Виктория Холт - The Revolt of the Eaglets

She had told Blanche that she had never seen anyone to compare with him. Blanche agreed that he was indeed a handsome knight. He was so different from all the men they had ever seen, most of whom were dark-haired, dark-skinned and of smaller stature. But Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, was of a different race it seemed.

So had the gods looked, Berengaria believed – those who had once inhabited the earth.

She glanced at her father; he was in his jewelled crown today, for it was such a great occasion. He would not ride into the lists. Her brother would do that for the honour of the crown. She hoped Sancho would not tilt against Richard for then she would be torn as to whom she must pray for, and hope to be the conqueror.

‘They will not,’ she whispered to Blanche, for she had spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘They are sworn brothers. So they would not tilt against each other on this day.’

‘’Tis not a battle,’ replied Blanche. ‘Only a tournament.’

‘Yet they will not,’ said Berengaria.

What a glorious day with a cloudless blue sky and a dazzling sun shining down on the colourful scene! How the armour of those gallant knights glittered and how the eyes of every lady shone as they rested on the knight who wore her colours, proclaiming to the world that she was his lady and his valiant deeds that day were done in honour of her.

What excitement when the first of the matches was heralded and the contestants rode into the lists. They seemed to be clad in silver and how gay were the colours of the ladies’ dresses as they sat gracefully on their dais, their eyes never leaving the colourful field stretched out before them!

And there he was – outstanding as she had known he would be – different from all the others because he was so tall. She was sure his armour shone more brightly than the rest.

She felt faint with joy, for upon his helm he wore a small glove with a jewelled border. She knew that glove well for it belonged to her.

What ecstasy! This wonderful godlike creature had this day taken the field in honour of her!

Of course he was victorious. It would have been embarrassing if he were not, since he was their guest of honour. But there need have been no fear of that. He was more bold, more skilled, more daring in every way.

He rode to the dais where the King sat with his wife and two daughters. He bowed on his horse, and Berengaria took one of the roses which adorned the balcony and threw it to him. He caught it deftly, kissed it and held it against his heart.

It was a charming knightly gesture; and from that moment Berengaria of Navarre was in love with Richard of Aquitaine.

* * *

He could not tarry long in Navarre. His absence would give his enemies the opportunities they sought. Yet he was attracted by Berengaria. She was but a child but she would grow up. He had no wish for marriage yet. He could wait. She adored him and thought of him as some superior being. That was pleasant.

He talked to her as they sat side by side at table of the beauties of Aquitaine; he told her of his growing desire to go on a crusade to drive the Infidel out of the Holy Land.

She listened, hands clasped, eyes shining. He was certain that if he married her while she was so young and innocent he could make her into the wife he wanted.

He talked to her father.

‘You have two beautiful daughters,’ he said, ‘and in particular the eldest. I would I were in a position to ask you for her hand.’

‘If you were to do so I should not deny you,’ answered Sancho.

‘You know my position. For years I have been betrothed to the daughter of the King of France.’

‘I know this. But the marriage has been long delayed.’

‘My father said it was to take place. But I have heard no more since.’

‘You wish for this marriage?’

‘Not since I have seen your daughter.’

‘Since there has been this delay, your father must have some reason for it.’

‘My mother says that he has and that it plagues him when there is insistence on its taking place.’

‘Do you think it would please him to forgo an alliance with France for the sake of one with Navarre?’

‘We have alliances with France. My elder brother is married to the daughter of a King of France.’

‘You are in a very strange position, but I am honoured that you should admire my daughter.’

Sancho was thoughtful. He was not called ‘The Wise’ for nothing.

At length he said: ‘As yet let us say nothing of the attraction you feel for my daughter. The Princess Alice has been long withheld from you. Why should you not if she should be offered withhold yourself from her? Excuses have been offered to you. Why then should you not offer excuses? If you do not wish to marry the Princess Alice you can avoid it.’

‘I will do that and in time …’

‘Berengaria is young yet … too young. Perhaps in due course …’

Richard thanked Sancho fervently.

‘I will wait,’ he said. ‘And in the meantime you will speak to my father … not of a possible marriage but of my mother’s imprisonment?’

‘This I will do,’ said Sancho. ‘I give you my word on it.’

* * *

Richard strummed his lute. Berengaria sat beside him, her eyes shining.

The song was of love and although it held the northern strain it throbbed with passion.

‘I will return,’ said Richard. ‘I shall find you here … waiting.’

He laid down his lute and smiled at her.

‘You are but a child, Berengaria.’

‘I shall soon grow up.’

‘Then we shall meet again.’

‘You will not forget me?’

‘Never will I forget you. I shall return and will you be waiting?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘until I die.’

‘Long before we die we shall be together.’

‘Richard, I have heard that you are betrothed to a French Princess. Is it true?’

‘I was betrothed to her in my cradle.’

‘She is very beautiful, I have heard. Do you find her so?’

‘I cannot find her beautiful for I know not what she looks like. Although we were betrothed she has been withheld from me.’

‘Does that cause you sorrow?’

‘Now it causes me nothing but joy.’

‘What if your father arranges a marriage for you?’

‘It will not be the first time he has found me a disobedient son.’

‘You will in truth refuse to marry her?’

He smiled and nodded. ‘There is only one whom I would marry.’

‘And who is she?’

‘Her name is Berengaria and she lives at her father’s court of Navarre.’

‘Can it really be so?’

He took her hand and kissed it.

‘Does my father know?’

‘We have spoken of this.’

‘And what says he?’

‘That when you are of an age and I am free of my entanglements it could come about.’

‘I am so happy,’ she said.

He pressed her hand and took up his lute again.

When he rode away she was at the turret watching him.

‘His coming has changed my life,’ she told Blanche. ‘I shall pray for the day when we can be together.’

He turned and waved a piece of silk – a scrap from one of her gowns. He knew she would be watching.

‘Soon he must come back,’ she whispered.

Henry could not help congratulating himself. Louis was dead, and therefore the controversy over Alice’s marriage must necessarily be put aside. He knew of course that it would only be a temporary respite, and that young Philip would probably very soon be wanting to know what was happening to his sister.

But Philip was only a boy, and Henry had already implied that he wished him to look upon him as a father. That he was a headstrong boy was clear, but Henry had an uneasy feeling that when he had a little experience he would not be as weak as his father had been. Henry would have to keep a sharp eye on what was happening in France.

There was news from Aquitaine that there was revolt everywhere. The people wanted Eleanor freed, and sent back there. That should never be.

Sancho of Navarre had sent him a message telling him that he was disturbed by events in Aquitaine and how it was his belief that there would never be peace until Eleanor returned.

He had thanked Sancho for his advice and had told him that although he could not free Eleanor at this time, for Sancho must understand how dangerous to him that would be, he would allow her a little more freedom. For instance if visitors came to England she could come to Court to see them, or they might visit her. But to have her roaming the world free to harm him, was something to which he could not agree.

While he was pondering these matters, a message arrived from the young King of France to tell him that Philip of Flanders had turned traitor and had made a pact with the King’s uncles who were now threatening to march against him and take the throne from him. As Henry had assured him that he might regard him as his father, that was what he was doing now. He begged a father’s help.

Henry smiled. Of course he would help young Philip. The Count of Flanders had too big an idea of himself. There was a man who must be watched.

Henry would send his sons to the aid of the King of France. Young Henry should go with Geoffrey and because military skill would be needed he would send Richard too. Young Philip must be shown that he could trust Henry Plantagenet and then perhaps he would not make demands for the marriage of his sister.

Young Henry arrived in Paris followed shortly by his brothers Richard and Geoffrey.

With Richard came a troubadour warrior, Bertrand de Born. He was the castellan of Hautefort and a man whose reputation as a poet was beginning to equal that of Bernard de Ventadour.

His songs, it was said, were an inspiration to any who were about to go into battle and were considered to be an important part of any campaign.

Young Philip welcomed them warmly and there was a feast in the great hall followed by songs of love and war. Philip had changed already from the petulant boy he had been at the time preceding his father’s death. It was as though a sudden realisation had come to him of the hazards of his position, and he seemed to have grown wise in a few months. He listened intently to Richard’s advice for he realised quickly that Richard was the one who knew how to succeed in battle. None could deny the social graces of the young Henry and Geoffrey too, who was a shadow of his elder brother, but it was Richard whom he needed now.

What a man Richard was with those cold blue eyes and that wonderful light-coloured hair! Most of all he was to be admired for his great stature, and the fact that he was sometimes in the grip of that strange ague rather added to his essential virility.

Philip was attracted by Richard.

While Philip was admiring Richard, Bertrand de Born was watching Henry. Bertrand thought he had never seen such a magnificent specimen of manhood as the young King of England.

Henry was known as the handsomest Prince in Christendom and rightly so. His countenance was as fair as any woman’s; his manners were graceful and charming. He was not a fighter as his brother Richard was. He was a man to win through his charm rather than his sword.

How much better for Aquitaine, thought the troubadour, if Henry had become its Duke instead of Richard.

Richard was animated, talking of the campaign they would wage against Philip of Flanders and the house of Blois.

Philip listened gravely.

‘I give you command,’ he said, ‘for I have complete trust in you.’

He was right to be trustful. They went into action riding side by side and it was as Philip had known it would be. Philip of Flanders, driven to his castle, remained there besieged until he was forced to beg for mercy.

The revolt was put down.

There was no doubt whose military genius was behind this.

* * *

Bertrand de Born found an opportunity of talking with Henry.

‘I have written verses to you, my lord. May I have your permission to sing them to you?’

Henry, who could accept any amount of flattery without suspecting an ulterior motive, was ready enough to listen.

He knew he was handsome, but it was pleasant to see himself through the eyes of the poet. The poet was in love with him. That was amusing, but Henry had never been interested in passionate attachments with members of his own sex. He liked women.