Henry had to laugh. Laughter quieted his anger. “All right, ladies,” he said, “I’ll explain. Mother sit here, in Eleanor’s chair. Eleanor, stay there. Let me explain. Now listen. All the times I have not had to go to war, I have spent my time developing the law of this land. I have made the English law firm and just and uniform throughout the island. Except for one thing. And that is the Church. Anyone who claims that he is the lowliest clerk in the tiniest church is excused from English law and is allowed to be tried by Church law. Let me give you an example. A wool merchant in London accused a boy of stealing a bale of wool. The boy said that he did not steal the wool at all; he said that the merchant had counted wrong. The merchant replied that he had not counted wrong at all and that the boy was lying. Without any further investigation, the merchant had the young man’s tongue cut out.”
Eleanor winced. Henry continued, “He said that the boy would never lie again. The mother of the boy came to my court. She wanted a trial by jury. She could produce witnesses, she said, that would prove that the bales had not been counted correctly. I was ready to call a trial when I was visited by none other than the merchant’s bishop. ‘You cannot try the merchant in your court,’ he said. ‘Since he is a member of the clergy, he must be tried by the officers of the Church, not the officers of the king’s court.’ So the merchant was tried by a Church court and found not guilty. The Church may preach an eye for an eye, but not a tongue for a tongue.”
“Could you not prove that the merchant was not a member of the clergy?” I asked.
Henry laughed. A loud guffaw. “Do you know what it takes to prove that you are clergy, Mother? It takes nothing more than being able to recite six verses from the Bible by heart. They are called neck verses because they’ve saved many a neck. But, of course, if you are a young lad who has had his tongue cut out, you can’t recite verses.”
Eleanor and I stayed silent. Henry paced around the room, frowning at everything. Then he stood between our two chairs and rested one hand on each. He leaned over and said, very solemnly, “You see now, ladies, why I must have Becket as Archbishop of Canterbury as well as chancellor. The country cannot have two kinds of laws. One set of laws for the king’s men and another set of laws for the Church’s men. I must combine them. What if men were different colors? Would it be right to have one set of laws for blue men and another set for red? Good grief! ladies, what can I do to convince you that I must have one set of laws in all my kingdom?” Henry was raging again.
“You’ve convinced us, Henry,” I said. “I do not question the wisdom of your wants, I question the way. Find someone else to be Archbishop of Canterbury, someone else who will listen to you.”
“Mother, Mother! Don’t you know Thomas? He loves splendor as much as my wife does. He is not about to quit wearing brocade. By making Becket Archbishop of Canterbury, I am saving myself the trouble of finding another friend at court.”
“You will not save trouble,” I warned. “You will buy it.”
“Look at Louis, my former husband,” Eleanor said. “He cannot make up his mind whether he wants to be mighty king or a lowly priest. So he does neither well.”
“That will not be Thomas’s problem,” I said. “Thomas will do whatever job is set before him, and he will do it well. Too well. He will always give his best to the higher sovereign. And, Henry, my son, as much as I love you, you are no match for God. Thomas will choose to serve God rather than you.”
Henry’s calm broke again. “One of you compares me to a sissy king and the other to God on high. Now, just for a moment, as a husband to one of you and as a son to the other, for just a moment, think of me as your king.” He paused, smiled, then said, “Are you doing that, both of you?”
We nodded.
“Are you thinking of me as your king?”
We nodded again.
Henry smiled again. “Then your king orders you out, out! OUT! OUT!”
We left.
Henry kicked the door closed behind us.
11
AND SO IT WAS. The world well knows the story of the feud that developed between my son, King Henry, and his Archbishop, Thomas Becket.
Shortly after he was named Archbishop of Canterbury, Becket resigned as chancellor. Henry went into a rage and removed Young Henry and Marguerite from Becket’s care. He tried to get Becket to sign an agreement that made it illegal for clergy to stand trial in courts different from the laymen’s. Becket would not sign, and the private quarrel that began between Henry and Thomas Becket became public.
I was right. Becket chose to serve God.
He cast away his fine robes and wore a monk’s robe. The man who had worn hose of silk now walked barefoot, and there were people who said that he wore a hair shirt as a constant itch to his conscience. Just as Becket had been popular with lords and barons when he was chancellor, he was now popular with the common folk. They followed him through Canterbury like the children of Israel following Moses to the Promised Land.
Henry’s hopes for uniting the two kinds of law were dashed. He fumed, he raged, he shouted to the world. Henry claimed that Becket was in contempt of the king’s court; he called Becket before him and issued heavy fines. Still Becket would not sign the agreement. Henry accused; Becket refused.
The war between the two men soon became a war between the country and the Church, and Becket fled. He sought shelter with King Louis of France, and he found it.
Henry dissolved into another rage. “If Louis wants some Becket,” Henry shouted, “he shall have a flood of Beckets,” and Henry banished from England everyone who was even remotely related to his old friend Thomas. France found itself with four hundred relatives of Becket, most of them poor.
* * *
In the year after Becket fled from England, my daughter-in-law, Eleanor, gave birth to a daughter; she and Henry named her Joanna. That year, however, is better remembered for another birth.
Louis VII of France at last had a son. He named him Philip Augustus. Louis and his wife Adele were overjoyed.
Henry and his wife Eleanor were not.
12
WE WERE ALL TOGETHER for Easter court the following year. Henry seemed weary and preoccupied; he claimed he was exhausted from just having waged battle in Wales. Eleanor looked weary and pregnant. I was weary and old. It was a tired court that year.
In the fall, Henry and I stayed in France, and Eleanor crossed the Channel to England. In December, Eleanor gave birth to John, and shortly thereafter she returned to France. I heard that Eleanor was on her way to Poitiers, and I sent word that I wished her to stop in and see me on the way. I wanted to bid my newest grandson welcome. When a person reaches the age I then was, there are many more goodbyes than hellos. The hellos become precious.
Eleanor came. She did not stay long. She said that she was anxious to get her family to the Aquitaine for the winter. She complained of a chill. In the fifteen years that I had known Eleanor, I had never heard her complain of discomfort. The cold that she felt was something inside, I was sure. But she would not talk of it.
I died shortly after that visit, and I still don’t know what drove Eleanor South, home to the Aquitaine.
ELEANOR REACHED across her mother-in-law’s lap and took her hand. “There are some things, Mother Matilda, that wives have to find out, and mothers never should.”
“At least tell me what happened to Thomas while he remained on Earth.”
“He stayed in France for six years. Then he returned to England and was murdered. People blamed Henry for Becket’s murder. Young Henry blamed him more than anyone else; after all, Thomas had been as much a father to him as Henry had been. I think that Becket’s murder was the single act that has most delayed Henry’s coming Up. Henry did not wish it; while he was overcome with one of his rages, he screamed, ‘Won’t anyone rid me of this troublesome clerk?’ Someone is always willing to oblige a king. Four of Henry’s knights made their way to Canterbury and murdered Becket while he was at prayer in his own cathedral.”
“Did Becket ever come Up?” Matilda-Empress asked.
“Oh, immediately,” Eleanor answered.
“Why then do I never see him?”
“Because, my dear mother-in-law, he became a Saint. He is St. Thomas Becket now. Even though Saints are supposed to be something between men and Angels, they always stay closer to the Angels. He still serves the higher sovereign, just as you said he would.”
Abbot Suger interrupted. “Too bad it was left for a different Henry to make the Church give up the right to try its clergy,” he said. “Henry the Eighth did that. Three hundred fifty years after Becket’s murder. That Henry took everything: the courts, the Church treasures, the land belonging to the monasteries. I had arrived Up long before Henry VIII’s break with the Church. I watched the whole thing happen. I’ve always kept up my interest in Church matters. It was said that when Henry VIII took over the Church of England, all Hell broke loose. I am surprised you didn’t hear the rumble, Matilda-Empress.”
Matilda-Empress did not enjoy being reminded about her dark years Below. “It seems to me, dear Suger, that the same thing happened in France, too. I was Up by the time it happened there. I watched your beautiful church at St. Denis being destroyed by the French people during the French Revolution. I saw them tear down the gold cross of which you were so proud; they knocked the heads off your precious statues, and they made dust of your stained glass. They especially hated St. Denis because your French kings were buried there, and the time of kings was past. It seems to me, Abbot, that the French created quite a roar in Heaven, but I never bothered to find out if that rumble reached Hell. Fortunately, I don’t have that kind of morbid curiosity.”
Abbot Suger lowered his eyes and nodded his head slowly.
Eleanor put her arm around the little monk’s shoulder. “I remember, Abbot. Those were the days you cried in Heaven. I remember.”
“Sh, sh,” the Abbot whispered. “In Heaven, one is not supposed to care for worldly things. About a century ago they tried to piece my church back together, but, like Humpty Dumpty, it can’t be put back together again. Once something is broken, it is hard to repair it so that the damage doesn’t show. That happens with friendships, too.”
“And also with marriages,” said William the Marshal. “We seem to have strayed from the subject of Queen Eleanor.”
“To switch from talk of Eleanor to talk of the Church is to have strayed indeed,” said Eleanor, laughing. “But leave it to a noble knight to not forget his purpose.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here to bring us back to Eleanor,” Matilda-Empress said.
William the Marshal replied, “I would be most happy to continue the story of Queen Eleanor. That is, if she does not mind.”
Eleanor waved her arm and said, “Tell anything you want to.”
“I want, my lady, to tell only the truth.”
“Ah, yes! The true and noble knight will tell only the true and noble truth. Come, sit, William. Sit and spin your tale.”
“You might say, my lady, that I shall weave my tale but not embroider it.”
“William!” Eleanor exclaimed, “to find wit in you is to make me believe that in Heaven all things are truly possible.”
1
QUEEN ELEANOR went South for two reasons. One reason was that King Henry wanted her to. He had recently quieted some rebellions in the Aquitaine, but the peace there was touchy. He hoped that by sending his wife there, the people would stay quiet. The people of the South, he thought, would respond better to one of their own kind. That was the king’s reason.
The other reason for Queen Eleanor’s going South was that she wanted to, and for the first time in fifteen years her reason was not the same as her husband’s. Queen Eleanor’s reason for leaving England was Rosamond, Rosamond Clifford.
Rosamond Clifford was the girl King Henry had met and fallen in love with while he was fighting in Wales. The queen did not choose to stay in a country where she was number two.
Queen Eleanor had found out about Rosamond when John was about to be born and she had gone to Oxford for her lying-in. She had heard the name Rosamond whispered about. Seeing young ladies throw themselves at Henry was simply seeing something that happened to kings, and something that queens learned to put up with. Queen Eleanor had joked about these ladies at court; she called them “Henry’s Harem.” But to hear a name whispered instead of spoken out loud made the queen suspicious. She investigated; she went to Woodstock, not far from Oxford, and there she saw Rosamond.
Queen Eleanor took no revenge upon her rival. Rosamond was not to blame. What young girl could resist a king? Especially Henry. Queen Eleanor never mentioned Rosamond to Henry either. She never accused him. She never asked him to admit or deny. She knew what she would do. She would return to her native Aquitaine, and there she would set up court, and there she would rear her sons to manhood. And to rebellion.
* * *
I had just been made a knight when I was sent by King Henry to accompany Queen Eleanor to Poitiers. The lords of the Aquitaine were waiting for a chance for revenge. Just outside of Poitiers, they ambushed us. It was my first chance to prove myself as a knight. My horse was killed from under me, but I put my back against a hedge and warded off all who came until I knew that my queen was safely inside the castle.
I was wounded, and I was captured, but my bravery did not go unnoticed. Queen Eleanor herself paid my ransom. I went to the castle to thank her for her generosity, and she rewarded me further. She gave me a horse, arms and clothing. She also gave me my first job; I was made knight-at-arms to the royal children.
That was the beginning of my remarkable rise in the royal household and in the world. Through loyalty and devotion to the Plantagenets, I became a wealthy and famous man. During my service to the royal family, I had to switch loyalties to stay on the same side—the side of truth and justice. My devotion sometimes had to change direction, but it never changed degree; I was always completely loyal and true.
2
QUEEN ELEANOR was a generous ruler and hostess. Her court at Poitiers was open to everyone, and everyone came. Poets and troubadours came; cousins came, dozens of cousins from the Aquitaine who were happy to have a headquarters again. Second sons of famous dukes and barons came; they had no money and no skills. Besides these cousins and second sons, there were the queen’s own children, seven in all, plus the girls her sons were to marry. The castle at Poitiers was nursery, home, school and seat of government. Children and adolescents were aswarming. The air in the bailey was fetid with the scent of overactive glands. For all of these young people had two things in common: too much time and not enough responsibility.
Life in Poitiers was boisterous. For example, one day at dinner, Young Henry and his friends rode their horses straight into the dining hall, a pack of hounds at their heels. They began to eat while still mounted. Queen Eleanor continued eating. She looked up casually and said, “My duties as queen occasionally demand that I sup with a horse’s ass, but I have never been asked to dine with the horse itself. And I shall not. You may leave this dining hall, Henry. You may leave it right now, and you may not return until after you have dismounted and washed.”
After that incident Queen Eleanor was determined that her court should be gay but quiet enough to give her some peace while she was conducting the affairs of state. She wanted her court to be like Constantinople but more vigorous. She needed help to do that. So she sent for Marie, her very first child, the one she had borne when she had been a Capet, the daughter that she and Louis had hoped would be a boy. Marie was now married to Henry of Champagne and was the mother of two children herself. King Louis had married the sister of Henry of Champagne. That made King Louis not only father-in-law but also brother-in-law to Henry of Champagne. Over and above all this, he was his overlord. Thus, as father, brother and as king, he urged Henry of Champagne to allow his wife to join Queen Eleanor’s court at Poitiers and tidy it up. King Louis wanted Marie to keep an eye on his other daugh
ter, Marguerite, the princess who had been married to Young Henry.
Marie had her mother’s gift of using the materials at hand. What were those materials? I repeat: poets, troubadours, adolescents, time, high spirits and noise. Marie of Champagne decided that the ingredients were good, but the proportions were not. To rearrange the elements and to hold them all together, she knew she needed a common cause, something that was uppermost in everyone’s mind. She chose love.
The poets were given old legends of battles and heroes and told to rewrite them, putting the emphasis on love. The troubadours were paid for writing songs in praise of women and love. And then Marie organized the whole castle into an elaborate game called the Courts of Love.
The Courts of Love had laws: the male must be polite, he must be neat, he must regard his lady-love as someone above earthly temptation, as someone too frail to be exposed to the roughness of life, as someone to protect, as someone who must be helped to sit at table, as someone whose delicate ears must not hear naughty words, as someone to tip one’s hat to.
Young knights would bring their cases before a court, which was made up of young ladies. They would tell of their love for the lady, someone worshiped from afar, someone who often was already married. A knight would tell his story, and fellow knights would testify to the man’s behavior and to his sincerity. The jury would read from the book of Rules of Courtly Love. Penalties—some songs or some poems or being pelted by roses—were given. The judgments of the Courts of Love were recorded like the English Common Law. The Courts of Love were a great success; they quieted the riotous behavior in Poitiers then, and they are still responsible for the fact that men open doors for ladies and stand when a lady walks into a room.
Until the inventions of Queen Eleanor and Marie of Champagne, women were considered nothing but property. Marie lifted women out of that; it was she who put them on a pedestal. As chess was a game of war, the courts were a game of love, but more than two people could play. The whole bailey could play. Each society invents a game about a part of life it takes seriously. I sometimes look down now and see children playing Monopoly, a game of business.