you. Louis resents you, too. He has never forgiven you for divorcing him.”

  “Oh, you’re right, Henry. Of course, you’re right. It’s just that I would love to arrange a great pageant to impress those Franks.”

  “Becket will do it. He will do a great job. He will make every single bishop, baron, priest, duke, monk, count and serf realize that their former queen is better married than she was.”

  Eleanor smiled at Henry. “I should say so.” She patted her stomach. “And when this little Plantagenet arrives, we shall outmatch them by our three sons to their zero.”

  “What makes you so certain that you are carrying another boy?”

  “I know. I just know. His name will be Geoffrey—after your father.”

  8

  A MODERN CIRCUS train is dusty and fourth rate compared to the parade that Becket arranged to impress the French. He traveled down from Normandy with a caravan that would have been appreciated even in Constantinople. I can only wonder at its effect on people whose lives had no color or sparkle.

  Every place they stopped, the men unloaded the chests that contained the gold and silver plate. And everywhere they stopped, they distributed beer, free to all who could make their way to the wagon. When they arrived in Paris, their party was so enormous that there were no quarters large enough to put them up, so they stayed outside the city gates.

  What a contrast King Louis was to Thomas Becket. Louis wore a plain monk’s cloak, and his manners could not be distinguished from those of a simple priest. He was always opening doors for people—even the lowliest.

  Thomas knew as well as Eleanor did that a monarch was often the only touch of glamour and color that peasants had in their lives. Seeing a long-tailed monkey, dressed in bright livery and riding the back of a pack mule, would be something to tell children and grandchildren about. Both Eleanor and Thomas Becket had a social conscience of sorts; they both felt that being grand was their duty. And what a happy coincidence that their duty matched their temperament.

  Thomas returned successful. Triumphant. “Louis VII, the King of France, has consented to the betrothal of his six-month-old daughter, Marguerite, to your three-year-old son, Henry,” he reported.

  “Bravo!” Eleanor replied.

  “What will be her dowry?” Henry asked.

  “A wedge, a triangle, a corner, a . . .”

  “Ah, Thomas, you did it!” Henry went over and clapped Thomas on the back. “You did it!” He turned to Eleanor and said, “We got the Vexin. That little wedge, that little triangle, that my father had to give up. Remember, Eleanor?”

  “Of course, I remember, Henry. He gave up the Vexin, and you got the Aquitaine.” She looked up and smiled, “And me. Now you have the Vexin returned to you.” She looked at Becket as she said, “And that, Henry, is as much due to me as it is due to Becket. I bore you the son who redeemed the Vexin.”

  “That’s true, my qu
een,” Becket answered. “I acted merely as negotiator. But King Louis did have two requests. One, that the castles of the Vexin be held by the Knights Templar, a neutral force, until Henry and Marguerite are married, and,” Becket added, looking at his queen, “there was another request.”

  “Yes?” Eleanor asked. “What was that?”

  “You know that it is the custom for a betrothed princess to be reared in the court of her future husband.”

  “Oh, do I know that!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I was ever grateful to my father that he had never betrothed me as an infant. I would have turned out all wrong if I had been reared anywhere but in the Aquitaine.”

  Henry laughed. “There are those, madam, who would question what you mean by turning out right.”

  Eleanor looked at Henry and smiled. “No one who matters questions that I have turned out anything but right.”

  Becket cleared his throat, “Well . . . about King Louis’s request. He will not agree to the match unless he is assured that Marguerite’s education and care will be supervised by someone other than Eleanor.”

  Henry and Becket both looked at Eleanor for a reaction. Eleanor threw her head back and laughed. “Is Louis afraid that I will teach her to sing, or is he afraid that I will teach her to dance, or is he afraid that I’ll teach her to use some naughty words in chapel?” Then she looked at Henry and Becket and said, “I am happy to be relieved of the care of sweet Constance’s daughter. I had not expected such a bonus in the bargain.”

  Henry and Becket exchanged a glance. For all her bravado, Eleanor’s pride had been hurt.

  “You have done your work well, Thomas,” Eleanor said. “We seem to excel at the same things, you and I. We both love splendor and show. We both set a fine table. We both are efficient administrators. Now, Thomas, I suggest that you attempt to raise a child.” Eleanor turned to Henry and said, “Surely Louis would approve of his daughter’s education being in the hands of this man who studied for the priesthood and who charmed him out of the Vexin.”

  “An excellent idea, Eleanor,” Henry said. “Thomas, find some proper teachers and nurses, and you shall be in charge of the young couple.”

  “Thank you, your majesty,” Thomas said. “I hope that I shall do all that is expected of me.”

  “You always do more,” Eleanor replied.

  “More is what I receive, madam.”

  “Goodnight, Thomas,” Eleanor said.

  “Goodnight, Tom,” Henry added. “Remember, falconing tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Speaking of falcons . . .” Thomas added.

  “Yes?” Henry asked as he followed his chancellor out the door and left Eleanor alone with me. And with her thoughts.

  9

  FOR A WHILE it seemed that Eleanor and my son Henry could do nothing wrong, and Louis and Constance could do nothing right. Only two years after the birth of Marguerite, Eleanor came to me with the news that Constance had had another child and that Constance had died at childbirth. Another daughter. They named this one Alais.

  “Is Louis in mourning?” I asked.

  “In panic would better describe him. He is forty years old and the father of four daughters; he has lost two wives, one by design and one by death, and is still without an heir.”

  “What will he do?” I asked.

  “It is not a question of what he will do; it is a question of what he has done. He has remarried already. Less than a month after Constance’s death.”

  “Who is the lucky bride this time?”

  “A cousin,” Eleanor answered.

  “No!” I was genuinely shocked.

  “Yes!” Eleanor laughed. “Since Abbot Bernard has passed away and is not there to shout cousin! in his ear, he has married Adele of Champagne.”

  I smiled. “He apparently likes to keep it all in the family. He betrothed your daughter Marie to one of Adele’s brothers, and he betrothed your Alix to another one, and he himself marries Adele. That makes his sons-in-law also his brothers-in-law, and in a sense it makes sisters of his daughters. The complications overwhelm me.”

  “It is strange to think that when I was married to Louis, he was at war with Champagne. Now both families appear to share a single bed.”

  “Your daughters are well married,” I reassured her. “Take comfort. The House of Champagne is powerful and rich.”

  “My beautiful Marie is engaged to Henry, Henry of Champagne; she is fifteen, he is twice that. She will be married to a rich old man.”

  “You seem to care nothing about a difference in age when the lady is the senior and the man is the junior.”

  Eleanor laughed. “We both seem to have a shaded point of view about that.”

  “What does Henry intend to do now that Louis is married again?”

  “He has decided that we should marry Young Henry to Marguerite immediately. The Vexin must be ours. If this new wife of Louis’s, this Adele, presents Louis with a son, Louis will find that he has not enough land or enough wealth to divide it with the Plantagenets.”

  “Has Henry found a priest who will perform the ceremony?”

  “Certainly he has. All will be done in accordance with the law. You know that Henry has more respect for the law than he has for promises. That is why he is insisting on this marriage. As long as Marguerite and Henry are only engaged, the Vexin is only a Capet’s promise to a Plantagenet. As soon as they are married, Marguerite and the Vexin are legally ours.”

  “And then?” I asked.

  “And then after the young couple is married, Henry will dismiss the Templars from the Vexin and take over its fortresses. Since Young Henry is but five and Marguerite is but two, you stand no chance of being rushed into great-grandmotherhood. After the marriage the children will be returned to their nursery to finish growing up.”

  “Speaking of their growing up, how is Thomas Becket, Eleanor?”

  “He is as beautiful as ever, Mother Matilda. He does well whatever task is asked of him. If he had been born a cow, he would have spurted pure cream.”

  “I see you care for him as little as ever.”

  “I would like him more if Henry liked him less.”

  10

  I ARRANGED TO ATTEND Easter court in France to help Eleanor and Henry celebrate ten years of marriage. Ten very successful years.

  Henry called Thomas to France, too.

  Henry, being a great believer in having people renew their oaths of allegiance, wanted Thomas to convene court in London. He wanted all the barons and the bishops of England to pledge support to Young Henry to remind them that when he passed from the scene, there was another Henry Plantagenet waiting.

  “Buy him a little crown and some royal robes; it will help remind the English that he is a future king. And, Thomas, I want you as my chancellor to be the first to kneel and pay homage.”

  Thomas Becket answered, “I consider it an honor to pay homage to so young and fair a prince. And I shall be happy to be the first to do so. But the homage paid by the king’s chancellor weighs as a penny to a pound compared to the importance of the homage paid by the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “But there is no Archbishop of Canterbury at the moment. You know, that, Tom. Thibault died several months ago, and the Pope has not yet chosen someone to take his place.”

  “That is true, sire,” Thomas Becket said. “Too bad. But I shall be happy to be the first to kneel to Young Henry.”

  Henry smiled. “Tom, what if . . . what if . . . the Archbishop of Canterbury and my chancellor were one and the same person?”

  “Oh, I am flattered, my king. But a man cannot wear two hats at the same time.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry said. “If I can wear two crowns, surely you can wear two hats. Think about it, Thomas.”

  Thomas said, “My taste in hats is too fancy for a bishop’s miter, my lord.”

  “Tastes change.” Henry smiled.

  Thomas bowed and left the room. He was no sooner gone than Eleanor and I both pounced on Henry.


  Eleanor first. “What makes you think, dear husband, that you will be able to appoint Thomas as bishop. The Pope guards his right to appoint all bishops, and he certainly will not allow you to appoint one as important as the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Archbishop of Canterbury is the Pope’s eye in England. My former husband, Louis, once tried to appoint only some minor bishops, and it brought nothing but trouble. He lost the bishops and considerable prestige.”

  Henry answered, “Your former husband, your Louis, did not work within the law. I shall. I shall only suggest to a few important people that Thomas Becket be named Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Suggest to some and bribe others. Is that it, Henry?” I asked.

  “Oh, Mother, don’t call it bribery. Call it an exchange. Why don’t you like the idea?”

  “Because it will not work. Becket will make a choice. He is a man of conscience. I see that by how conscientiously he serves you as chancellor. He will choose to serve God instead of you. If you make him archbishop, you give him too much power and too hard a choice.”

  “Out. Out. Out. Both of you. You, you women! Your brains are . . .”

  Eleanor and I were quite accustomed to Henry’s rages. We stood our ground. Eleanor said, “I will not get out, Henry. I will stand here and stand opposed to your appointing Becket as Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Henry walked over to Eleanor, picked her up from the waist and deposited her on his chair. She looked up, “You see, Henry, even I like your throne. It gives the best point of view by far. Can you imagine Becket not wanting to set his fancy bottom on such a fancy seat?”