Unfortunately, the Duke did not just ‘bed’ Ida, she accompanied him across the length and breadth of the earldoms of England! She soon acquired a lady-in-waiting and two maids, as well as an ever-growing baggage train of female paraphernalia and gifts bestowed on her by the Duke and every host we visited. The silver lining, we hoped, would appear at the end of our sojourn, when we felt sure he would leave her in England.
Not so: he deliberately avoided his father, and we crossed the Channel from Bosham before heading south to Poitiers.
When we arrived in the city, the situation worsened. We had only been there for a couple of days when Ida complained of being unwell, a malady that her mature lady-in-waiting soon diagnosed as morning sickness. The ‘Nymph from Norwich’, as we had begun to call her, was pregnant. Father Alun and I had both taken a dislike to Ida and felt sure that the pregnancy was designed to snare the Duke on a permanent basis. But she had been far too ambitious. Her social status was just about high enough for an earl, but not for a duke who one day might be King of the Plantagenet Empire.
As soon as the Lionheart knew that Ida was pregnant, he put her down as quickly as he had swept her up. With just one coarse exchange of words, she was gone. Instructions were given that the child would be delivered by the nuns at Poitiers, where it would stay under the Duke’s guardianship, after which Ida was to return to Norwich with a generous dowry for Earl Roger.
In due course, the Duke’s son was born. He was named Philip and made Lord of Cognac. The Earl of Norwich swallowed his pride, accepted the dowry and married the mercurial Ida. Whether the marriage was a happy one, I know not, but the saga of the Lionheart and the Nymph did little for the King’s humour. It began a time of bad blood between him and his son that would produce very unfortunate consequences for the Devil’s Brood. The King was furious with his son, but Richard avoided his father for the next two years. Even so, the wound festered and would soon become gangrenous.
10. Family at War
In December 1182, King Henry issued a unique invitation to his Christmas Court at Caen. Not only did he summon his entire family, but he invited every magnate from his Empire. His intention was transparent: he was approaching fifty years of age and he wanted to show the world that his brood was not the work of the Devil, but was a family at peace with itself within an enduring Empire that would go from strength to strength under the future rule of his three sons.
Henry’s eldest son and his anointed heir, Henry the Young King, led the brood. Richard’s younger brother, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, brought his family, as did his sister, Matilda, who came with her husband, Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony. Over a thousand lords and knights filled Caen with a colourful medley of gonfalons and pennons, the like of which had not been seen since the crusaders gathered to march to the Holy Land. The merchants and innkeepers of the city had a windfall, as the horde cleared their shelves and cellars of anything edible or wearable; the whores made a king’s ransom. Each night, as the hours passed from twilight into darkness, the festivities descended from elegant feasting into drunken debauchery and, eventually, into violent brawling. The infirmaries were overrun and even the gravediggers were called upon on more than one occasion.
In the midst of all the raucousness, the King called his three sons together in his Great Hall at Caen and, with his entire family and as many senior magnates as could squeeze into its vastness as witnesses, made them swear an oath. Not only did they have to affirm their loyalty to him and to the Empire, but also to one another.
After each had made his declaration, he knelt before his father, kissed his hand and then embraced him. Duke Richard looked imperious. When it was his turn to swear, his height and aura dominated those around him, including the King. He wore a long red cape with the golden cross of Aquitaine emblazoned above his heart. His ducal coronet glistened, its jewels catching the light, as did his lion’s mane, the perfect complement to his regal bearing. Many in the hall had not seen him since he was a boy, and there were audible gasps as he rose to speak. Here was the Lionheart, already a legend. Helped by the fact that he was taller than all those around him, when he placed his hand on the ancient Bible of the cathedral of St Pierre and spoke, his voice carried to the farthest recesses of the hall.
‘I, Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, Duke of Gascony, Count of Anjou, Count of Maine, Count of Nantes, do swear fealty to my father, Henry, Lord of all the domains of our Empire. I do also swear loyalty to my brothers, Henry and Geoffrey, and undertake to protect them and support them in preserving their realms and possessions, as we do as a family, in maintaining the honour and security of our Empire.’
After the oaths, the King rose and held the arms of his sons aloft amidst a rapturous reception from the assembly. I looked around the room at the awesome gathering: Normans, Plantagenets, Bretons and many more. These were the descendants of men who had built an Empire that stretched the length of Europe and whose kinsmen had carved new realms across the Mediterranean and the Holy Land. I had mixed feelings: I was overawed by the power embodied in that room and all that it had achieved – indeed, I was now part of it – but, on the other hand, my people were one of those who had been vanquished by these mighty clans.
Sadly, the King’s good intentions came to nothing. Young Henry, despite being his father’s heir to the whole Empire, was jealous of his brothers’ dukedoms in Brittany and Aquitaine. He wanted his own domain; Normandy or England would have assuaged him but, despite endless pleading, the King refused. Frustrated by this, he had begun to plot against his brothers and father, and sought support from the new King of France, Philip Augustus.
The Lionheart got wind of this, at Caen, three days after Christmas Day, and summoned Father Alun and myself to his chamber. He was white with anger.
‘My brother is committing sedition; there could be another civil war. Send messengers to William Marshal and the others to assemble in Poitiers. Recall the army. We leave for the south immediately.’
Father Alun looked alarmed.
‘My Lord, should you not tell the King?’
‘I dare not; I can’t be sure whether the plot is being hatched by Young Henry on his own, or whether my father is behind it. All I am certain of is that my brother is being denied Normandy and England, so he plans to usurp me in Aquitaine.’
I had rarely seen the Duke so angry. He roared like his namesake.
‘My own brother is trying to take my beloved Aquitaine from me. I will rip his heart from his chest and throw it to the dogs!’
The Grand Quintet gathered in Poitiers quickly, and Richard’s powerful army was mustered with commendable speed. By the end of January 1183, we marched south.
We had travelled for no more than two days when the news deteriorated. The King, who had also heard of the Young King’s attempt to undermine the Lionheart in Aquitaine, sent his other son, Geoffrey, to act as mediator. Again, Henry, who must have been in despair at the behaviour of his offspring, had miscalculated. Instead of acting as peacemaker, Geoffrey immediately sided with his brother in his campaign against Duke Richard. Not only that: he had taken his army with him, which had swelled the Young King’s force significantly.
News of yet another squabble in the Plantagenet Empire spread rapidly. The scorn with which it was received was made worse because it immediately followed the King’s attempt at a show of unity in Caen. His dormant enemies resurfaced and he became a target of widespread derision. Chaos soon followed as the view circulated that the Devil’s Brood would soon be engaged in a civil war. The Lionheart knew that he had to act quickly, not only to save his dukedom in Aquitaine, but also to save the Empire.
Geoffrey and Henry had united their armies near Limoges, where they were joined by other troublemakers including Aimar, Viscount of Limoges, William Arnald, a mercenary who commanded a large force of Gascon routiers, and Raymond le Brun, Arnald’s notorious uncle. His routiers were renowned for their acts of brutality, which included the public rape and mutilation of women and the castration of men.
By the time we reached the small settlement of Aix-sur-Vienne in the Limousin, Duke Richard’s mood had darkened rather than softened. The rebels had split into smaller groups and were rampaging around Aquitaine,
