The Christening
The little Duke was christened Arthur, as his father had decided. After
the ceremony was concluded and he had been taken back to his chamber and
consigned to Bertha’s care, the Duchess summoned all her guests, as well
as her knights and ecclesiastics, to a feast in the great hall.
Constance was seated at the head of the table, under a canopy. The
strangers, with whom she graciously conversed in French, sat near her,
while the guests at the lower end of the table spoke in the native
Breton dialect. Quiet at first, they gradually grew more animated as
great flagons of wine were repeatedly filled and drained. Owing to the
confusion in the hall they failed to hear the sound of horses’ hoofs
outside the castle, and the blast of a horn was the first announcement
they had of the arrival of new guests. The chamberlain entered the hall
and whispered to the Duchess, who thereupon rose, and with a wave of her
hand ordered silence. “We have unexpectedly been honored by the arrival
of a noble visitor,” said she. “It is Queen Eleanor. She is at the
castle with her retinue. Let us hasten to receive them with the honors
due to her.”
Constance advanced to the entrance of the hall, followed by her nobles,
a part of the guests remaining at table. Scarcely had she reached it
when the Queen met her at the head of several knights.
With stately dignity Constance courtesied her greeting and spoke:
“Welcome, illustrious Queen! and excuse us for not going out to receive
you. We are surprised, having received no intimation of this visit,
although we sent messengers with invitations.”
The Queen stretched out her hand to Constance and kissed her on the
forehead. “We have changed the route of the journey we had planned to
greet you, daughter-in-law, and are truly delighted to find you so
strong and well. We were ready to sympathize with you in your
affliction, but it does not appear to be necessary.”
“Honored mother of my dead husband, I shall never cease to mourn for
Geoffrey; but you very well know that princesses have no time to abandon
themselves to grief. But come and participate in our feast. You will
find worthy guests here, messengers from the King of France.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the astonished Queen, as she recognized Count Gragny,
who with the others advanced and bowed low. “Have you settled matters so
far as to throw yourself already into the arms of Philip Augustus, even
before you have taken the trouble to ascertain the policy of the King of
England?”
“Although I have received no answer to my message to England,” said the
Duchess, “I doubt not that King Henry will approve my action in securing
the good-will of our powerful neighbor and seeking his protection for my
son, the Duke of Brittany.”
“Let me see the child,” replied Eleanor. As she noticed Constance
looking inquiringly at Höel, she added: “Why do you hesitate? Have you
any reason for concealing him from me?”
Höel went at once to notify Bertha, and when the Queen entered the
chamber with Count Gragny and several other knights, all gathered about
the cradle in which the child was lying. Eleanor gave one glance at the
little Duke and then turned again to Constance. “I advise you to give up
your game. I shall never recognize this boy as Geoffrey’s heir. Content
yourself with your paternal possessions in Brittany, which I shall never
enter again.”
“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” exclaimed Constance, with increasing
emotion.
“I mean that the heir came very suddenly, and when he was greatly
needed,” said Eleanor. “Who knows in what hut he was born and found?”
“This is monstrous!” interrupted Constance. “How dare you impute such a
disgraceful thing to me, and insult me in my most sacred relations? Go!
Only one who can invent such a story is capable of such action. You have
a wicked heart!”
“Enough,” said the Queen. “See to it that you and your child do not come
in my way, otherwise woe to him and to you.” As she said this she made a
threatening gesture with her hand at the child.
Little Alan, who had been standing by his mother’s side, darted forward
and, seizing the Queen’s arm, cried out in his shrill childish voice,
“Don’t you touch the Duke!”
The Queen regarded Alan with astonishment, and said with a sneer: “So!
You have taught young and old to call him Duke without regard to the
policy of others!”
“The united dukedom belongs to us as rightfully as does Guienne, which
you inherited from your father, to you,” said Constance haughtily. “But
now, Your Majesty, let us have peace. Remember, you are our guest, and
as such we shall treat you with due honor.” The Duchess stepped to the
door, and stood there until Eleanor had passed, then followed with her
knights.
“What a woman!” whispered Count Gragny to Höel, who quietly shrugged his
shoulders. He kept his eyes bent upon the Queen, as he suspected she
might have communication with those near the Duchess, for he feared her
wiles. Eleanor took very little part in the banquet, and shortly retired
with her attendants, after a brief leave-taking.
Those remaining in the hall regarded each other in silence, but Count
Gragny could not long endure the situation. He spoke out: “The Queen
came like the bad fairy who always appears unexpectedly at christenings.
Fortunately, she left no evil gift behind.”
“Yet, noble Count,” replied Höel, “she has left us anxiety.”
“Let us drown all thoughts of troublesome questions with mirth and
wine,” exclaimed the Count, raising his glass. “Your Ladyship, I drink
to the health of Duke Arthur.”
Constance gracefully thanked him for the honor, and raised her glass to
her lips. After that she announced the close of the feast and dismissed
the guests.
She hastened at once to her child. She knelt down by his cradle and
looked for a long time at the handsome little one lying in quiet
slumber, watched his gentle breathing, and admired his rosy cheeks. Alan
stood at the head of the cradle and kept watch over his Duke. With a sad
smile Constance rose, took Bertha’s hand, and left the chamber.
Later in the evening the Duchess, Höel, and her counsellors prepared a
reply to King Philip’s proposals. It had already been demonstrated by
the Queen’s conduct how little they could expect from her husband’s
family; for although as wife and mother Eleanor neither loved nor
respected King Henry and his sons, she understood how to gain her own
ends and embitter the feelings of others. Could affection for the child
be expected of them when even his own grandmother would not acknowledge
him? After due consideration it was decided to accept the guardianship
offered by Philip Augustus on condition that the King of England, on his
return from the wars, agreed to it.
On the following day Constance gave her reply to Count Gragny, who
expressed his delight, for he knew that the King would be pleased with
the prompt and successful manner in which he had executed the
commission.
“My King ordered me,” he said, “to make arrangements for your safety at
once. He will send you all the troops you need.”
“We are not at war,” replied Constance, “and consequently do not need
help.”
“Now that Eleanor has been here, Princess, do not expect that peace will
be lasting. The help offered to-day may be too far away in time of
danger to rescue your son.”
Constance was deeply impressed by his importunity, and turned to Höel,
saying: “You know best our means of defence. Do you think them
sufficient?”
“The militia will not hesitate to take the field for you,” replied the
knight, “but only so long as war may last. Paid troops will remain all
the time in your service, but of course they will be a burden upon the
country.”
“Only a small number will be sent,” said the Count. “That is the King’s
own stipulation.”
Constance was forced to accept, but with a sad heart, and dismissed the
Count, who at once started for home with his attendants. The merrymaking
arranged by the Count continued in Rennes, and the Duchess took part in
it with apparent pleasure. But, as often as she could, she visited the
room where Arthur played upon Bertha’s lap and crowed and laughed in
play with Alan. She pressed her darling to her heart and sighed, “It is
all for you, my son, all for you.”