Виктория Холт - The Revolt of the Eaglets

Henry studied these ornaments through narrowed eyes. So much that was beautiful was worth a great deal and all hidden here in the Abbey.

‘By God’s eyes,’ he declared to his captains, ‘we could feed an army on a few of those silver chalices.’

The captains avoided his eyes but he insisted on pressing his point. Of what use were these ornaments hidden away in an abbey? How much more useful they would be to supply him with the money he so desperately needed.

As the beautiful objects were taken from the shrines of saints, the monks protested. Young Henry however waved aside their protests.

His soldiers were hungry, they wanted their pay. He was determined to feed his army and go on with the war.

He laughed at the squeamish attitude of some of his men.

They feared reprisals from the saints.

‘Nay,’ cried Henry, ‘this is a just cause.’ Providence appeared to be proving this was so, for news had come that several important knights and their accompanying men were ready to join him in marching against Richard.

Henry was delighted. Nothing was going to deter him now. He knew how to come by the money he needed. There were so many rich abbeys in the neighbourhood. Why should they not provide the means of feeding and equipping his army?

A feverish excitement possessed him. His sleep was haunted by strange dreams. Often he tossed on his pallet and his father dominated those dreams.

Now when his armies came into sight the monks tried to close their doors against him. He would not have this. Sometimes it was necessary to batter them down.

He was rich now. Robbing the shrines was a seemingly never ending source of providing for his needs.

Terror spread through the land. There were fearful stories of drunken soldiery storming the abbeys. The monks kept a lookout for the approaching armies and sought to defend themselves, but they were helpless against Henry’s men.

He was like a man possessed by devils. He would call out in his sleep that his witch ancestress was after him. His attendants thought he was ill, but in the morning he would be up and ready to march on.

His cheeks were flushed and it seemed that he had a fever. He was advised to rest awhile but he would not hear of it.

‘What! When we are winning? Give my father and Richard a chance to outwit me? Nay! I am going on to conquer Aquitaine and one day the monks will rejoice for the part they have played in my victory.’

On they marched. Close by was the most famous church in France, well known for the shrine of Roc Amadour. The treasures in this shrine were worth a fortune. Pilgrims came to it from all over the country. It was said that miracles had been performed there and that the Virgin herself was often present.

Henry noticed that his attendants were afraid. He felt the fever burning through his body and a recklessness seized him.

‘Why think you we have come to Roc Amadour if not to help ourselves to the treasures of the shrine?’ he demanded.

Perhaps no one believed he would commit this deed of sacrilege. Perhaps he did not believe it himself. He saw the looks on the faces of the men – frightened faces – and he laughed aloud. Something was urging him on. He did not know what. He was going to prove to them all that he feared nothing … neither his father nor God. Then they would see that he was worthy to be a king. Then they would understand why he was so angry to be deprived of the power that was his by right.

‘To the shrine,’ he cried.

He looked at them witheringly. ‘Let those who are afraid, go back to their firesides. They are not worthy to come with me to Aquitaine. I would not have them at my board for I like not cowards.’

Then he went forward into the church and there was scarcely a man who did not follow him.

What riches! What treasures!

‘These spoils will take us through our campaign to Aquitaine,’ cried Henry.

* * *

That night the fever was on him. He was delirious and those about him trembled. They could not forget that he had desecrated the shrine of Roc Amadour.

In the morning he was a little better. They would march on, he said.

He told the Duke of Burgundy who had joined him and put several hundred men into his service: ‘Last night I thought I would die. I dreamed that Our Lady came to me and told me that my days were numbered. “Repent,” she said, “for there is but little time left to you.” I thought I was dying.’

‘My lord, should you not rest?’ asked the Duke.

‘No. I have a desire to go on. Send one of my messengers to me. There is one I wish to see and I want him brought to me without delay for it may well be that there is truly little time left to me.’

‘Who is this?’ asked the Duke.

‘It is William the Marshall. I have a fancy to see him. I wish him to come to me with all speed.’

In the next few days young Henry had become so ill that it was impossible for him to go on. He lay in a merchant’s house for some days, talking a great deal to himself and now and then seeming to know where he was and asking if William the Marshall had come.

At length William arrived and when he went into the bedchamber in which Henry lay, the young King gave a cry of welcome.

‘So you have come, my friend.’

‘As soon as I received your message,’ answered William.

‘Good William, we have always been friends, have we not?’

‘Aye,’ answered William.

‘You were with me in my childhood, so it is good that you should be with me at the end.’

‘The end. What mean you?’

‘Do you not know it then, William? I do. I am a sick and most sorry man for I shall go to my Maker with my sins on me – and what sins! You know that I have desecrated sacred places.’

‘Why, my lord? Why?’

‘It was necessary to find money for my soldiers.’

‘In such a way!’

‘Nay. It was my way. You know that I have a devil’s witch for an ancestress. It was as though she took possession of me.’

‘My lord, you should repent.’

‘I will. I wanted to see you, William.’

‘I knew it, my lord. And now I am here I shall not leave you again.’

‘You will not have to stay long.’

‘Nay, you will recover.’

‘William, I never believed that you were Marguerite’s lover.’

‘I know it.’

‘Some devil got in me. The same devil who was in me when I sacked the shrines.’

‘Philip of Flanders was your evil genius.’

‘Nay, I was my own, William. Now I am free of that evil, I see that I am indeed wicked and that I must repent.’

‘Shall I send for a priest?’

‘Later, William. As yet stay with me. I have a little while left.’

‘You should make your peace with God.’

‘I will, I will. Now you have come to me, everything seems different. I am as a child again. I admired you so much, William. You were the perfect knight. You could do everything better than any other. You were too good.’

‘I am a sinful man, even as you, and none could be too good. But rest now. Let me call the Bishop.’

‘If there were time, William, I should ask you to accompany me on a crusade.’

‘Later when you have recovered perhaps.’

‘Later? There will be no later for me. You know it, William. Why do you pretend now? You were always such an honest man.’

‘Then if there is little time, repent, my lord King.’

‘Aye, I must repent. Bend down and see what lies on the floor, William. It is a crusader’s cross. I took it from the shrine.’

‘My lord!’

‘Nay, cease to be shocked. What I have done is done and there is no taking it back.’

‘Then repent, my lord.’

‘Send the priest to me then, William. And tell me you forgive me. It was an ill day for me when I sent you away.’

‘That is over. I am back now.’

‘William, take care of Marguerite for me. I fear she will be a widow ere long.’

William turned away. He could not bear to look at the once handsome face now pallid and flushed by turns, the beautiful eyes wild and bloodshot.

He should have stayed with him. How could he when he had been sent away? But he should have come back and not waited to be sent for. He should have warned the young King that the way he was going could only lead to disaster.

The Bishop of Cahors came and gave him absolution.

It was clear now that he could not live many more days.

He asked that William the Marshall stay with him.

‘The end is very near now,’ he said. ‘See here is the crusader’s cross. How can I expiate my sin in taking it from the shrine? If I were granted my health I would go on a crusade and take it to Jerusalem. There I would place it on the Holy Sepulchre and pray for forgiveness. Oh, God, grant me the gift of life that I may in time find forgiveness for my sins.’

William turned away. He knew that Henry would never go to Jerusalem.

‘I must see my father before I die. I have lied to him and wronged him. I must ask his forgiveness,’ he cried.

‘I will send a messenger to him without delay,’ William promised. ‘I will tell him in what state you are and beg him to come to you.’

‘Pray do that.’

He seemed to revive a little. It was as though he must see his father and ask his forgiveness before he died.

The King did not come to his son’s death bed. Henry had lied to him before; how could he be sure that he was not lying now and that he would not be walking into a trap? He sent one of his Bishops with a ring which had never before left his finger so that his son would know that the Bishop came with his blessing.

Henry held the ring in his hand and held it against his heart.

‘You will take a message to my father,’ he said. ‘I am dying and would fain have seen him and I know full well that he would have come to me.’

‘He was prepared to come,’ said the Bishop, ‘but was advised against it.’

Henry’s face twisted in painful grimace. ‘I know. I know. I had lied to him so many times. He could not trust me now. That was wise of him … but this time I happen not to be lying. Pray ask him to look after the Queen my wife. I would send a message to my mother. I think of her often and I would ask my father to be kinder to her. I have committed terrible sins. I have robbed sacred shrines. I would wish my father to repay what I have stolen as far as he is able. Ask him to forgive his erring son.’

The exertion of talking was proving too much for him but he seemed more contented now that he had sent word to his father. It was almost as though he had prepared himself for death.

He asked again for William the Marshall.

‘Take the cross,’ he said, ‘and if the opportunity arises carry it to Jerusalem in my name.’

‘If I go there I will do this,’ said William.

‘Let them make for me a bed of ashes on the floor and bring me a hair shirt. Put a stone for my pillow and one at my feet and let me die thus, that God and all his angels may know that I come in all humility. I am deeply stained with sin but most truly I repent.’

William gave orders that this should be done and then tenderly the young King was lifted from his bed and placed on the ashes.

He lay there in great bodily discomfort but he seemed to have found a spiritual peace.

A few hours later he was dead.

When the King heard that his eldest son was dead, for a few days he felt nothing but grief; but he could not for long give way to his sorrow. Henry’s death raised many problems. Most important, it meant that there must be a new heir to his dominions.

Richard!

The King’s expression hardened. If there is aught I can do to prevent that, prevent it I will, he told himself.

And yet it was dangerous to depose the rightful heir and set up another in his place. Richard had never cared much for England. Aquitaine had been his passion. That might be because it was his mother’s and he was close to her. In spite of his Norseman’s looks he loved the southern land.

My sons! thought the King. What affection have they ever given me? Henry! Richard! Geoffrey! – my enemies all of them.

There was one who had so far been his obedient son – John.

Why should he not make his heir the son who had been loyal to him? He would show traitors, be they his own sons, that he did not forget injuries.

Richard? He must confess that Richard had never been anything but straightforward. If Richard was planning to act in a certain way he did not feign otherwise. He was not like Henry had been or Geoffrey was. Those two he had never been able to trust. But he could not like Richard.