Alison Weir - Captive Queen

“Now, tell me what is going on,” she ordered.

Richard eased his long body onto a settle and looked at his mother, frowning, as if weighing up how much to reveal to her. “It’s about Alys, my betrothed,” he said at last. “Father is keeping her under guard at Winchester. I have asked time and again for him to let us be married, but he will not. Now Philip is insisting that Father honor the betrothal treaty and arrange the wedding without further delay, but still he stalls.”

The door opened and Henry walked in. “Plotting rebellion again?” he asked his son nastily.

“That’s unfair, my lord!” Eleanor protested. “I know nothing of what has been going on. Richard was acquainting me with the facts.”

“You mean, he’s been telling you his one-sided view of affairs,” Henry growled, sitting down heavily and rubbing his lame leg, which Eleanor now knew was the casualty of a well-aimed kick from a horse. “Richard, would you leave us, please.” Richard glared at his father mutinously, but bit back the protest and stalked out, slamming the door. Henry’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

“Philip wants to divide my empire and weaken it,” he told Eleanor. “To that end, he seeks to drive a wedge between me and my sons. If I marry Richard to Alys, Philip will almost certainly use that alliance to bind Richard closer to him and turn him against me.”

“That’s a fair argument,” Eleanor observed. “By all accounts, Philip is a slippery character, not like his father at all.”

“He’s crafty and greedy, and suspicious too—they say he sees an assassin hiding behind every tree. But never underestimate him: he’s as shrewd and calculating as they come. Dangerous too. An enemy to reckon with, and believe me, I’ve seen off a few in my time.”

“Can you not break the betrothal?”

“And lose the county of Berry, Alys’s dowry?”

Eleanor remembered Henry’s glee at having secured that rich prize, all those years ago. But what of Alys herself? she wondered. Is it because he still lusts after marrying her himself and cannot bear to send her back to Paris?

“No,” Henry was saying, “I have enough to deal with just now with Richard and John quarreling, and I don’t want Philip exploiting it.”

This was news to their mother. “Richard and John?” Was there no end to this family strife?

“Yes,” Henry sighed. “Richard is now my heir.” They were both silent for a moment, remembering why. “And yet,” he continued, with an effort, “it seems unfair that he should get England, Normandy, Anjou, and Aquitaine, while John has only a few scattered estates and Ireland. The Irish don’t like the idea, but it might be helpful to have a royal presence in Dublin and the Pale surrounding it to keep their native kings in order. What I was saying was that John will inherit very little, and I want to redress that, if people are not to call him ‘John Lackland’.” He laughed grimly at his own joke, then got up and began pacing restlessly around the room. Eleanor could sense his discomfort, and that what he was about to say might not be what she would want to hear.

Henry turned to face her. “I have called both Richard and John to make peace between them, and a settlement that is fairer to John—and I’ve brought you in because I want your approval.” It concerns Aquitaine, she thought, in alarm.

“I want Richard to cede Aquitaine to John, and have John swear fealty to him as his overlord,” Henry said.

“No!” Eleanor said unhesitatingly.

“Be reasonable,” Henry wheedled. “What does it matter if Richard or John has Aquitaine?”

“It matters to me!” she retorted, rising to face him. “I nurtured Richard as my heir. The South is in his blood. John neither knows nor cares about Aquitaine.”

“He would quickly learn to, if he were its duke. Eleanor, you’re not very good at concealing the fact that Richard is your favorite and that you have very little love for John. That blinds you to all other considerations.” Henry’s gaze was challenging.

“Ask Richard what he thinks of this plan, then!” she flared. “You know you will dispose of Aquitaine regardless of what I think—but he is the one most nearly concerned. And, I warn you, Henry: alienate him over this—and you will drive him into the arms of Philip!”

“Very well, we will have him here!” Henry said, and shouted down the stairwell for someone to go and fetch the Duke of Aquitaine.

Richard could not speak, he was so enraged. A look of thunder clouded his chiseled features.

“Well?” Henry prompted.

“Are you going to ride roughshod over us both?” Eleanor asked him.

“Richard?” his father barked. “My son, you must see that this is an altogether fairer disposition of my domains.”

Richard thrust his furious face into the King’s. “I am a southerner. My Lady Mother raised me from my infancy to be her heir. I love that land of Aquitaine. I have spent years fighting to hold and keep it, and you ask me to relinquish it to John? To that light-minded, lazy, greedy wastrel who has barely set foot in Aquitaine, let alone learned how to govern it? Pshaw! The place will be a bloodbath within a week without a firm hand in control of it!”

“I will give you Alys—now,” Henry said, as if he were dangling a carrot before a donkey. Richard threw him a strange look that Eleanor could not quite interpret.

“Leave her out of it for now!” he snapped. “Tell me, Father—do you mean to make John your heir? Will it be Aquitaine now, and Normandy next, and then Anjou, Maine, and England—the whole bloody empire for the son you love best?” Eleanor caught her breath—that had not occurred to her.

Henry’s face darkened. “No,” he spat. “How could you think that? Has Philip been whispering treason in your ear?”

“He has good cause, with my marriage being continually postponed!” Richard was beside himself with rage. “He thinks you delay the wedding because you mean to marry Alys yourself, so that she can bear you sons and dispossess us.”

Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is this true, Henry?” she cried, appalled at the terrible prospect opened up by her son’s harsh words.

“Of course not,” Henry answered, a shade too quickly. “It’s some nonsense that Philip has fed him. Besides, have I not just said he can marry Alys now?”

“He has said that several times and retracted it,” Richard said, his tone bitter. “I wish I could believe him this time.”

“You can have Alys if you surrender Aquitaine to John,” Henry offered brightly.

“No!” said Eleanor.

“I should have her anyway!” Richard roared. “We’ve been betrothed since we were children.”

“Go away and think it over,” Henry told him.

“I’ll go to Hell first!” his son riposted. “And I’ll appeal to the Church to support me, see if I don’t!”

“If you won’t marry her, I’ll give Alys to John,” Henry threatened.

“You are plotting my ruin!” Richard yelled, and stormed to the door. “I knew it. Well, you won’t have to endure the sight of me any longer. I am off for Poitiers. Don’t think to see me back!”

Eleanor looked coldly upon Henry. “And you think I caused the divisions in this family?” she asked scathingly. “You say you want peace between your sons, but it’s always only on your own terms. Do you want them to resent you? Do you want the years of your age to be overshadowed by endless discord and strife, so that you can find no abiding happiness or enjoy any peace and security?”

“Peace, woman,” Henry growled. “Had you supported me, this would not have happened.”

“Oh, I think Richard spoke for himself—he does not need his mother’s approval!” she retorted.