Fic Post
Plantagenet Fic.
Aquitaine, 1199
Phillip procrastinates at the Challus siege for as long as he can. He is nominally in charge as his father had departed the previous week. His Queen had been due to give birth any day and his father had been anxious to be present for the arrival of his long awaited heir.
No one had been more shocked than Phillip to hear that Berengaria, after ten years, was pregnant.
It is Mercadier though who is really seeing to the business at Challus. Phillip’s main contribution has been to threaten to hang any man caught molesting the women or children unfortunate enough to be trapped in the castle with their menfolk. The silverware was fair game but they were not.
One of the more unpleasant memories of Phillip’s childhood is being trapped in a besieged castle and how the fear was so palpable when it looked like the castle would fall that it could be smelt on the air. Everyone knew the fate of women in a castle taken by storm. Even at the age of eight Phillip had understood that it would be terrible for Adela, his nursemaid, and had solemnly promised to protect her with his dying breath. She had smiled at him, but Phillip had seen the sheen of tears in her eyes, and made him promise that if the castle was taken he would hide where he had been shown to and never mind her for she’d be alright. In the end his father had arrived in time and it was the besiegers head’s on spikes not theirs. He remembers looking up at them while Adela stood behind him, gripped his shoulders and said, “Better them than us.” His father had arranged a good marriage for her, two years later, paid the dowry himself, she and her husband had called their first born son Richard and when last Phillip had saw her a year or so ago she’d been expecting her fifth child and had confessed she hoped it would be a girl after four boys.
Eventually Mercadier gruffly says to him, “Everything is in hand here, lad, why don’t you ride to Poitiers, if the news is good I’m sure the King is keen for you to meet your new brother or sister and if it is bad….”
Phillip cannot help how bitter his reply sounds, “Then he’ll have the comfort of his bastard at least.” His father had jovially reminded everyone that his mother had been safely delivering babies well into her forties, but Berengaria of Navarre was no Eleanor of Aquitaine. Berengaria was past thirty now, although only just, and this was her first time in the birthing chamber. Mercadier ignores Phillip’s outburst so Phillip continues with, “Besides, I gave the castellan’s wife my word that I would ensure the women and the children’s safety…..”
Mercadier narrows his eyes at that, “I’m not in the habit of disobeying orders, lad, not one of my boys has touched so much as a cheese wafer without permission and not lived to bitterly regret it for they know if I didn’t skin them alive then the King most certainly would. “ He turns away at that but continues to speak, “You should go be with your father and, god willing, your new brother, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Phillip says nothing, he merely walks away, but as his squire approaches he informs him to make ready for departure.
~
There is a feeling akin to nausea in Phillip’s stomach as he dismounts in the bailey of his father’s palace in Poitiers, although technically it is his grandmother’s palace still. He had been happily informed as he entered the city that the Queen had given birth yesterday; to a healthy son. He could have perhaps been glad of the news of a sister, although he was genuinely relieved to hear that Berengaria had come through the birth. When she had first arrived in his father’s lands, while his father had been imprisoned in Germany on his own return from the Holy Land she had asked to see Phillip and had assured him that no matter what occurred she would see him provided and cared for. To the bewildered and frightened twelve year old that Phillip had been during those days her kindness had meant a great deal.
He forces a smile onto his face when he sees Andre De Chauvigny, his father’s cousin and closest friend, cross the bailey to greet him, smile and arms both wide, “Phillip! How pleased the King and Queen will be to see you! Have you heard the news, lad? You’ve a brother! We have an heir!”
He returns De Chauvigny’s embrace, “Yes I’ve heard, Uncle Andre, I was told as I entered the city. Blessed news indeed.” They cross the bailey with De Chauvigny’s arm loosely draped around Phillip’s shoulder, De Chauvigny says quietly, “It was not an easy birth although not as bad it could have been, to be frank I think you’d have been better here than at that piss hole Challus, he’s always calmer when you’re with him, always has been, ever since you were a babe yourself.” Phillip feels his throat tighten at De Chauvigny’s well intentioned words.
He is told that his father is in the Queen’s apartments and so heads there. Berengaria’s ladies inform him that the King, Queen and new Prince are in the Queen’s bedroom alone but when Phillip goes to take his leave they shake their heads and urge him towards the door, “Oh the King said that if you or his mother or his sister Joanna arrived you were to be shown in straight away!”
Phillip smiles unenthusiastically at them as he gently opens the door, steps through the threshold, and closes the door behind him.
Although the sun is streaming outside the room has been darkened by curtains, there is still enough light so see by though. Phillip can see that Berengaria is abed, her bed covers are pulled up to her shoulders and Phillip can see a mass of dark hair on her pillow, her breathing that of someone soundly in slumber. Phillip is somewhat appalled, it is not right for him to see her like this. His instinct is too leave but before he can he and his father notice each other. His father is sitting beside the bed and is cradling the child, he stands and smiles and Phillip is forced to step forward, to force a smile once more onto his face, “Papa, I’m so pleased it all went well…is Berengaria truly alright though?” He nods to the bed and his father chuckles softly, “If you had spent the past two days as Berengaria has then believe me, you would be enjoying a well earned rest too.” To Phillip’s surprise he then offers the bundle in his arms, “Would you like to hold your new brother?”
Phillip can think of no reason for refusal, so reluctantly holds out his arms, his father instructs him to take care to hold the head as he hands his heir over. He is heavier than Phillip expected and he remarks on it absent mindedly, while noting the dark hair like Berengaria’s. His father’s reply is voiced softly, “He is a little smaller than you were actually but he is still a fine size and to think my Berengaria is such a tiny little thing.”
Phillip is examining the baby’s perfectly formed yet miniature fingernails as his father continues, “Berengaria….she thought it was proper we call him Henry, I suppose I should be relieved she didn’t want to call him Sancho after her own father, of course she could have asked for me hand over Anjou to Navarre yesterday and I’d gladly have consented!”
Phillip looks up and smiles at that but it’s not sincere, the naming of the child has caused him to think of his grandfather, and his grandfather’s eldest, bitter, bastard son. His father had forced him into holy orders to ensure he could not challenge the crown by virtue of being the first born. Phillip looks down at the small face in his arms and feels the bile rise in his throat at the thought that one day his survival may depend on the good will of this whelp who will be his king.
~
London 1204
The English Royal Court are playing host to the King of Navarre, who is of course the Queen’s brother, this Easter. Sancho has gathered his nephew up on to his knee to ask how young Henry likes his new sister. Berengaria had given birth to a daughter earlier that year. Named Joanna, after their late aunt, who had died in childbirth soon after Henry himself was born.
Phillip is not in the least bit surprised to see the face the child pulls, “I like her not, Uncle! When I’m King I’m going to send her away, and then it will just be me and Maman and Papa and Phillip again, which I shall much prefer!”
Sancho laughs at that, “Little sisters take some time to become accustomed to it’s true, your Maman is my little sister you know.”
As uncle and nephew continue to converse Phillip leans forward to say to his Uncle John, “God forbid I was ever so petulant when I found myself a reluctant elder brother.”
John smirks over his wine goblet, “You were much worse, in fact I’d wager that if not for the fact that you’d have had to explain it to Eleanor that child would have found himself on a caravan heading to the Holy Land never to be seen again.”
Phillip pulls his own face at that, “You exaggerate, Uncle, or confuse my plots for yours.”
John grins and then shrugs, “I’ve finally concluded it’s much more fun to be a prince than a king, you have all of the sport and yet do not need to lie awake at night worrying about what the French king is up to.” John raises a suggestive eyebrow at that, “Although your Papa has his own reasons for thinking of Capet late at night.”
Phillip shoots his uncle a warning look but before he gets the chance to rebuke John’s careless words he finds his brother in front of him, in the process of being led away to bed by his nurse. Henry holds his arms out to be embraced, “Goodnight, Phillip, I shall say my prayers for you before bed.” Henry shoots their father a treasonous look and Phillip suspects he has missed a scolding, “But not for Joanna!” Henry does not see Phillip’s repressed laughter as they embrace, a glance at their father, who has clearly overheard and is glowering in their direction, straightens his face. John in turn gathers Henry up affectionately to wish him good night. To most people’s surprise John seemed genuinely fond of his nephew and resigned to the fact he would now most likely never be king. Phillip had never had any illusions in that regard at least. He was no William the Conquering Bastard and had no desire to be. He had been easily won round to his new status as elder brother though by the toddling child’s delight in his presence and the fact that neither his father nor Berengaria altered their behavior at all towards him. He had finally stopped worrying over the matter when Berengaria had absentmindedly introduced him to a visiting bishop from Navarre as ‘our eldest son’. His fears it seemed had been groundless. He was sure that it would not be long before Henry realised that Joanna’s arrival had not displaced him either.
~
Phillip ignores the warm, smooth, hand on his shoulder jostling him but he can ignore it no longer when a voice hisses in his ear, “Phillip! There’s someone knocking at your door!”
He opens his eyes, sighs and turns round to face Mathilde. Mathilde is one of Berengaria’s ladies and a young widow. She and Phillip have an arrangement of mutual convenience. She’s looking around for her dress as Phillip climbs from the bed, he gestures for her to get back into bed before saying, “I’ll talk to them at the door, we won’t be receiving them, sweetheart.”
Mathilde looks briefly annoyed at his tone, then relieved to escape from the cold and get back under the bed covers, she asks, “Do you think something has happened? It’s the middle of the night.”
Phillip shrugs, the kitchen could be out of wavers and it would be a catastrophe to some. His nonchalance wavers when he opens the door to Mercadier though. Mercadier would not be here about wavers. He pushes into the room before Phillip can stop him and Mathilde yelps and burrows under the covers further. Mercadier, who Phillip has found to have surprisingly impeccable manners when the occasion calls for it, bows to her as if she’s fully dressed and standing beside the Queen. He turns to address Phillip, “You’re needed in the solar; everyone is convening there.”
Phillip reaches for his tunic but it is Mathilde who asks, “Monsieur Mercadier, what has happened?” Her voice suddenly wavers, “Oh God, it is not the children is it? Henry or Joanna are not ill?”
Phillip feels his stomach lurch suddenly as he awaits Mercadier’s answer but they are reassured, “No, Lady Mathilde, they are both fast asleep and quite well I assure you.” Phillip feels his throat suddenly tighten, “My father….”
Mercadier sighs, “No it is not the King. You may as well here it from me…A messenger arrived from Paris an hour ago. Queen Eleanor…, I’m sorry, lad, your grandmother is dead.”
Phillip does not have the air in his lungs to say anything, it is Mathilde, voice cracking, who answers Mercardier, “Dead? Eleanor of Aquitaine is dead?”
Even Mercardier’s voice sounds husky, “Yes, Lady Mathilde, and with her dies an era.”
~
On his arrival in the solar Phillip is met with pale faces and red eyes as the men of the court convene while the women mourn separately. He has learned the details that are known from Mercadier on the way. His grandmother had not felt inclined to make the channel crossing and so had accepted an offer from the French Court to spend Easter there with her granddaughter Blanche, who was married to the French Crown Prince. Several of her other grandchildren, the product of her first marriage to King Louis, would also be present. She had been taken ill suddenly and Blanche and Scholastique, another granddaughter, had been by her bedside with her when she passed as had Queen Ingeborg. This had occurred a week ago. When the messenger had been leaving the French King had been ordering the funeral arrangements. Full honours were to be given as befitted Eleanor’s status and she was to be interred in Notre Dame, beside her son Geoffrey.
Phillip looks around the solar for his father but before he can see him he is accosted by his Uncle William. William is one of the Old Henry’s bastards, Phillip can see the other, Geoff, now reluctantly Archbishop of York thanks to Phillip’s father, leaning against a wall and watching them. William envelopes Phillip in his arms, openly weeping, “She was a great lady, she always treated me with affection and never once in her presence did I feel like I was…”
Geoff calls out scathingly, “Like a bastard, brother? Well you are, we all are.” He sends a malign smile in Phillip’s direction, “We three.” With that Geoff pushes past him and exits, William puts an arm around Phillip’s shoulder, still sniffling, gives him a reassuring squeeze. Phillip asks, “Where is my Papa, Uncle William?”
William’s eyes dart towards the chapel, “In there, De Chauvigny is with him.”
Phillip nods and excuses himself, heads towards the chapel, on entering he hears the familiar muttering of their native Provencal. He heads towards the front pew hesitatingly. He has rarely seen his father distressed although has heard tales of spectacular breakdowns, he is not sure he is able to bear witness to it. He can see that his father is sitting and leaning forward, almost rocking. De Chauvigny is kneeling in front of him, his hand on the King’s shoulder. On approaching Phillip says softly, “Papa? I am so sorry, Papa…” He finds his voice cracks and he cannot go on, his father raises his head and Phillip can see the grief on his face but he is not weeping. When his father gestures for him Phillip slides down into his arms.
~
They are joined in the chapel eventually by John who arrives stony faced only to breakdown. Phillip finds himself trying to comfort his sobbing uncle near the back of the chapel, a task he is eventually relieved of when William Marshall arrives. He goes first to the King and Phillip can see him bending down to speak to him, before he stands he brushes his lips against the King’s forehead, a gesture no man alive apart from Marshall could get away with and rejoins Phillip and John. Marshall puts his arm round John, “Come on, Johnny, let’s get you to bed.”
John sniffs as he’s led away, “I’m an orphan, Will.”
Phillip rejoins his father on the pew after they depart, it is near dawn and De Chauvigny has gone to begin the preparations, for they are going to Paris.
~
Berengaria rises to greet him when Phillip enters her chambers, as he crosses the floor he turns his head slightly to give Mathilde a quick smile, trying to convey that he’s alright. He’s exhausted, having not yet been back to bed, but there is work to be done. Berengaria squeezes his proffered hand; Phillip wonders how she must feel. When people speak of the Queen they always mean Eleanor. Now there is only Berengaria. In some ways he supposes she must be excited, just as one day little Henry will feel the stirrings of power, real power, amongst the grief when their father lies cold.
For the moment that is put aside and Berengaria asks, “How is the King?” She gestures for Phillip to sit beside her and Phillip gratefully does so before replying, “He is resting now, Marshall convinced him to go back to bed.” Marshall had actually ordered him back to bed, as if the King was still a ten year old boy under Marshall’s tutelage. Mathilde interrupts them, “You should rest too, Phillip. You look awful.”
Phillip ignores Berengaria’s disapproving look towards Mathilde, as if she’d offered to escort him to bed herself, “I’m fine, truly, besides hopefully I’ll be tired enough by the time we’re aboard ship to sleep through the whole thing.” Berengaria gives him a concerned look, “Ah of course, I forget you are not fond of travel by sea, you will accompany the King to Paris though?”
Phillip nods, his father had said there was no need but Eleanor was his grandmother and he feels his place is in Paris with his father, he hesitates and then asks, “You will not go, Madame?”
Berengaria stiffens, “No, I will not, I will not sit at table with that man, I believe your grandmother would have understood.”
Phillip does not have to ask which man Berengaria refers to for it is obvious she means Phillip Capet, the French King. She will no more sit with him than Eleanor would have sat down with Rosamund Clifford, the old King’s mistress. Queens do not acknowledge rivals for their King’s affections. After a few minutes of questions and answers about the preparations Phillip takes his leave, Mathilde follows him and once they are alone outside the chambers says with a teasing tone, “Suffer from sea sickness do you? My mother was right after all, even the most gallant of knights have feet of clay.” Phillip replies, “And stomachs of knots.” Mathilde laughs before growing serious, “Are you truly alright, Phillip? I would wager no one has thought to ask.”
Phillip shrugs, “She was my grandmother…but we did not spend much time in each other’s company and no one can say she did not lead a long and full life. I am more concerned about my father.”
Mathilde nods, “This will be a heavy blow to him. I suspect that like most of us he assumed she’d simply go on forever.”
Even though her words are well intentioned they make Phillip suddenly uneasy, the realisation that he has always assumed much the same about his father, for what could fell the Lionheart? Time fells all of us though in the end, it is not a comforting thought.
~
Phillip spends most of the crossing to France vomiting into a bowl held in front of him by his squire, on arrival in Falaise the King declares they will stay there the night before continuing and Phillip gratefully collapses into a bed. He ignores the mutterings that if it was anyone but Phillip needing the rest then they’d have marched through the night. On the morn they set out for Capet’s lands and Phillip finds himself beside De Chauvigny in the train and is regaled with stories of misspent youth. De Chauvigny had known Phillip’s mother and tells a tale of the time his father had all his household knights scouring Poitiers because, against his mother’s explicit instruction, he had let his favourite hound into the chamber and her cat had taken off in fright. Phillip laughs as De Chauvigny states, “There are only two people your father has ever feared, his mother and yours!” They both cease their laughter when his father’s familiar voice suddenly appears beside them to ask, “And what are you two cackling about?” His father’s horse has fallen in step with them, Phillip feels a surge of shame, he should not be laughing when they are on their way to his grandmother’s tomb. His father does not seem angry though and De Chauvigny does not hesitate to reply, “I was telling the lad about the time you had us all out looking for Celia’s cat.”
His father laughs at the memory and for a few minutes it is almost like nothing in the world has changed.
~
They stay overnight just outside Paris and arrive in the city itself early the following morning. Their journey has been unremarkable as peace has held for several years. His father had bestowed a generous portion of Normandy on Phillip’s cousin Blanche and her new husband, Prince Louis, when they married. It had allowed both the English and French king to save face and bring their hostilities to an end. They are met by a messenger who informs them that King Phillip and Prince Louis have been attending Mass at Notre Dame and that they are welcome to head straight for the Cathedral.
His father sends most of their party on to the palace but he, De Chauvigny, Phillip and a handful of knights make their way to the Cathedral, while the populace gathers to gawk. The crowd is more subdued that it would usually be but the first shout of ‘God rest your mother’s soul, my Lord’ is echoed and his father leans down to grasp hands that are offered and his knights press coin into palms in his wake.
Prince Louis is waiting for them on the steps and while he exchanges the kiss of peace respectfully with the English King he embraces Phillip. Phillip had been part of the entourage that brought Blanche from Castile and as a result knew her well and Louis a little. Louis informs them, “My Papa is still inside, speaking to the bishop, do you wish to await him here or…”
The King cuts Louis off by starting up the steps, Phillip notes the quick glance Louis casts at his own knights before speaking again, “My Lord, Richard, really protocol dictates…”
Louis is cut off again, Phillip’s father turns, “I think your father and I are long past formality, lad.” He carries on up the stairs and Louis turns to Phillip with a look of irritation, “I know you’re not for standing on ceremony in Poitiers, but I can assure you my father likes to have things done the proper way.”
Phillip shrugs, he’s not sure what Louis thinks he’s able to do, he follows his father up the stairs and Louis’ protests are cut off when De Chauvigny loudly enquires in quick succession after Louis’s progress in mastering the arts of war, the health of his wife, and Louis’ opinions on the latest news from the Holy Land.
On entering the Cathedral Phillip is surprised to find it almost deserted, his father is making his to the altar where the French King has just finished his conversation with the Bishop who is making his way back into the sacristy. Phillip finds himself hanging back in the shadows as Capet looks towards the approaching figure, Phillip hears his father’s name called softly and is not overly surprised that when his father reaches Capet he embraces him, buries his face in the other man’s neck, Capet’s arms encircle his father, and one hand snakes up into his hair. Their voices are audible and Phillip hears Capet say, “I’m so sorry, Richard, about your mother.”
Phillip’s father lifts his face and Phillip can see wetness on it, he nods in acknowledgement of the condolences and while they break apart Phillip notices how their hands seem to instinctively find each other’s and lock together. His father asks, “What happened? Tell me exactly.”
Capet begins to explain, “She was in good spirits when she arrived and as always was the centre of attention every night at the high table, the children and Ingeborg were quite delighted at her stories from her youth and while I of course sat stony faced pretending to be appalled I was secretly hanging on her every word too. Then on the last night she excused herself early. She collapsed on her way back to her chambers. I do not think she suffered, Richard.”
As Capet speaks he has led Phillip’s father to the tomb that Phillip knows is his Uncle Geoffrey’s, and therefore where his grandmother’s mortal remains reside, Phillip’s father remarks, “When we were boys we were always fighting for her attention, trying to push the other one off her lap so we could perch there instead, well I suppose Geoff has won now.”
Capet is looking at the effigy of his dead friend as he replies dryly, “Well Geoff was always one for playing the long game. That’s why he hated you, because she took you with her back to Aquitaine and left him, that’s why they all hated you, because you were her favourite.”
Phillip winces at that, he does not think now is the time to be reminding his father of familial strife that has gone before, but his father’s reply is almost jovial, “Oh was it that? All along I thought it was because I was the best looking.” His tone grows serious, “I was her favourite as I was the one she was allowed to keep, it was all just happenchance. I can’t imagine it’s easy, trying to divide your attention evenly amongst seven living children, nine if you could Marie and Alix. God knows my three exhaust me, if it’s not Joanna’s colic, it’s Henry’s temper and if it’s not Henry’s temper it’s Phillip’s future. He’s taken up with one of Berengaria’s lady’s, a nice girl, but nothing in terms of a marriage portion.”
Phillip feels his face burning, he had thought he and Mathilde had been discreet, but if his father knows then everyone must know. He refocuses his attention on the conversation in time to hear Capet ask, “Why haven’t you married him off to another heiress? It’s been years since that poor little Cognac lass died.”
Phillip see’s his father shrug his shoulders, “Lack of someone suitable I suppose and I don’t think he was happy in his marriage and I would rather not force that on him again. It is selfishness too, I like having him with me, and us being a family with Berengaria and the little ones.”
Capet says lightly, “Perhaps you should ask him what he would like? Perhaps he would like you to find him another heiress, perhaps he’d like to marry this girl of Berengaria’s and rely on the fact a king’s son rarely starves anyway. Perhaps he wants to do neither of those but something else entirely. He has something we never did after all; choices.”
Before he can hear his father’s reply Phillip slips back further into the shadows before making his way to the door and the streaming sunlight outside. He thinks of Capet’s words, about how he and his father had no choices. Their lives were mapped out due to the circumstances of their birth. Then he thinks suddenly of his grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and how she should have had few choices in her life, but had blithely ignored the fact and had defied convention and kings alike. He smiles as he steps into the warmth of the Parisian spring.
Historical Note
Eleanor of Aquitaine died in 1204, not in Paris but in Anjou at Fontevraud Abbey and in accordance with her wishes was interred beside her son Richard and husband Henry II.
Andre De Chauvigny died in 1202 as a prisoner of King John, most likely from starvation. The nobility of Poitou supported Arthur of Brittany as claimant to Richard’s lands and not John.
Phillip of Cognac disappeared from the historical record in 1201.
Mercadier was assassinated in Bordeaux in 1200 by a rival mercenary captain, after Richard’s death he faithfully served Eleanor and John until his own death.
On 25 March 1199 at the minor siege of Challus Richard I was hit by a crossbolt in the shoulder. The removal of the object was botched and infection set in. Understanding that the wound was mortal Richard sent for his mother, confessed his sins, forgave his assailant, asked to be buried at the feet of his father as an act of contrition for the role he had played in Henry’s death and on 6 April 1199 died in his mother’s arms. The boy who had fired the crossbolt and been pardoned (and rewarded with 100 shillings by a man who after all had been acting as if he wanted to die since he was a teenager) was then flayed and hung. History attributes the order to Mercadier but I personally suspect it was given by Eleanor.
Aquitaine, 1199
Phillip procrastinates at the Challus siege for as long as he can. He is nominally in charge as his father had departed the previous week. His Queen had been due to give birth any day and his father had been anxious to be present for the arrival of his long awaited heir.
No one had been more shocked than Phillip to hear that Berengaria, after ten years, was pregnant.
It is Mercadier though who is really seeing to the business at Challus. Phillip’s main contribution has been to threaten to hang any man caught molesting the women or children unfortunate enough to be trapped in the castle with their menfolk. The silverware was fair game but they were not.
One of the more unpleasant memories of Phillip’s childhood is being trapped in a besieged castle and how the fear was so palpable when it looked like the castle would fall that it could be smelt on the air. Everyone knew the fate of women in a castle taken by storm. Even at the age of eight Phillip had understood that it would be terrible for Adela, his nursemaid, and had solemnly promised to protect her with his dying breath. She had smiled at him, but Phillip had seen the sheen of tears in her eyes, and made him promise that if the castle was taken he would hide where he had been shown to and never mind her for she’d be alright. In the end his father had arrived in time and it was the besiegers head’s on spikes not theirs. He remembers looking up at them while Adela stood behind him, gripped his shoulders and said, “Better them than us.” His father had arranged a good marriage for her, two years later, paid the dowry himself, she and her husband had called their first born son Richard and when last Phillip had saw her a year or so ago she’d been expecting her fifth child and had confessed she hoped it would be a girl after four boys.
Eventually Mercadier gruffly says to him, “Everything is in hand here, lad, why don’t you ride to Poitiers, if the news is good I’m sure the King is keen for you to meet your new brother or sister and if it is bad….”
Phillip cannot help how bitter his reply sounds, “Then he’ll have the comfort of his bastard at least.” His father had jovially reminded everyone that his mother had been safely delivering babies well into her forties, but Berengaria of Navarre was no Eleanor of Aquitaine. Berengaria was past thirty now, although only just, and this was her first time in the birthing chamber. Mercadier ignores Phillip’s outburst so Phillip continues with, “Besides, I gave the castellan’s wife my word that I would ensure the women and the children’s safety…..”
Mercadier narrows his eyes at that, “I’m not in the habit of disobeying orders, lad, not one of my boys has touched so much as a cheese wafer without permission and not lived to bitterly regret it for they know if I didn’t skin them alive then the King most certainly would. “ He turns away at that but continues to speak, “You should go be with your father and, god willing, your new brother, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Phillip says nothing, he merely walks away, but as his squire approaches he informs him to make ready for departure.
~
There is a feeling akin to nausea in Phillip’s stomach as he dismounts in the bailey of his father’s palace in Poitiers, although technically it is his grandmother’s palace still. He had been happily informed as he entered the city that the Queen had given birth yesterday; to a healthy son. He could have perhaps been glad of the news of a sister, although he was genuinely relieved to hear that Berengaria had come through the birth. When she had first arrived in his father’s lands, while his father had been imprisoned in Germany on his own return from the Holy Land she had asked to see Phillip and had assured him that no matter what occurred she would see him provided and cared for. To the bewildered and frightened twelve year old that Phillip had been during those days her kindness had meant a great deal.
He forces a smile onto his face when he sees Andre De Chauvigny, his father’s cousin and closest friend, cross the bailey to greet him, smile and arms both wide, “Phillip! How pleased the King and Queen will be to see you! Have you heard the news, lad? You’ve a brother! We have an heir!”
He returns De Chauvigny’s embrace, “Yes I’ve heard, Uncle Andre, I was told as I entered the city. Blessed news indeed.” They cross the bailey with De Chauvigny’s arm loosely draped around Phillip’s shoulder, De Chauvigny says quietly, “It was not an easy birth although not as bad it could have been, to be frank I think you’d have been better here than at that piss hole Challus, he’s always calmer when you’re with him, always has been, ever since you were a babe yourself.” Phillip feels his throat tighten at De Chauvigny’s well intentioned words.
He is told that his father is in the Queen’s apartments and so heads there. Berengaria’s ladies inform him that the King, Queen and new Prince are in the Queen’s bedroom alone but when Phillip goes to take his leave they shake their heads and urge him towards the door, “Oh the King said that if you or his mother or his sister Joanna arrived you were to be shown in straight away!”
Phillip smiles unenthusiastically at them as he gently opens the door, steps through the threshold, and closes the door behind him.
Although the sun is streaming outside the room has been darkened by curtains, there is still enough light so see by though. Phillip can see that Berengaria is abed, her bed covers are pulled up to her shoulders and Phillip can see a mass of dark hair on her pillow, her breathing that of someone soundly in slumber. Phillip is somewhat appalled, it is not right for him to see her like this. His instinct is too leave but before he can he and his father notice each other. His father is sitting beside the bed and is cradling the child, he stands and smiles and Phillip is forced to step forward, to force a smile once more onto his face, “Papa, I’m so pleased it all went well…is Berengaria truly alright though?” He nods to the bed and his father chuckles softly, “If you had spent the past two days as Berengaria has then believe me, you would be enjoying a well earned rest too.” To Phillip’s surprise he then offers the bundle in his arms, “Would you like to hold your new brother?”
Phillip can think of no reason for refusal, so reluctantly holds out his arms, his father instructs him to take care to hold the head as he hands his heir over. He is heavier than Phillip expected and he remarks on it absent mindedly, while noting the dark hair like Berengaria’s. His father’s reply is voiced softly, “He is a little smaller than you were actually but he is still a fine size and to think my Berengaria is such a tiny little thing.”
Phillip is examining the baby’s perfectly formed yet miniature fingernails as his father continues, “Berengaria….she thought it was proper we call him Henry, I suppose I should be relieved she didn’t want to call him Sancho after her own father, of course she could have asked for me hand over Anjou to Navarre yesterday and I’d gladly have consented!”
Phillip looks up and smiles at that but it’s not sincere, the naming of the child has caused him to think of his grandfather, and his grandfather’s eldest, bitter, bastard son. His father had forced him into holy orders to ensure he could not challenge the crown by virtue of being the first born. Phillip looks down at the small face in his arms and feels the bile rise in his throat at the thought that one day his survival may depend on the good will of this whelp who will be his king.
~
London 1204
The English Royal Court are playing host to the King of Navarre, who is of course the Queen’s brother, this Easter. Sancho has gathered his nephew up on to his knee to ask how young Henry likes his new sister. Berengaria had given birth to a daughter earlier that year. Named Joanna, after their late aunt, who had died in childbirth soon after Henry himself was born.
Phillip is not in the least bit surprised to see the face the child pulls, “I like her not, Uncle! When I’m King I’m going to send her away, and then it will just be me and Maman and Papa and Phillip again, which I shall much prefer!”
Sancho laughs at that, “Little sisters take some time to become accustomed to it’s true, your Maman is my little sister you know.”
As uncle and nephew continue to converse Phillip leans forward to say to his Uncle John, “God forbid I was ever so petulant when I found myself a reluctant elder brother.”
John smirks over his wine goblet, “You were much worse, in fact I’d wager that if not for the fact that you’d have had to explain it to Eleanor that child would have found himself on a caravan heading to the Holy Land never to be seen again.”
Phillip pulls his own face at that, “You exaggerate, Uncle, or confuse my plots for yours.”
John grins and then shrugs, “I’ve finally concluded it’s much more fun to be a prince than a king, you have all of the sport and yet do not need to lie awake at night worrying about what the French king is up to.” John raises a suggestive eyebrow at that, “Although your Papa has his own reasons for thinking of Capet late at night.”
Phillip shoots his uncle a warning look but before he gets the chance to rebuke John’s careless words he finds his brother in front of him, in the process of being led away to bed by his nurse. Henry holds his arms out to be embraced, “Goodnight, Phillip, I shall say my prayers for you before bed.” Henry shoots their father a treasonous look and Phillip suspects he has missed a scolding, “But not for Joanna!” Henry does not see Phillip’s repressed laughter as they embrace, a glance at their father, who has clearly overheard and is glowering in their direction, straightens his face. John in turn gathers Henry up affectionately to wish him good night. To most people’s surprise John seemed genuinely fond of his nephew and resigned to the fact he would now most likely never be king. Phillip had never had any illusions in that regard at least. He was no William the Conquering Bastard and had no desire to be. He had been easily won round to his new status as elder brother though by the toddling child’s delight in his presence and the fact that neither his father nor Berengaria altered their behavior at all towards him. He had finally stopped worrying over the matter when Berengaria had absentmindedly introduced him to a visiting bishop from Navarre as ‘our eldest son’. His fears it seemed had been groundless. He was sure that it would not be long before Henry realised that Joanna’s arrival had not displaced him either.
~
Phillip ignores the warm, smooth, hand on his shoulder jostling him but he can ignore it no longer when a voice hisses in his ear, “Phillip! There’s someone knocking at your door!”
He opens his eyes, sighs and turns round to face Mathilde. Mathilde is one of Berengaria’s ladies and a young widow. She and Phillip have an arrangement of mutual convenience. She’s looking around for her dress as Phillip climbs from the bed, he gestures for her to get back into bed before saying, “I’ll talk to them at the door, we won’t be receiving them, sweetheart.”
Mathilde looks briefly annoyed at his tone, then relieved to escape from the cold and get back under the bed covers, she asks, “Do you think something has happened? It’s the middle of the night.”
Phillip shrugs, the kitchen could be out of wavers and it would be a catastrophe to some. His nonchalance wavers when he opens the door to Mercadier though. Mercadier would not be here about wavers. He pushes into the room before Phillip can stop him and Mathilde yelps and burrows under the covers further. Mercadier, who Phillip has found to have surprisingly impeccable manners when the occasion calls for it, bows to her as if she’s fully dressed and standing beside the Queen. He turns to address Phillip, “You’re needed in the solar; everyone is convening there.”
Phillip reaches for his tunic but it is Mathilde who asks, “Monsieur Mercadier, what has happened?” Her voice suddenly wavers, “Oh God, it is not the children is it? Henry or Joanna are not ill?”
Phillip feels his stomach lurch suddenly as he awaits Mercadier’s answer but they are reassured, “No, Lady Mathilde, they are both fast asleep and quite well I assure you.” Phillip feels his throat suddenly tighten, “My father….”
Mercadier sighs, “No it is not the King. You may as well here it from me…A messenger arrived from Paris an hour ago. Queen Eleanor…, I’m sorry, lad, your grandmother is dead.”
Phillip does not have the air in his lungs to say anything, it is Mathilde, voice cracking, who answers Mercardier, “Dead? Eleanor of Aquitaine is dead?”
Even Mercardier’s voice sounds husky, “Yes, Lady Mathilde, and with her dies an era.”
~
On his arrival in the solar Phillip is met with pale faces and red eyes as the men of the court convene while the women mourn separately. He has learned the details that are known from Mercadier on the way. His grandmother had not felt inclined to make the channel crossing and so had accepted an offer from the French Court to spend Easter there with her granddaughter Blanche, who was married to the French Crown Prince. Several of her other grandchildren, the product of her first marriage to King Louis, would also be present. She had been taken ill suddenly and Blanche and Scholastique, another granddaughter, had been by her bedside with her when she passed as had Queen Ingeborg. This had occurred a week ago. When the messenger had been leaving the French King had been ordering the funeral arrangements. Full honours were to be given as befitted Eleanor’s status and she was to be interred in Notre Dame, beside her son Geoffrey.
Phillip looks around the solar for his father but before he can see him he is accosted by his Uncle William. William is one of the Old Henry’s bastards, Phillip can see the other, Geoff, now reluctantly Archbishop of York thanks to Phillip’s father, leaning against a wall and watching them. William envelopes Phillip in his arms, openly weeping, “She was a great lady, she always treated me with affection and never once in her presence did I feel like I was…”
Geoff calls out scathingly, “Like a bastard, brother? Well you are, we all are.” He sends a malign smile in Phillip’s direction, “We three.” With that Geoff pushes past him and exits, William puts an arm around Phillip’s shoulder, still sniffling, gives him a reassuring squeeze. Phillip asks, “Where is my Papa, Uncle William?”
William’s eyes dart towards the chapel, “In there, De Chauvigny is with him.”
Phillip nods and excuses himself, heads towards the chapel, on entering he hears the familiar muttering of their native Provencal. He heads towards the front pew hesitatingly. He has rarely seen his father distressed although has heard tales of spectacular breakdowns, he is not sure he is able to bear witness to it. He can see that his father is sitting and leaning forward, almost rocking. De Chauvigny is kneeling in front of him, his hand on the King’s shoulder. On approaching Phillip says softly, “Papa? I am so sorry, Papa…” He finds his voice cracks and he cannot go on, his father raises his head and Phillip can see the grief on his face but he is not weeping. When his father gestures for him Phillip slides down into his arms.
~
They are joined in the chapel eventually by John who arrives stony faced only to breakdown. Phillip finds himself trying to comfort his sobbing uncle near the back of the chapel, a task he is eventually relieved of when William Marshall arrives. He goes first to the King and Phillip can see him bending down to speak to him, before he stands he brushes his lips against the King’s forehead, a gesture no man alive apart from Marshall could get away with and rejoins Phillip and John. Marshall puts his arm round John, “Come on, Johnny, let’s get you to bed.”
John sniffs as he’s led away, “I’m an orphan, Will.”
Phillip rejoins his father on the pew after they depart, it is near dawn and De Chauvigny has gone to begin the preparations, for they are going to Paris.
~
Berengaria rises to greet him when Phillip enters her chambers, as he crosses the floor he turns his head slightly to give Mathilde a quick smile, trying to convey that he’s alright. He’s exhausted, having not yet been back to bed, but there is work to be done. Berengaria squeezes his proffered hand; Phillip wonders how she must feel. When people speak of the Queen they always mean Eleanor. Now there is only Berengaria. In some ways he supposes she must be excited, just as one day little Henry will feel the stirrings of power, real power, amongst the grief when their father lies cold.
For the moment that is put aside and Berengaria asks, “How is the King?” She gestures for Phillip to sit beside her and Phillip gratefully does so before replying, “He is resting now, Marshall convinced him to go back to bed.” Marshall had actually ordered him back to bed, as if the King was still a ten year old boy under Marshall’s tutelage. Mathilde interrupts them, “You should rest too, Phillip. You look awful.”
Phillip ignores Berengaria’s disapproving look towards Mathilde, as if she’d offered to escort him to bed herself, “I’m fine, truly, besides hopefully I’ll be tired enough by the time we’re aboard ship to sleep through the whole thing.” Berengaria gives him a concerned look, “Ah of course, I forget you are not fond of travel by sea, you will accompany the King to Paris though?”
Phillip nods, his father had said there was no need but Eleanor was his grandmother and he feels his place is in Paris with his father, he hesitates and then asks, “You will not go, Madame?”
Berengaria stiffens, “No, I will not, I will not sit at table with that man, I believe your grandmother would have understood.”
Phillip does not have to ask which man Berengaria refers to for it is obvious she means Phillip Capet, the French King. She will no more sit with him than Eleanor would have sat down with Rosamund Clifford, the old King’s mistress. Queens do not acknowledge rivals for their King’s affections. After a few minutes of questions and answers about the preparations Phillip takes his leave, Mathilde follows him and once they are alone outside the chambers says with a teasing tone, “Suffer from sea sickness do you? My mother was right after all, even the most gallant of knights have feet of clay.” Phillip replies, “And stomachs of knots.” Mathilde laughs before growing serious, “Are you truly alright, Phillip? I would wager no one has thought to ask.”
Phillip shrugs, “She was my grandmother…but we did not spend much time in each other’s company and no one can say she did not lead a long and full life. I am more concerned about my father.”
Mathilde nods, “This will be a heavy blow to him. I suspect that like most of us he assumed she’d simply go on forever.”
Even though her words are well intentioned they make Phillip suddenly uneasy, the realisation that he has always assumed much the same about his father, for what could fell the Lionheart? Time fells all of us though in the end, it is not a comforting thought.
~
Phillip spends most of the crossing to France vomiting into a bowl held in front of him by his squire, on arrival in Falaise the King declares they will stay there the night before continuing and Phillip gratefully collapses into a bed. He ignores the mutterings that if it was anyone but Phillip needing the rest then they’d have marched through the night. On the morn they set out for Capet’s lands and Phillip finds himself beside De Chauvigny in the train and is regaled with stories of misspent youth. De Chauvigny had known Phillip’s mother and tells a tale of the time his father had all his household knights scouring Poitiers because, against his mother’s explicit instruction, he had let his favourite hound into the chamber and her cat had taken off in fright. Phillip laughs as De Chauvigny states, “There are only two people your father has ever feared, his mother and yours!” They both cease their laughter when his father’s familiar voice suddenly appears beside them to ask, “And what are you two cackling about?” His father’s horse has fallen in step with them, Phillip feels a surge of shame, he should not be laughing when they are on their way to his grandmother’s tomb. His father does not seem angry though and De Chauvigny does not hesitate to reply, “I was telling the lad about the time you had us all out looking for Celia’s cat.”
His father laughs at the memory and for a few minutes it is almost like nothing in the world has changed.
~
They stay overnight just outside Paris and arrive in the city itself early the following morning. Their journey has been unremarkable as peace has held for several years. His father had bestowed a generous portion of Normandy on Phillip’s cousin Blanche and her new husband, Prince Louis, when they married. It had allowed both the English and French king to save face and bring their hostilities to an end. They are met by a messenger who informs them that King Phillip and Prince Louis have been attending Mass at Notre Dame and that they are welcome to head straight for the Cathedral.
His father sends most of their party on to the palace but he, De Chauvigny, Phillip and a handful of knights make their way to the Cathedral, while the populace gathers to gawk. The crowd is more subdued that it would usually be but the first shout of ‘God rest your mother’s soul, my Lord’ is echoed and his father leans down to grasp hands that are offered and his knights press coin into palms in his wake.
Prince Louis is waiting for them on the steps and while he exchanges the kiss of peace respectfully with the English King he embraces Phillip. Phillip had been part of the entourage that brought Blanche from Castile and as a result knew her well and Louis a little. Louis informs them, “My Papa is still inside, speaking to the bishop, do you wish to await him here or…”
The King cuts Louis off by starting up the steps, Phillip notes the quick glance Louis casts at his own knights before speaking again, “My Lord, Richard, really protocol dictates…”
Louis is cut off again, Phillip’s father turns, “I think your father and I are long past formality, lad.” He carries on up the stairs and Louis turns to Phillip with a look of irritation, “I know you’re not for standing on ceremony in Poitiers, but I can assure you my father likes to have things done the proper way.”
Phillip shrugs, he’s not sure what Louis thinks he’s able to do, he follows his father up the stairs and Louis’ protests are cut off when De Chauvigny loudly enquires in quick succession after Louis’s progress in mastering the arts of war, the health of his wife, and Louis’ opinions on the latest news from the Holy Land.
On entering the Cathedral Phillip is surprised to find it almost deserted, his father is making his to the altar where the French King has just finished his conversation with the Bishop who is making his way back into the sacristy. Phillip finds himself hanging back in the shadows as Capet looks towards the approaching figure, Phillip hears his father’s name called softly and is not overly surprised that when his father reaches Capet he embraces him, buries his face in the other man’s neck, Capet’s arms encircle his father, and one hand snakes up into his hair. Their voices are audible and Phillip hears Capet say, “I’m so sorry, Richard, about your mother.”
Phillip’s father lifts his face and Phillip can see wetness on it, he nods in acknowledgement of the condolences and while they break apart Phillip notices how their hands seem to instinctively find each other’s and lock together. His father asks, “What happened? Tell me exactly.”
Capet begins to explain, “She was in good spirits when she arrived and as always was the centre of attention every night at the high table, the children and Ingeborg were quite delighted at her stories from her youth and while I of course sat stony faced pretending to be appalled I was secretly hanging on her every word too. Then on the last night she excused herself early. She collapsed on her way back to her chambers. I do not think she suffered, Richard.”
As Capet speaks he has led Phillip’s father to the tomb that Phillip knows is his Uncle Geoffrey’s, and therefore where his grandmother’s mortal remains reside, Phillip’s father remarks, “When we were boys we were always fighting for her attention, trying to push the other one off her lap so we could perch there instead, well I suppose Geoff has won now.”
Capet is looking at the effigy of his dead friend as he replies dryly, “Well Geoff was always one for playing the long game. That’s why he hated you, because she took you with her back to Aquitaine and left him, that’s why they all hated you, because you were her favourite.”
Phillip winces at that, he does not think now is the time to be reminding his father of familial strife that has gone before, but his father’s reply is almost jovial, “Oh was it that? All along I thought it was because I was the best looking.” His tone grows serious, “I was her favourite as I was the one she was allowed to keep, it was all just happenchance. I can’t imagine it’s easy, trying to divide your attention evenly amongst seven living children, nine if you could Marie and Alix. God knows my three exhaust me, if it’s not Joanna’s colic, it’s Henry’s temper and if it’s not Henry’s temper it’s Phillip’s future. He’s taken up with one of Berengaria’s lady’s, a nice girl, but nothing in terms of a marriage portion.”
Phillip feels his face burning, he had thought he and Mathilde had been discreet, but if his father knows then everyone must know. He refocuses his attention on the conversation in time to hear Capet ask, “Why haven’t you married him off to another heiress? It’s been years since that poor little Cognac lass died.”
Phillip see’s his father shrug his shoulders, “Lack of someone suitable I suppose and I don’t think he was happy in his marriage and I would rather not force that on him again. It is selfishness too, I like having him with me, and us being a family with Berengaria and the little ones.”
Capet says lightly, “Perhaps you should ask him what he would like? Perhaps he would like you to find him another heiress, perhaps he’d like to marry this girl of Berengaria’s and rely on the fact a king’s son rarely starves anyway. Perhaps he wants to do neither of those but something else entirely. He has something we never did after all; choices.”
Before he can hear his father’s reply Phillip slips back further into the shadows before making his way to the door and the streaming sunlight outside. He thinks of Capet’s words, about how he and his father had no choices. Their lives were mapped out due to the circumstances of their birth. Then he thinks suddenly of his grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and how she should have had few choices in her life, but had blithely ignored the fact and had defied convention and kings alike. He smiles as he steps into the warmth of the Parisian spring.
Historical Note
Eleanor of Aquitaine died in 1204, not in Paris but in Anjou at Fontevraud Abbey and in accordance with her wishes was interred beside her son Richard and husband Henry II.
Andre De Chauvigny died in 1202 as a prisoner of King John, most likely from starvation. The nobility of Poitou supported Arthur of Brittany as claimant to Richard’s lands and not John.
Phillip of Cognac disappeared from the historical record in 1201.
Mercadier was assassinated in Bordeaux in 1200 by a rival mercenary captain, after Richard’s death he faithfully served Eleanor and John until his own death.
On 25 March 1199 at the minor siege of Challus Richard I was hit by a crossbolt in the shoulder. The removal of the object was botched and infection set in. Understanding that the wound was mortal Richard sent for his mother, confessed his sins, forgave his assailant, asked to be buried at the feet of his father as an act of contrition for the role he had played in Henry’s death and on 6 April 1199 died in his mother’s arms. The boy who had fired the crossbolt and been pardoned (and rewarded with 100 shillings by a man who after all had been acting as if he wanted to die since he was a teenager) was then flayed and hung. History attributes the order to Mercadier but I personally suspect it was given by Eleanor.