The Revolt of the Eaglets - Plaidy Jean - Страница 10

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When the kings of Ireland heard that Henry Plantagenet had landed they made haste to swear fealty to him. The chiefs and kings of such places as Waterford, Cork and Limerick were all eager to avoid a war. They trembled before the might of the King of England. They were Celts, tall and elegant men and their complexions were ruddy. Their tunics were of roughly spun wool and their weapons of war were very primitive for they had nothing but swords, short lances and hatchets. Although they were quarrelsome they often appeared to have little heart for a fight; they were passionately fond of music and many of them played the harp. Their houses were of wood and wattle; their country was green and fertile, the climate warm and damp. Henry liked what he saw of it and recalled to his followers that both his grandfather and great-grandfather had planned to conquer the place, but their commitments in England and Normandy had made it impossible for them to do so. Now he, who had ever wider territories to control, was on the point of doing so.

At Waterford he received the homage of the petty princes and arranged that they should pay him a small annual tribute as a token that they accepted him as their suzerain.

It was November by the time he came to Dublin. He took up his headquarters in the wooden palace there; and he sent his two commissioners, Roger de Lacy and William Fitzalden, to parley with Roderick, the King of Connaught, who was the chief of all the petty princes. They met on the banks of the Shannon where Roderick made it very clear that as he considered himself the true ruler of Ireland he had no intention of abdicating in favour of Henry of England.

When Henry received the message he was furious. Everything had gone so smoothly until this time. He would have liked to go into battle immediately to show the little king that he was master, but his soldier’s eye saw at once that the mountains were too steep and the weather too wet to enable him to embark on a successful campaign. He cursed Roderick – the only one who had stood out against him – and swore that as soon as the weather changed he would be ready to make him wish he had acted differently.

Christmas came. Henry was not sorry that he must celebrate the festival in Dublin. Time was getting very near to the anniversary of Thomas’s death and he knew that in England and France people would remember. It was as well therefore to be far away at such a time.

Those of the Irish who had decided to accept him as their ruler paid great honour to him. They even built him a palace outside the walls of the city. It was constructed in a very short time and was made of wattle. Henry was very proud of it. There should be a great celebration on Christmas Day, he said, and he would invite all his new and loyal subjects to join him at his table.

Then he set his cooks to produce a magnificent meal such as would impress these people so much that they would talk about it for years to come and Roderick of Connaught would hear of the riches of the new lord of Ireland.

There was merrymaking and much laughter and Henry listened with grave appreciation to his new subjects’ songs and performances on the harp.

Shortly after the festivities he arranged that the bishops of Ireland should swear fealty to him and when this had been done he wrote to the Pope asking Alexander to accept him and his heirs as the rulers of Ireland.

All was going well with the exception of the tiresome Roderick who was constantly affirming his determination to stand against the King. Henry planned to take by force what Roderick would not give him, but the weather was still too treacherous for him to launch a campaign. The wind howled up the river; the rain fell in torrents; it was clear to the most inexperienced soldier that no campaign could be successfully carried out in such conditions.

January passed and February had come, but the weather continued to be against them and there was nothing he could do but wait.

All through March he waited and just as he was preparing to finish Roderick’s resistance for ever, ships arrived from England.

They had disturbing news.

On the anniversary of Thomas’s death, the pilgrims had streamed into Canterbury. Many of them declared that they were cured of their infirmities at the shrine of the martyr. Everyone was saying that Thomas was a saint.

Worse still the Pope had sent Cardinals Theodwine and Albert to Normandy to find the King.

‘Why do they wait in Normandy?’ demanded Henry. ‘Why do they not come to England?’

There was a simple answer to that. They did not come to England because they knew that they would be arrested as a danger to the peace if they set foot there.

Instead they waited for him in Normandy.

‘Then they must needs wait,’ was his answer to that.

‘They are saying, my lord, that if you do not go to Normandy with all speed they have the Pope’s authority to lay all your lands under edict.’

‘By God’s eyes,’ muttered the King.

He knew of course that he had to go. If he did not he could lose Normandy.

Thomas was continuing to plague him in death as much as he had done in life – and that was saying a good deal.

He shut himself into his apartments. What must he do? It was more than a year since Thomas’s death and the martyrdom was as fresh as ever. Moreover, there were all those miracles at the shrine and he had too many enemies.

He dare not delay. There were too many waiting to snatch his lands from him. He could not conquer the whole of Ireland as he had planned. Roderick of Connaught would have to wait.

Leaving Hugh de Lacy behind with a garrison to hold what he had gained he sent messengers to the Cardinals telling them that he was sailing at once for England and would in due course arrive in Normandy.

That Christmas the young King Henry decided to remind everyone at his Court that he was indeed their King. His father had sent him to Normandy when he went to Ireland, where he was to act as a kind of regent. ‘A regent,’ stormed Henry to William the Marshall, ‘why should I be a regent? I am a king in my own right.’

William the Marshall, the Earl of Salisbury’s nephew, who had held a post of knight-at-arms to young Henry for some years, was his closest friend and companion. ‘In due course you will be so in every way,’ he reminded him.

‘Not while my father lives, William.’

‘My lord,’ answered William, ‘it is unwise to mention the King’s death.’

‘How can I help mentioning it? It can only be when it happens that I shall be free.’

William the Marshall looked over his shoulder fearfully but Henry burst into laughter.

‘Have no fear. The people here are my friends.’

‘A king never knows who are his friends.’

‘I know that there is not a king in Christendom who has more enemies than my father. His nature is such to arouse enmity.’

‘I would venture to contradict you, my lord.’

‘Have a care, William. Remember I am your King.’

‘And you are my friend also. If I must flatter you as so many do I should cease to be that. What do you wish, my lord, my flattery or my friendship?’

‘You know, William.’

‘I think I do, so I will risk saying that if all men do not love your father there are few who do not respect and fear him; and sometimes it is better to be respected and feared than loved.’

‘The old man has bemused you with his rages.’

‘I beg of you, do not speak of him thus. He is your father and our King.’

‘I am not likely to forget that. But know this, William, he shall not keep me in this state for ever.’

‘My lord, you are young yet. You have won men’s hearts by your nature but you could not afford to stand out against your father.’

‘I did not say I would do that, William. I merely say that I want to be a king in more than name.’

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