The Revolt of the Eaglets by Jean Plaidy Page A

will guide him. I doubt not that there are many who will rally to his banner. And you, my sons – yes, you too, Geoffrey, must join him without delay that he may know that he has you to support him.’
    ‘We should leave immediately,’ said Richard, his eyes gleaming at the thought of battle and particularly that it should be conflict against the father whom he hated.
    Geoffrey was eager too. At this time he always wanted to follow Richard.
    She smiled from one to the other,
    ‘This is the moment. Your brother will shortly be King in very truth.’
    Geoffrey said: ‘Our father is a very great soldier, Mother.’
    ‘He was. Don’t forget that he murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury. That is something which will never be forgotten. There is a curse on him for what he did to that saint. All men know it. You will see he cannot prosper now. That is why the time is ripe to attack him. You see, the King of France who I have good reason to know is the mildest of men, is ready to help your brother against him. Louis thought highly of Thomas à Becket. He loathes his murderer. Louis will see himself as the instrument of God who is to strike down the man who has offended all Christendom and Heaven too.’
    ‘Our mother is right,’ cried Richard. ‘I will be ready to start for the Court of France tomorrow.’
    ‘Then I will accompany you,’ replied Geoffrey.
    Eleanor embraced them both and they prepared to start.

    Eleanor watched them from the topmost turret of the castle.
    How brave they looked seated on their horses, their pennants waving in the breeze. She watched until she could see them no more.
    In her chamber she wrote verses on the sadness of parting with loved ones. How she missed Richard! She wondered whether he missed his life with her. He had always been a warrior in the making. Had he forgotten the pleasant hours they had spent together? Was he content to leave her now and march against his father?
    She could not settle to write. She wanted action now. She should have been riding out with her sons. She pictured herself on her horse, her standard bearer riding before her, going into battle against the man she hated.
    She was laughing to think of what he would say and feel when he heard that his sons Richard and Geoffrey had joined their brother Henry against him. And that would not be all. Aquitaine was ready to rebel against him. Brittany was doubtless the same. What of Anjou? Normandy she supposed would be loyal to him.
    It was so exciting. She could not stay in the castle. She sent a messenger to her uncle, Raoul de Faye, begging him to come to her as she was in need of his advice.
    Eleanor was very fond of this uncle though not quite in the same way as she had been of that other uncle, Raymond Prince of Antioch who had been her lover; but she had relied very much on Raoul de Faye who pleased her by his dislike of Henry Plantagenet and who had done a great deal to arouse young Henry’s antagonism against his father.
    Raoul quickly arrived in answer to her summons. He was delighted when she told him what had happened.
    ‘This will be the end of that arrogant husband of yours,’ he declared. ‘There is scarcely a man living who does not hold him guilty of Becket’s murder. This will be remembered against him and even those who have been his most loyal supporters until now will begin to change their tune.’
    How pleasant it was to walk in the gardens with Raoul, a charming and handsome man. She forgot when she was with him – for he paid her the most delightful compliments – that she was no longer young and that her notorious beauty was considerably faded for she felt young in the company of such a man, and because she could gloat over her hatred for her husband she was happy for a while.
    This would give him little time to dally with his Rosamund, she told Raoul.
    ‘I doubt not he will find women here and there to amuse him in the manner to which he is accustomed.’
    ‘He will do that, but he will