The Plantagenet Prelude

‘Would a man pass over his own son for another?’ ‘If it were justice perhaps.

If it would stop war. If it would give England what she always needs, what she had in the times of my father Henry I and my grandfather William the Conqueror. Those are the strong men England needs and my son, your husband, is one of them.’

‘Stephen would never agree,’ said Eleonore. ‘I ca

Matilda narrowed her eyes.

‘You do not know Stephen,’ she said. ‘There is much that is not known of Stephen.’

News came of Henry’s progress. It was good news. All over England people were rallying to his ba

There was no doubt in Eleonore’s mind that he would succeed. The question was when, and how long would it be before they were united?

She had left Matilda and traveled to Rouen as she wished the birth to take place in that city and there she prepared for her confinement.

She was exultant on that hot August day to learn that she had borne a son. How delighted Henry would be. She immediately despatched messengers to him. The news would cheer him wherever he was.

She decided that his name should be William. He was after all the son of the Duchess of Aquitaine and William was the name so many of the Dukes of that country had borne. Moreover Henry’s renowned great-grandfather, the mighty Conqueror, had been so called.

As she lay with her child in her arms her women marveled at the ma

It should be different with her son. She would watch over him, assure herself that his limbs would grow straight without the swaddling clothes.

She loved him dearly – a living reminder of her passion for Henry – and she knew that the best news she could send him was the birth of a boy. Perhaps she should have called him Henry. Nay, she was implying that she had brought him Aquitaine and until he could offer her the crown of England she was bringing more to the marriage than he was. It was well to remind him that they stood equal.

‘The next son must be Henry,’ she wrote to him. ‘But our firstborn is named after my father and grandfather and the most illustrious member of your family, your great-grandfather whom it is said few men rivaled in his day or ever will after.’

While she was lying-in the most amazing news was brought to her. She wished to rise from her bed and make a great feast not only of roast meats but of song and story to celebrate the event, for nothing could have more clearly showed that God was on the side of the Duke of Normandy.

Stephen and Henry had faced each other at Wallingford and were about to do battle when Stephen decided that instead of fighting he would like to talk to Henry. It had been difficult to persuade Henry to do this for he was certain of victory and believed that the battle might well decide the issue. However, he finally agreed and as the result of their meeting, to the astonishment of all, the battle did not take place.

Eustace, who was burning with the desire to cut off the head of the man he called the upstart Henry and send it to his wife, was so angry at what he thought was the cowardice of his father that he gave way to violent rage. He had never been very stable but even his most intimate followers had never seen his control desert him to such an extent.

He would raise money, he declared, and he would fight the battles which his father was afraid to face. Did Stephen not understand that it was his heritage which Henry was trying to take from him? He, Eustace, was the heir to the throne of England and he was not going to allow his father’s weakness to bestow it on Henry.

In vain did his friends try to restrain him; he reminded them that he was the commander of his armies and

marched to Bury St Edmunds, where he rested at the Abbey, and when he had refreshed himself he demanded that the Abbot supply him with money that he might go into battle without his father’s help against Henry of Normandy.

The Abbot declared that he had nothing to give him whereupon Eustace demanded to know why the treasures of the Abbey should not be sold to provide him with what he needed.

The Abbot took the opportunity, while he pretended to consider, of locking away the treasure. Then he refused.

Calling curses on the Abbot and his Abbey, Eustace rode away, but not far. He ordered his men to take what they wanted from the countryside and every granary was plundered, every dwelling robbed, but the main object of his pillage was to be the Abbey. His soldiers returned to it and forced the monks to tell them where the treasure was hidden. When they had plundered the place, Eustace led them back to the nearest castle to make merry.

He sat at table to eat of the roasting meats which his servants had prepared, his anger still within him. He was going to make war on Henry of Normandy, he declared; he was going to drive him from the shores of England and very soon they would see him, Eustace; crowned king.

As he stood up to drink to that day, he fell to the floor in agony. He writhed for a moment and then was still, and when they bent over him they saw that he was dead.

This was the news that was brought to Eleonore while she lay awaiting the return of her strength.

She wanted to shout in triumph: This is a glorious day.

Eustace is dead. How can Stephen make his son William his heir? William has already declared he has no talent for ruling and no wish to either.

It must be Henry now. God, by striking down Eustace, has shown England who is worthy to be her king.

Henry was sure of his destiny. The news that Eleonore had borne him a son following so soon on that of Eustace’s death seemed to be an omen. He was of a nature to regard anything that was to his benefit as an omen while he disregarded any sign that could be to his detriment. In this he resembled his great-grandfather William the Conqueror.

In his heart he knew it was one of the qualities needed to succeed.

But the death of Eustace did seem like an act of God.

The people of Suffolk who had suffered from his ill -temper declared that God had struck him down in anger and if they had had any doubts before that Henry Plantagenet should be the next king they no longer had.

Victory was in sight.

He was longing for the day when he could return to Eleonore. He missed her. No other woman would do for him, he had discovered. Not that he had been faithful to her.

That was too much to expect. He was too lusty a man for that. Eleonore would understand. While he was with her he would be faithful; but during long campaigns away from her she must allow him a little licence. He fell to musing about women. The best since he had arrived in England had been a woman of some experience, since making love was her living. Her name he believed was Hikenai. She was amusing; there was very little she had not experienced. He laughed to recall her. She had followed the camp and had made herself exclusively his for that time. Strangely enough he had been contented with her as she had been with him.