Ungrateful sons and a nasty piece of work, even if he did wear a bishop's mitre

On October 11, 1174, the peace that Henry had made with his sons and the French king on September 29th at Montlouis-sur-Loire was formalized in the Treaty of Falaise. As the victor, Henry had the pleasure of dictating terms. He was more generous to his rebellious sons than many felt they deserved, but not as generous as they would have liked, especially his eldest, Hal. My friend Kasia has warm feelings for the Young King, so I am quoting two paragraphs from Devil’s Brood for her. Kasia, enjoy.
Page 270 Henry has just announced what provisions he is making for Hal.
Hal swallowed, thinking how much more he’d been offered last year at Gisors: half the crown revenues of England or Normandy, plus four English castles or six strongholds in their continental domains. Reminding himself then, that this was still a very generous offer from the victor to the vanquished, he smiled and made a graceful acknowledgment of his good fortune and his gratitude.
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Page 271 But Henry then announces that he is giving some of Hal’s castles to John.

Ha’s gasp was loud enough for Geoffrey to jab him warningly in the ribs. That reminder alone would not have been enough. But his gaze happened to alight upon his brother Richard, who was watching him with malicious satisfaction. Richard’s smirk acted like a lifeline to pull him back from defiant disaster. “If it pleases my lord father,” he mumbled, “it pleases me.”
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Also on October 11, 1188, Louis VII of France’s quarrelsome and unlovable brother, Robert, the Count of Dreux, died. Younger brothers of kings were often thorns in the sides of their royal brothers; Richard III was an anomaly, as was Edward I’s loyal brother, Edmund. Robert gave Louis a lot of grief, probably from the cradle, for he was ambitious, arrogant, and apparently convinced he’d have been a better king. He was also fertile, siring thirteen children by three wives. Two of his sons would achieve notoriety on their own. His eldest and namesake shamed himself on the Third Crusade by abandoning the Flemish lord, Jacques de Avesnes, when he was unhorsed at the battle of Arsuf. His son Philip, the Bishop of Beauvais, did so much to sabotage Richard’s efforts during the crusade that a suspicious soul might wonder if he’d been in Saladin’s pay. No, he was merely following the wishes of another of Richard’s enemies, one less honorable than Saladin, the French king Philippe. On his way home from the Holy Land, Beauvais spread the story that Richard was responsible for the murder of Conrad of Montferrat and that he betrayed Christendom to the Saracens. Richard would, of course, find himself on trial for these offenses at the German court, so we can be sure that his feelings for Beauvais were not warm and fuzzy. Even worse was to come, for Beauvais then advised Heinrich to put Richard in chains. When he wasn’t making life difficult for Richard, Beauvais was causing trouble on other fronts—he was a moving force behind Isabella’s unwanted divorce from Humphrey de Bohun at the siege of Acre, and naturally his sticky fingerprints were all over Philippe’s invalid divorce from Ingeborg of Denmark. I like to think that almost everyone has at least a few redeeming qualities, but I have been unable to find even one for Philip of Dreux.