The Revolt of the Eaglets - Plaidy Jean - Страница 79

Philip took great pains to treat his guest with the utmost courtesy. He wanted Richard to know that it gave him great pleasure to have him at his Court.

They hunted together and when they sat at table they ate from the same dish. This was how the most honoured guests were treated and Philip implied that that was how he regarded Richard.

He was not happy when Richard was not at his side. His voice was frequently heard demanding the whereabouts of the Duke of Aquitaine.

He said to Richard: ‘It is a custom that the greatest honour we can show a guest is to ask him to share our bed. That is what I would wish you to do, my beloved cousin.’

And so it came to pass. The friendship between Richard and the King of France was one of passionate devotion.

Richard began to learn much of the affairs of France from Philip and in his turn he talked of his own difficulties. The two trusted each other during this time for there was a deep bond of love between them.

When they rode together in the forest they talked of their affairs and sometimes when they lay in bed together Philip would tell Richard of his plans.

‘You must watch your father, Richard,’ he said. ‘I have seen that he is no friend of yours. He favoured your brother Henry although he would give him no power and when Henry died he turned to John. I know that he plans to set you aside for John.’

‘I shall not allow it.’

‘And I shall be beside you.’

‘Why should he treat me thus?’

‘Because he fears you in some way. You are so noble to look at. So different from him. What a coarse creature he is! His clothes are so often soiled, and his hands …’ Philip shuddered. ‘My beautiful Richard, it seems impossible that you could be his son. But then regard me. And I had a monk for a father … or so he would have been if he could have chosen. You were born to rule and he fears you. That is at the source of it. He has prevented you marrying my sister. He will try now to disinherit you.’

‘He cannot do it. I am his eldest son.’

‘He will try. He wants John to have what is yours.’

‘I shall not allow that. Nor would the people.’

‘We must see that they do not. You and I will work together, Richard. Always … you and I together.’

Henry was puzzled. What was this strange friendship of his son with the King of France? They were seen often together. It was said that the King of France was peevish when Richard was not at his side.

It was disconcerting. Henry did not like to think of Alice’s brother and Alice’s betrothed putting their heads together.

Sometimes he suffered intense pain. Then he only wanted to be at peace. If he could be with Alice he would be content. Alice had become a symbol to him; she was more than a mistress. When he lost Alice he would have lost the battle. He felt somehow that would be the end.

This was folly. He was a great king. He had been known as the most feared in Christendom. It was simply because he was old and ill that he felt this.

He kept John beside him, and thanked God for him. The poor old man he had become needed John, needed his affection, needed to know that he had not failed with all his sons. The old Henry that he had been seemed a separate part of him, another being who stood aside and watched mockingly. John, that Henry said, do you trust John? Have you forgotten the eaglet who was waiting the moment to pluck out your eyes?

Richard and Philip … together. His son and the King of France!

It was a dangerous friendship.

He wrote to Philip.

He knew that one of the differences between them was the betrothal of Alice to Richard. That marriage had been long delayed. Richard had never shown any interest in it. Now he, Henry, had other plans. Suppose he gave all his lands – with the exception of England and Normandy – to John, and John married Alice.

Henry had lacked his usual shrewdness. Full of deceits himself, he had judged Philip to be the same.

Philip, however, was in love. He was also trying to prove to Richard that he was making a mistake in trusting his father.

He immediately showed Henry’s letter to Richard.

Richard was furious. He cared passionately about Aquitaine. He had subdued it by the sword and had only allowed his mother to have it because he knew that she was his faithful ally and that in due course it would be entirely his. He would not give up Aquitaine.

He said: ‘By God’s eyes, Philip, I must defend what is mine.’

Philip nodded sagely.

Then he added wistfully: ‘It seems I must let you go.’

‘I must fortify my castles. I must be prepared against my father.’

Philip had to consider. He must either lose his friend or keep him very much against his will. He loved Richard and did not want to lose his regard. If he let him go, he would prove indeed the depth of his feeling.

He decided that he must make the sacrifice.

‘It grieves me deeply to see you go, Richard, but you are right when you say you must defend your castles against your father. At any time he could take them from you, for that is his intention. So I will not say good-bye but au revoir! Soon we will meet again. Perhaps when the time is ripe you and I will go on a crusade to the Holy Land.’

‘By God’s eyes,’ cried Richard, ‘little could please me more.’

Then he rode away to Aquitaine.

Richard had made his castles strong and was thinking of going off to the Holy Land in the company of Philip. He could think of nothing that would better suit his mood. To ride out with Philip beside him, two good friends bent on a righteous mission. Before he had left Philip they had talked of little but their adventures in the Holy Land.

‘Side by side,’ Philip had said. ‘That would give me greater pleasure than anything I have ever known.’

News reached him from Jerusalem. Heraclius had prepared the world for what was happening. Had he not begged King Henry to come to their aid? He had told them of the terrible disease which had overtaken King Baldwin and how the flesh had fallen from his bones and he was in such a sorry state that he could not live much longer.

Now he was dead; his nephew had succeeded him – a young boy who himself was but little more than an infant. Moreover the boy was not robust and he had quickly followed his uncle to the grave.

Saladin, the leader of the Infidels, a man of action who knew no fear, was as determined to drive the Christians out of the Holy Land as they were to preserve it. He was fierce and courageous; he gave no quarter and asked none. This man Saladin was fast becoming a legend and Christians trembled at his name.

Heraclius had foreseen this. He had come to plead to the King of England to save Jerusalem because Henry of England had the reputation of being a strong man.

They had been mistaken in his father, thought Richard. Henry was no longer a strong man; he was a feeble old one. It was not he who would be the saviour of the Holy Sepulchre.

But he had a son; and there was born in Richard then a great desire.

He went to Tours and there took the cross and swore that he would join a crusade and save the Holy Land.

Now that Richard was gone Philip was determined to bring Henry to terms. He knew that Henry had written to Richard and that Richard only half believed in his father’s treachery. Richard was after all Henry’s son and he could not entirely believe that his own father wished him ill. It seemed to him wrong that he should be in league with another against his own father, even though that other was Philip.