The Revolt of the Eaglets Read Online Free PDF Page B

Queen.
    Rosamund was uneasy. She supposed that there must come a time in the life of any woman in her position when she must ask herself what her future would be. Rosamund was not concerned with her material future. She knew that the King, even if he ceased to be in love with her, would always provide for her and their sons. It was not that which worried her.
    With everyone else Rosamund had shuddered at the news of Becket’s murder. She knew how deeply the King had been involved with the man. Many were the times when he had come to her distraught, angry, sad – and all because of Thomas à Becket. He had talked to her often as though he were talking to himself … he would ramble on sometimes about the great friendship they had shared and at others the hundred ways Thomas had found to plague him. Once he had said: ‘There’ll be no peace for me while Thomas à Becket is Archbishop of Canterbury. I would to God I were rid of the man.’
    When she had heard that Thomas had been killed she could not get those words out of her mind. And she kept seeing Henry on those occasions when he had given vent to his rage against the Archbishop. Then he had frightened her with the violence of his fury and only her loving solicitude had prevented his giving way to it. She soothed him at such times by agreeing with him, offering him sympathy, making him realise that whatever he said, whatever he did, she believed him to be right.
    And now … Becket.
    She could not stop thinking of him. She had heard what had happened at the Cathedral after the death. How pilgrims were already visiting the place, the sick and maimed. They believed that if they kissed the stones on which his blood had been shed they would be blessed and perhaps cured of their sins.
    For once she could not say to herself or to the King: You were right in what you did.
    Thomas à Becket was between them.
    He sensed the change in her. It frustrated him, put a barrier between them. She smiled and was as gracious and loving as ever; he was as ardent; but something had changed in their relationship and they were both aware of it.
    There was not the same comfort with Rosamund as there had been.

    In the palace at Westminster he visited the nursery. There were only the two youngest of his children there at this time – Joanna in her seventh year and John in his sixth. The fact that he had just made a marriage contract for his youngest son had awakened his interest in him and he wanted to tell the little fellow about his good fortune.
    When he strode into the nursery a hushed awe fell upon the place; the nurses and attendants curtsied to the floor and the children watched in wonder. Henry cast a quick glance over the females – a habit which never left him – to see if any of them were worthy of his passing attention; and perhaps because his mind was busy with the change in Rosamund, or perhaps because he was not greatly impressed by any of them, he dismissed them.
    The children were looking at a picture book and with them was a girl of some eleven or twelve years. They all rose. The two girls curtsied and young John bowed.
    What a pleasant trio. The King felt his mood changing as he surveyed them. His son John was a pretty creature and so was his daughter. In grace and beauty though he had to admit that their companion surpassed them.
    He remembered suddenly who she was. Of course she was Alice, daughter of the King of France, and she was being brought up here because she was betrothed to his son Richard.
    ‘I trust you are pleased to see me,’ said the King.
    John smiled; Joanna looked alarmed but Alice replied: ‘It gives us great pleasure, my lord.’
    He laid his hand on her soft curling hair.
    ‘And do you know who I am, little one?’
    ‘You are the King,’ she answered.
    ‘Our father,’ added John.
    ‘You are right,’ said Henry. ‘I have come to see how you are all getting on in your nursery. Come, Joanna, it is time for you to speak.’
    ‘We get on well,