Sharon Penman: Devil's brood

“Let me lend a hand, Papa,” he said, and then, “I am such a coward, for I cannot bear to accompany you to Colombieres, cannot watch as you must humble yourself before men not worthy of your spit. I am sorry to fail you like this, so sorry…”

“You owe me no apologies, Geoff, for your reluctance is proof of the love you bear me. In truth,” Henry said, trying to smile, “I would as soon miss this spectacle myself. As much as I fancied hunting, I never cared for a bear-baiting.”

His attempt at humor only made it harder for Geoff, who hugged him tightly, then boosted him up into the saddle. Geoff then retreated back into the great hall to grieve and to curse his brothers, the French king, and himself for not being there when his father had such need of him.

Henry somehow made it all the way to Colombieres, actually was the first to arrive. By now he was in such pain that his men insisted he await their coming in the commandery of the Knights Templar at Ballan just a few miles to the east. They should have been relieved when he agreed, but his acquiescence only alarmed them all the more, for it proved how ill he truly was. Upon reaching the commandery, Henry almost fell when dismounting and had to lean against a wall for support. When he opened his eyes, Will Marshal was at his side, looking so concerned that he could hide the truth no longer.

“The pain has gotten so bad, Will. It began in my heel, then it spread to my legs. Now my whole body is afire.”

“Come inside, sire, and rest for a while,” Will said firmly, and giving Henry no chance to object, he put his arm around the older man, helped him into the commandery and into bed. They’d brought along the doctor they’d engaged in Angers, but there was little he could do. The Templars fetched a basin of cool water and they took turns putting compresses upon Henry’s forehead, while sending one of his knights to inform Richard and Philippe that Henry was too ill to attend the conference.

Morgan was leaning over the bed, trying to coax Henry into taking a few swallows of wine when the knight returned. One look at his face and they knew the news he brought was not good.

“Gilbert, let’s go outside,” Will said quickly, but he was not in time. Gilbert Pipard hastened toward the bed, where he knelt and looked at Henry with tears in his eyes.

“I am so sorry, my liege. I failed you. I told them you were ill, but they did not believe me. Duke Richard…” His mouth twisted, as if he’d tasted something rancid. “He told the French king that you were feigning this sickness, that it was just another one of your tricks, and they demand that you come to Colombieres straightaway.”

Henry’s knights were outraged and began to swear, calling Richard and Philippe every vile name they could think of, and most of them had a considerable vocabulary of obscenities. Henry said nothing, though. Struggling to sit up, he managed to lurch to his feet, retaining his balance only with Morgan’s help. The Templars had been watching in dismay, and they sought now to persuade Henry to remain abed, warning him that it might be the death of him to get back on his horse.

Henry had bitten his lower lip so deeply that he tasted blood on his tongue. “It does not sound,” he said hoarsely, “that I am being given a choice.”

“ Jesus wept!” The involuntary cry came from Philippe, genuinely shocked by his first sight of the English king. This man was not feigning illness. He was dying. After glancing at Richard, who showed no emotion, Philippe hastily ordered one of his men to spread a cloak upon the ground. “My lord, there is no question whatsoever of your standing. Do seat yourself on this mantle.”

“I have no need to sit,” Henry said stonily. “I am here to learn what you want from me.”

Philippe shrugged. “As you wish. But ere we speak of peace, you must first submit yourself utterly to my mercy, agree to be guided in all matters by my counsel and advice and not gainsay whatsoever I have decreed.”

Henry looked at him, saying nothing, for he did not trust his voice, feeling as if he would choke on his rage and humiliation. Philippe was waiting for his response, though. He opened his mouth, not sure what he would say, when thunder sounded directly overhead. Both Henry and Philippe flinched, as did many of their men, none sure what this meant. Was thunder in an empty sky a sign of Divine displeasure? And if so, who was the object of the Lord’s Wrath? A second thunderclap rumbled, and Henry was almost thrown when his stallion shied and bucked nervously. With Morgan on one side and Renaud de Dammartin on the other, holding on to his legs to keep him erect in the saddle, he agreed to place himself at the mercy of the French king.

“Very well,” Philippe said, with a brief satisfied smile. “These are the terms you must meet. You will agree to do homage to me for all of your lands on this side of the channel. You will surrender custody of my sister, the Lady Alys, to a guardian chosen by the Duke of Aquitaine, and agree that he shall marry her upon his return from Jerusalem.”

For the first time, Henry looked over at his son. Richard was standing a short distance away, listening impassively, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. Had the circumstances been different, Henry might have appreciated the irony of it. So Richard had talked Philippe into delaying the wedding yet again. Philippe was going to find that it would be no easy task to get Richard and Alys to the altar.

Philippe waited until he had Henry’s attention again before continuing. “You shall pay the French Crown an indemnity of twenty thousand silver marks to compensate me for the expenses I incurred in this war. You will have your barons on both sides of the channel swear fealty to Duke Richard, acknowledging he is your rightful heir. You may not avenge yourself upon those of your lords or knights who have withdrawn their allegiance to you and pledged themselves to the duke. To make sure of this, none of them need return to your service until the month ere we set out for Jerusalem. The departure date for this journey will be mid-Lent of the coming year.”

Philippe paused, as if realizing how pointless this last provision was, for few of the men at Colombieres imagined that Henry would ever be able to fulfill his crusading vow. “All of your barons shall swear that their allegiance to you is contingent upon your compliance with the terms of this treaty. And as a pledge of your good faith, you are to surrender to me and to the duke your city of Le Mans and your castles of Chateau-du-Loire and Trou until these terms have been honored. If you would prefer to yield the castles of Gisors, Pacy, and Nonancourt, that is also acceptable to us.”

“I agree to your terms,” Henry said tersely. “Is there anything else you demand of me?”

“You may defer your act of homage until your health is on the mend,” Philippe said, with such an air of magnanimity that Henry’s men seethed in silence. “But you must openly acknowledge your reconciliation with Duke Richard by giving him the kiss of peace.”

Until now Richard had been regarding Henry’s surrender as dispassionately as if he were merely a spectator, not actively involved in the proceedings. A shadow crossed his face and then he stepped forward, obviously intending to approach Henry so he need not dismount. But Henry was already struggling from the saddle, held upright with some discreet assistance from Morgan and Renaud.

Richard reached out to offer support, but Henry ignored the gesture. As commanded, he gave his son a brief kiss of peace, but as he pulled back, he hissed in Richard’s ear, “God grant that I live long enough to avenge myself upon you!”

Henry’s lacerated pride then suffered another wound, for it was evident even to him that he could not ride back to Chinon, and a horse litter had to be found. Philippe and some of the French lords joined Richard, and they all stood watching in silence as Henry was borne away from Colombieres.