The Revolt of the Eaglets

Chapter VII THE KING’S CHOICE

The King had no intention of wasting time on Christmas revelries. He wanted to go to England but before he did so he must make sure that his possessions here were safeguarded. He could trust his sons … for a while. Their vows had been too recent for them to dare break them yet. He told young Henry to go to Rouen and let it be known there that he came with his father’s blessing. Richard should go to Poitou and preserve order there; Geoffrey should go to Brittany and act in the same manner there. He himself would ride through Normandy and make sure that the dukedom could safely be left in the hands of trusty custodians.

The young men, all relieved to have escaped from their father’s vigilance, departed on their various ways.

The young Henry could not resist riding to the Court of France on the pretext that his wife, Marguerite, wished to see her father. Louis received them with the utmost honour, for he was delighted that the young man should come to see him, and Henry, smarting from the humiliation which surrender to his father’s wishes had given him was appeased to be received thus by the King of France.

Louis wanted to hear about the meeting and expressed himself horrified when he heard of the old King’s terms.

‘My dear son,’ he said, ‘you see he has robbed you of your rights.’

‘I see,’ replied Henry, ‘that I am in no better case than before my rebellion – in fact even worse.’

Louis nodded. ‘It will not always be so.’

‘But I have sworn not to rise against him.’

‘Events will show you how to act,’ said Louis.

‘You do not like my father, my lord.’

‘Like him? Who likes him? He is not a man to be liked. He is a great general. He is victorious in battle. But there is more in life than fighting.’

‘It plays a large part in the life of a king, it seems.’

‘Alas! How much happier a man would be living peacefully with his children around him.’

‘My father would not allow me to pay homage to him. He accepted this from my brothers but he said that as I was a crowned king it would not be meet for me to pay it to him.’

Louis was thoughtful. ‘Did he not then?’ he ruminated and shook his head slowly.

‘It shows, does it not, that he regards me as a king?’

‘The paying of homage is double-edged,’ said the King of France. ‘The knight swears to serve his master, his master swears to protect his knight. It could well be that your father did not wish to give his word to protect you.’

‘Why not, think you?’

‘It may well be that he has his reasons.’

‘What reasons could there be?’

‘Your mother is his prisoner. She showed that she was ready to rebel against him. You have shown that, my son.’

‘And so did my brothers.’

‘But they have not been crowned king.’

‘What do you fear for me?’

‘That since he is not bound to protect you he could imprison you as he has your mother.’

‘Do you believe he would do this?’

‘I would believe anything of Henry Plantagenet.’

The young King was alarmed but Louis laid his hand on his arm. ‘Take care, that is all. Make sure that you are never in a position such as your mother’s.’

‘How could I make sure of this?’

‘You can never be sure, of course. But if your father accepted your homage and in return swore to protect you, you could feel much happier.’

Henry was afraid. No, he did not trust his father. Could it really be that he would imprison him? Why had he not done so, if that were the case? He had captured his mother when she was disguised as a knight. That was different.

He continued to be uneasy.

At the French Court he met Philip of Flanders with whom he had been on terms of friendship since Philip had helped him to try to invade England. That endeavour had gone awry but Philip was not worried.

They jousted together. Philip was a master of that art. Tilting was his passion. One needed so much equipment that Henry could not afford to take much part in it. Philip laughed at him. ‘And you a king!’ he cried. ‘Never mind. I will help you. I can supply you with all you need.’

It was a wonderful pastime. Henry would have loved to linger and enjoy it. His father would have called it a waste of time. He thought of nothing but governing his realms; he had always said that he dared not take his hands from the reins for one moment. Serve him right. He should let his sons take their inheritance and govern for him now that he was getting old, let him go to England and live like a king. But he had never cared for things which meant so much to Henry. When he rode out with a lance it had to be in a real battle; when he spent money it had to be to equip his army and to build some castle. It was work and duty all the time with him. He missed so much in life. Young Henry did not however intend to miss these pleasures if he could help it.

Tilting, feasting, enjoying the company of women – they were the good things of life.

He wished he could live like Philip of Flanders.

Philip told him that he was contemplating a trip to Jerusalem. He thought it would be a great adventure to travel to the Holy Land and strike a blow for Christianity.

How Henry would have liked to accompany him. He imagined telling his father of his desire. He could see the lights of contempt flashing into the leonine face. ‘Fight for the Holy Land! You have a kingdom here to fight for, my son.’

Yet his mother had gone. She had had great adventures. How sad that she was a prisoner. And to think that his father was her jailer!

He was at the root of all their troubles.

Even then he remembered that he was supposed to be in Rouen. Reluctantly he and Marguerite took farewell of Philip of Flanders and he presented himself to his friend and father-in-law Louis of France, in order to receive his blessing.

‘Take care,’ said Louis. ‘Beware of Henry Plantagenet. Make sure that he does not treat you as he has his wife. If he should send you to England do not go until he has accepted your homage and promised his protection. If you do not you could be his prisoner, for in England he has the power to do that which he would hesitate to do elsewhere.’

Henry thanked his father-in-law and left for Rouen.

It seemed that they had been a very short time there when a command came from the King. His son and daughter-in-law were to join him at Bures for he wished them to accompany him to England.

The young couple were dismayed.

‘It is as my father said it would be,’ cried Marguerite. ‘He wants you to be in England where he will make you his prisoner.’

Young Henry did not know what to do. To disobey the summons was unthinkable and yet what would it mean to go?

‘Your father said that if he would accept my homage it would be difficult for him to imprison me.’

‘I see that,’ replied Marguerite.

‘The only thing I can do is to implore him to allow me to swear fealty to him.’

‘Try that,’ advised his wife, ‘and if he refuses you will know you have to be on your guard. We might try to escape. My father thinks that if you have not sworn fealty as soon as you are on English soil you will be at his mercy.’

‘I am at his mercy now,’ grimaced young Henry.

‘But at least he cannot go against his vows so quickly.’

‘He can and will do anything he wishes. But at least I think he would wait awhile. I shall implore him to accept my homage. We shall then see what his reply is.’

When they reached Bures the King was impatiently awaiting their arrival. He embraced them warmly, asked after their health, particularly that of his daughter-in-law, for he was wondering whether she had become pregnant yet, and then told them that he was planning to sail for England immediately.

Young Henry asked if he might see him alone and permission was immediately granted.

‘My Father,’ he said, ‘I cannot believe that you love me as you do my brothers, and this makes me a most unhappy man.’

‘Why should you have such a notion? Are you not my eldest? And if you have rebelled against me so have your brothers. I have forgiven you and if you are a good son to me you can be sure of my love. How many fathers would have forgiven treachery such as you and your brothers showed towards me? And you say I do not love you!’

‘You have refused to accept my homage.’

‘Well, is that not because I have made you a king?’

‘It is but a title.’

‘Aye, but a title! There cannot be two kings in one realm. I made you a king, my son, so that when I die there will be no question as to who is my successor. You hold the title until you take the crown and that you can only do when I am not here to wear it.’

‘I am a king but in name. You are our sovereign lord. Yet you will not accept my homage. I can see no reason for this except that you do not love me.’

‘My dear son, if you wish to pay homage to me and take our oath of fealty then so shall it be.’

‘Oh, Father, then you do indeed love me.’

They embraced and the King said with emotion, ‘It pleases me to see you in this contrite mood.’

Tears of relief were on young Henry’s cheeks. If his father would accept his homage then he was safe.

‘I will arrange that this little ceremony shall take place without delay,’ said the King, ‘for I see that until it does you will think that I remain indignant towards you. You shall be treated as your brothers and then we shall be good friends. For that, my son, is to both our interests.’

Henry went to Marguerite and told her what the King had said. She was pleased.

‘But make sure he keeps his promise. You know his nature. He does not always think it necessary to keep a promise.’

This one, however, the King did keep.

The holy relics were produced and, placing his hands on these, young Henry swore his oath of allegiance to his father.

‘I will bear you faith against all men and as long as I live shall seek no harm either to my own men or to those of the King, my father, who have served in the war when we stood against each other. I will abide by your counsel in all my actions.’

The King listened, his expression softly affectionate.

When the oath was taken he embraced his son.

‘From now on you and I are the best of friends and that is good news for us and our dominions.’

Shortly afterwards they sailed for England.

The King’s first indulgence was to visit Alice. She was no longer the child she had been when she first became his mistress, for she had matured quickly. He grew more and more deeply enamoured of her because he was discovering greater depths of sensuality in her while she yet remained docile and undemanding. He had once thought Rosamund gave him all he needed but she lacked the voluptuous indulgence which was becoming more and more apparent in Alice. Alice was the perfect mistress. There was no doubt about that. He realised that during their most passionate moments Rosamund had in a manner of speaking glanced furtively over her shoulder to see whether the recording angel was in attendance. Love such as this should fill the moments; there should be no thought of the reckoning. If that came it must come later.

He wished that he could spend more time with Alice.

‘But now I am in England,’ he told her, ‘I shall see you more often. Will you always be so eager to see me?’

She assured him that she would.

He did not tell her that her betrothed Richard was asking that she go to him. He did not believe in spoiling such moments. Besides he had other matters with which to occupy him. He was particularly interested in his son Henry, whom he determined to keep beside him. This was not only because he did not trust him, he genuinely wanted to tutor him in the art of kingship. Young Henry had many good qualities. He was very good looking and quite charming. He had these assets which had never been his father’s. But he was frivolous and lacked his father’s dedication. He did not yet understand that to govern a kingdom – and particularly one which was so widespread – a ruler must never allow pleasure to stand in the way of his duty to his crown. He thought fleetingly of his Alice. Well, he compromised, hardly ever. And if the secret came out that he had taken Richard’s betrothed as his mistress, he would overcome that as he had other troubles. He would insist on a divorce. He would offer Louis marriage for his daughter … marriage to the King of England. And nothing would please him more.

Besides, when one had years of good rule behind one, one could take risks which an inexperienced man could not take.

So he would deal with this matter of his delightful Alice when the time came.

One of his first duties in England would be to visit the shrine of St Thomas, to pay homage to the saint who was now his good friend and working on his behalf in Heaven. There was now a new Archbishop, Richard, Prior of Dover, who had been unanimously elected and had held office for nearly a year. On the day he had been elected news had come from the Pope that Thomas à Becket’s name had been added to the list of saints.

Richard it seemed would not be a troublemaker, and for this the King was grateful. He could congratulate himself that everything had worked out very well.

As he travelled to Canterbury with young Henry beside him he received sad news from Count Humbert of Maurienne. His little daughter Alice who had been betrothed to Prince John had died suddenly. The King was momentarily dismayed and then it occurred to him that with John’s better prospects he might make a more advantageous match. It so often happened that these betrothals came to nothing. Children were affianced in their cradles and so it was small wonder that events occurred while they were growing up to prevent their marriages ever taking place.

John was now a free bargaining counter and his father would be alert for a more advantageous proposition.

And now to Canterbury.

The King watched his son as they rode. Too handsome, a little petulant still. And how insistent he had been that his homage should be accepted. Why was that? Had he really learned the folly of his ways?

He was surprised to find within himself a softness for his family. He would have liked a gentle wife – Alice of course – and a brood of sons and daughters who admired and loved him and thought only to serve him. Surely that was not asking too much? It was natural that fathers and sons should work together.

Something had gone wrong in the family. He had from necessity had to absent himself for long periods at a time, and Eleanor … It all came back to Eleanor. It was a great pity that he had ever married her. But was it? What of Aquitaine? She had been the richest heiress in Europe and he had been counted lucky to get her.

If he divorced her, he would lose Aquitaine. A sobering thought.

But this was not the time to think of that matter.

They were approaching Canterbury.

‘See my son there before us, the tower and spires of the Cathedral. I can never see it without emotion.’

‘That is not to be wondered at, Father,’ replied young Henry, ‘considering what happened there.’

‘It pleases me that I have made my peace with Thomas à Becket. We are now friends as we were in the beginning of our relationship. You and I are friends too, my son. Our strength is in our unity. Always remember that. I want you to know it and all England to know it. That is why I am going to make it known that you and I have sworn the oath of allegiance to each other. Who would dare come against us when we stand together?’

‘All know that we are friends, Father.’

‘Those close to us, yes … but I want all to know, so I am going to make a public declaration, that none may be in any doubt.’

‘What do you mean by this, Father?’

‘Never fear, my son, you shall see.’

Henry did see.

The King spent some time with his new Archbishop and declared himself pleased with him.

He told the Archbishop that he wished him to summon all the bishops of Westminster and he himself should accompany them. He would command all knights and barons to be present for he had something of importance to impart to them.

‘What is this conference, Father?’ asked young Henry.

‘You will see in good time,’ he was told.

There in the hall of the palace the King and his son were seated side by side on the dais and the elder Henry addressed the company.

He had summoned them for an express purpose.

‘You see me here with my son,’ he said, ‘and that there is amity between us. You know full well that but a short time ago the situation was very different. But I have excellent news for you. My son, King Henry, came to me at Bures and with tears and much emotion he humbly begged for mercy. He asked me to forgive him for what he did to me before, during and after the war. In all humility he begged that I, his father, would accept his homage and all allegiance declaring that he could not believe I had forgiven him if I did not. I was touched by this. My pity was great for I saw how remorseful he was to so humble himself before me. I put aside my grievances against him and I allowed him to pay homage to me. On holy relics he swore that he would bear me faith against all men and abide by my counsel and that he would order his household and all his state by my advice and henceforth in all things.’

The young King felt a violent resentment rising in him. It was true that he had promised this but that his father should have arranged this public declaration was humiliating in the extreme.

He had brought him here that the leading men of the nation should know that although he bore the title of King there was only one King of England and every man among them – including his son – was his subject.

His resentment flared up. He wanted to stand up and cry out that he had begged his father to accept his homage not because he had wished to serve him, but because he feared what might happen to him if he did not make such a declaration.

He would not endure such treatment. He had sworn his oath but he would await his opportunity.

The King felt it was good to be in England. He would always be King of England before anything else and this land was more important to him than any other, born and bred in Anjou though he had been. To lose England would be the greatest disaster which could befall a descendant of the Conqueror. There would be no danger of this if it were not for the fact that he must guard his lands so far away.

He kept young Henry with him, trying to win his affection. He was sorry for the young man and, though he was suspicious of him, wanted to be a father to him. He was learning that even a king could not command affection. He had tried to explain why he had made that public declaration of Henry’s homage to him. It was not to humiliate him. It was to show the people that they had sworn to be friends.

‘Was it not enough,’ asked young Henry, ‘that I had given you my oath?’

‘It was better that all should know you had given me your oath.’

‘I felt humiliated.’

‘Never be humiliated because you do your duty to your father. Be proud that you had the courage to confess your fault and glad that your father had the magnanimity to forgive you and take you back into his heart.’

He would have his son sit beside him at table and ride beside him in battle. He would have had the young man sleep in his room if it were not for the fact that Henry was a husband and he himself often preferred another bedfellow.

Alice, dear sweet Alice! She was changing; her body filling out as she was growing out of childhood into womanhood.

One day when he visited her she had disturbing news.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I believe I am pregnant with your child.’

He felt a mingling of horror and pleasure. Something would have to be done now. What? How could he write to the King of France and tell him that he had got his daughter with child? How could he tell Richard that his affianced bride was about to be a mother?

He looked at her and drew her to him holding her fast so that she might not see the expression in his face.

He had known that there was this possibility and had refused to look it straight in the face. He knew that when it happened there would be some change in his way of life, for Alice could not stay at the palace and bear a child which would be known to be his. And even if it were not – what a scandal there would be if the affianced bride of his son Richard should be in such a condition, when she had not been married and nowhere near her affianced husband for years.

How much was whispered already? His visits to this palace would have been noted. There must be many who were aware of his relationship with Alice. It was true that none would dare expose the secret for fear of his anger, but they would whisper of it.

‘What must I do?’ asked Alice.

‘Leave this to me, my dearest,’ he said.

She was happy to do that. What a wife she would make! She did not ask how or where or why. She was just content to leave it to him, so sure was she of his ability to solve all her problems.

He turned the matter over in his mind. If he could divorce Eleanor now … and marry Alice … But there was no time. He imagined the difficulties there would be in the way of his divorce. He just could not do it. If only Alice were not the daughter of the King of France how easy it would be! Just another bastard to add to the many he had already fathered. But the daughter of the King of France! The betrothed of his son! This was a very delicate situation.

Alice clearly must not stay at the palace. It would be quite impossible for her to have the child there. Where then could she go? She must be whisked away before her pregnancy became obvious. And where to send her?

If only he could marry her. But how could he? There was only one way in which he could and that would be if Eleanor were to die.

That was impossible. If she died mysteriously he would be immediately suspected. It would be Thomas à Becket all over again. And what of Aquitaine? That would go to Richard and he himself would never be accepted there. That was quite out of the question. Moreover he was not that kind of murderer. He could kill a man in battle; he could have people put to death if they offended him, but he could not murder his wife.

He smiled wryly. He remembered so much about her. He had been enamoured of her once. What a tigress she was – and a great lover! They had had some good times together in the early days. Something bound them together even if it was only hatred. He liked to think that she was still on the Earth – best of all in a prison of his choosing.

Dearest Alice, he thought, as much as I would like to make you my wife that is not the way. I would this had not happened and that we might have gone on in the old manner until such a time as I could devise a plan. Now we have to formulate one with all speed.

He studied the problem from all angles and it seemed to him that he could find only one solution.

He set out for his Palace of Woodstock.

Rosamund was, as ever, delighted to see him.

He embraced her warmly and told her how as ever she gave him great comfort. She quickly realised that he had not come to spend a few peaceful days in her company. He had a problem and he thought she could help him.

‘There is something I have to tell you, Rosamund,’ he said. ‘Let us walk in the gardens for there we can be quite alone.’

Through the paths with their carefully tended bushes they walked arm in arm.

‘I need your help in this matter, Rosamund. It concerns the Princess Alice.’

He was aware that she flinched. There had been rumours then and they would have reached her! Who else would have heard?

‘She is a comely creature and in something of a predicament at the moment. She is with child.’

‘My lord!’

‘Yes,’ said the King ruefully. ‘This has happened and of course there would be a great noise about it if it were known.’

‘She is betrothed to Richard!’

‘Richard of course must not know.’

‘But she is to be his bride!’

‘That marriage may never come to pass. You know how it is with these betrothals. There was the betrothal of John to that other Alice. What a pother there was about the castles I gave him. Why, that started a war. And now look you, that little Alice is dead and John has no affianced bride.’

‘They were but children, but Richard and Alice …’

‘Yes, yes. But the fact is she is with child and I do not wish this to be known.’

‘How then, my lord, can this matter be kept secret?’

‘Oh come, Rosamund, it is not the first time a child has been born in secret.’

‘At Westminster!’

‘Nay, she must leave Westminster. There is the Bower here. That once proved a secluded spot. It could again.’

‘You are sending Alice to the bower?’

‘And I wish you to go with her to care for her and keep her company. You will do this, Rosamund?’

‘If it is your wish.’

‘God bless you, sweetheart. I knew I could trust you with my life.’

‘And she is to be kept here in secret?’

‘You will know how to do that. I shall let it be known that she has left the palace for a while to journey to the North. She will set out and come here and stay here. You will look after her and have with you but a few of your most trusted attendants. Those who once guarded our secret well. Let them know discreetly that they act so for the King’s pleasure and that if they should chatter or act with indiscretion they will rouse his anger. Keep her here. Cherish her. And let her bear her child in peace.’

‘And when the child is born?’

‘You may leave that to me. I shall arrange for it to be brought up in a state worthy of it. You will do this for me, Rosamund?’

‘As you know, I live to serve you.’

‘Oh, it was a happy day for me when I came to your father’s castle.’

He did not stay long. He had to get back to Alice, to let her know that he had made arrangements for her. She had nothing to fear. His dear good friend Rosamund Clifford would care for her; and he trusted Rosamund as he could none other.

As he rode back to Westminster he felt elated. There was no situation he could not master. Even this one of getting his son’s betrothed with child was not beyond him to solve.

He wanted to marry Alice. He would then legitimise the child, for it was unlikely that the marriage could take place before the birth. He must marry Alice, for the time was coming nearer and nearer when Richard would demand his bride and how could he go on making excuses to retain her?

Back at Westminster he sent a secret message to Rome inviting the papal legate Cardinal Huguzon to England. There were certain matters which he could discuss only in person. Mainly there was the conflict between the Archbishops of York and Canterbury. Of late there had been some controversy as to which should be regarded as the primacy of England. It was a matter which only the King and the Pope’s emissary could work out.

This matter Henry would discuss but the real reason for his desire to see the Cardinal was of course a possible divorce from Eleanor that he might marry Alice.

Rosamund had successfully hidden her feelings from the King but she was a very sad woman.

How different everything might have been if the King had not come riding to her father’s castle on that fateful day. Then she had been Alice’s age and she had thought him the most wonderfully perfect knight she had ever beheld. And so she had continued to regard him.

Before she had met him she had believed a husband would be found for her and she would be married and bring up her children as her parents had theirs. How different it was to be the mistress of a king.

And of course the time must come when she would be discarded. She had always feared that, although Henry had sworn eternal fidelity. It had come now. She had understood by the manner in which he had spoken of Alice and of his great concern for the Princess, that she had been displaced.

It was a fearful situation. Alice was so young and already with child by him, and she, the daughter of the King of France and betrothed to the King’s son Richard! What would happen if this secret were discovered?

She knew that she must do everything in her power to prevent that. She must suppress her jealousy; she must look after the child, who was innocent enough. Did she not know how easy it was to succumb to the wiles of Henry?

And here she was, no longer young, the woman who had sinned and had not even the love of her partner in sin to sustain her.

He cared for her still, in a way, but that would only be as long as she served him well, she knew. Once he had loved the Queen and now he hated her.

She must repent of her sins and the only way she could do this was to go into a nunnery. She had been thinking of this for some time. Her children were growing up. They were no longer of an age to need her. The King would do well by them for he was fond of his children, and more so of those born out of wedlock for they had been more faithful to him than his legitimate sons. She would care for the Princess Alice, bring her safely through her pregnancy and when the child was born and the Princess able to return to Westminster, Winchester or wherever she could appear with grace, Rosamund would tell the King of her decision to retire from the world.

He could not deny her this when she had done so much for him. Nor, she was sure, would he wish to. Sadly she acknowledged the fact that he would doubtless be glad to see this neat end to their romance.

The King received Cardinal Huguzon with many honours. He was determined to show him that he had the utmost respect for him and his master.

How good it was, he said, of the Pope and the Cardinal to accede to his request to have this troublesome matter settled. As the Cardinal knew there had been conflict between Canterbury and York since the sainted Archbishop Thomas à Becket had gone into exile. The King believed that it was time the matter was settled.

The Cardinal was gratified to find the King so agreeable. It was pleasant to be so luxuriously housed and to be given costly presents.

It was clear to him that Henry was very eager to placate Rome and that was always comforting, for a man of such power could cause a great deal of trouble to the Papacy if he had a mind to.

That he should be so concerned over the supremacy claims of York and Canterbury was unexpected. His great concern had always been to curtail the power of either and make them subservient to the crown. So the Cardinal, while he discussed this matter, was asking himself what other problem was disturbing the King. That it was one for which he needed the Pope’s help was obvious.

‘Canterbury has long held the primacy in England,’ the King was saying. ‘During the absence of Thomas à Becket the Archbishop of York performed duties which would have fallen to the lot of Canterbury. You see the dilemma in which we stand. York does not now wish to give place to Canterbury.’

The Cardinal expressed his understanding, but it seemed to him that if Rome decreed that the Archbishop of Canterbury should be the Primate, then so it should be. He would take the King’s problem to the Pope and there should be a formal pronouncement. It was clearly the King’s wish that full honour should be returned to Canterbury.

The King nodded. ‘There is one other matter … since you are here, my lord Cardinal.’

Ah, thought the Cardinal, we are coming to it now.

‘As you know,’ went on the King, ‘I have been severely plagued by my wife, the Queen.’

‘She is now your prisoner, I know.’

The King lifted his hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘What can a King do when his wife turns his own sons against him and incites them to rebellion?’

The Cardinal nodded gravely.

‘As you know, my lord Cardinal, I have recently been engaged in fighting a war in which my sons were on the opposing side. Their mother brought them up to hate me. She was caught – in the guise of a man – making her way to join them and in person make war on me. Have I not been over-lenient in merely holding her in one of my castles, where, though she is a prisoner, she is treated as a queen?’

‘You have, my lord.’

‘Many a king would have put her to death.’

The Cardinal coughed slightly. ‘I am sure, my lord, you would never be guilty of such folly. The Queen is the Duchess of Aquitaine. I believe the people of that land would have risen in revolt if she had been harmed in any way.’

‘I keep her under restraint,’ said the King, ‘but she lives like a queen. She suffers no hardship except that she may not travel abroad, and when she leaves the castle she is with an armed escort. In view of what she has done and tried to do, I must keep her under restraint. It is tragic, my lord Cardinal, when a man is deprived of his natural rights.’

‘’Tis so, my lord.’

‘I have long thought that I would put the Queen from me.’

‘You mean divorce the Queen? That would not be possible.’

‘The Queen and I are closely related. We could be divorced on grounds of consanguinity.’

The Cardinal sighed. The perpetual request. Grounds of consanguinity! It was possible if one searched long enough to find some blood connection between the nobility of England and all Europe. The trouble was that in granting the request of one side one offended the other.

The Cardinal then swore that he would carry the King’s request back to the Pope and the King could assure himself that the Cardinal would do all in his power to make the Holy Father aware of the difficulties of the King of England.

Richard de Luci, the King’s Chief Justiciar, had always been a man whom the King could trust. Ever since Henry had taken the crown Richard de Luci had held a high position and never once had he failed to serve the King. There had been moments when he had angered the King, but Henry was wise enough to know that Richard de Luci clung to his opinions solely because he believed them to be for the good of England and the King. A shrewd ruler did not think the worse of a servant who opposed him for his own good.

Richard de Luci was the King’s man, and because he now came to Henry in consternation, Henry was ready to listen to him.

Richard after his manner came straight to the point.

‘The visit of the Cardinal Huguzon has not been brought about simply to solve the controversy between Canterbury and York, I know. My lord, you are contemplating divorcing the Queen.’

‘It is irksome to be bound to one who has shown herself an enemy.’

Richard agreed that this was so.

‘My lord, what would happen to the Queen if you were to divorce her and re-marry?’

‘She would remain my prisoner. By God’s eyes, Richard, do you think I would allow that woman her freedom that she might go back to Aquitaine and plot against me?’

‘Nay, I do not think you would, my lord. But I beg you consider this matter with great care.’

The King looked exasperated but Richard had more than once ignored the rising signs of temper.

‘Do you imagine I have not considered this matter with the utmost care!’ cried the King.

‘I know it has been your great concern for some time. But I beg of you, my lord, to consider afresh what this divorce would mean.’

‘It would rid me of a she-wolf who has plagued me and turned my sons against me.’

‘And more than that, my lord. It would rid you of Aquitaine.’

‘I should hold it.’

Richard shook his head. ‘She is the Duchess and your son Richard has been proclaimed Duke.’

‘It is a vain title. Aquitaine is mine.’

‘You received the title when you married the Duchess but the people would never accept you. They have ever been loyal to the Queen and regard her as their true ruler. If you rid yourself of the Queen you will rid yourself of Aquitaine.’

‘By God’s eyes, Richard, you would keep me tied to a woman I hate.’

‘I could do nothing, my lord, if you wished it otherwise. My duty is to remind you of what this divorce would mean. She is a great heiress. Aquitaine would rise against you. What of Normandy?’

‘My sons have sworn not to take arms against me.’

‘My lord, we know what these oaths mean in cases of emergency.’

‘A curse on you, Richard. You disquiet me. I had made up my mind. But, my good friend, I know you say what you say out of love and loyalty to me.’

‘Then I have achieved my purpose.’

‘So you believe that there is no way of getting a divorce without strife that could well continue for the rest of my life?’

‘I do believe that, my lord.’

‘But I want to marry again.’

‘My lord, could you not content yourself with a mistress? You have long made this compromise.’

‘It is not so easy now. Tell me truthfully, Richard, have you heard rumours?’

‘I have, my lord.’

‘Then it has been spoken of.’

‘With discretion and only in certain quarters. We must see that it is not generally known.’

‘But what can I do, Richard?’

‘The lady has been removed from Court. She has been travelling to the North for her education. When she returns it would be well if you did not see her again.’

‘That is impossible.’

‘She should be married without delay.’

The King hit his left hand with his right clenched fist. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I will never agree to it.’

‘If she were not the daughter of the King of France …’

‘It is because she is, that I could marry her.’

‘The affianced bride of your son!’

‘Such betrothals often come to naught.’

‘’Tis so. It is the matter of the divorce that must give us cause for thought. My lord, you must consider whether you will have marriage and the loss of your dominions, or keep your hold on them and remain married to the Queen.’

‘The Cardinal hints that a divorce would be possible.’

‘Indeed so, my lord. Would not his master like to see your power curtailed?’

‘You are determined to frustrate me.’

‘I am determined to serve you with my whole heart and strength and if I offend you in doing that, so be it.’

The King slipped his arm through that of Richard de Luci.

‘My good friend,’ he said, ‘I see that I must go away and brood on this matter.’

He could not sleep; he rode through the forest, he returned his sweating horse to his grooms; he lay on his bed and stared into the future.

He pondered; he made up his mind and changed it.

And all the time one thought kept hammering in his brain: Alice the one he loved and the loss of Aquitaine. Alice and conflict. And to keep Eleanor, the Queen he hated, or to lose his grip on his empire.

He thought often of his great-grandfather the Conqueror and it seemed to him that the man visited him in his dreams. He saw the scorn and contempt on that stern face. For William the Conqueror there would have been no problem. He would never have been able to contemplate a woman’s being more important than power. In the same dreams he saw his grandfather Henry I. There was a man whose needs of women had been as great – if not greater – than those of his grandson. He too gravely shook his head. It was unthinkable that their descendant should contemplate possible disaster to the empire they had left him for the sake of ridding himself of one woman and taking another as his wife.

It was a conflict between love and power. And Henry Plantagenet was a king and descended from William the Conqueror. There was really no need to consider the matter. He knew what he would have to do.

In the Bower at Woodstock Alice’s time grew near.

Rosamund tended her with care and grew quite fond of the girl. They were alike in a way which was perhaps the reason why they had both attracted the King.

Rosamund would sit by the Princess’s bed while she stitched at her needlework and Alice would ask her about the trials of childbirth.

They would pray for an easy labour, said Rosamund. She doubted there would be one. The girl was young and perhaps not yet ready for childbirth. Rosamund trembled, thinking of the King’s wrath if anything should go amiss with Alice.

She dedicated herself to caring for the girl. It was the last service she would perform for him. She had definitely made up her mind that as soon as Alice’s child was born and the girl was recovered she would go into her convent. She had chosen the one at Godstow and had already made gifts to it; and she knew that when the time came she would be welcomed.

In the meantime there was Alice.

The girl was beautiful and she believed the King to be all-powerful. She was innocent in a way and did not seem to guess at the King’s previous relationship with Rosamund. Perhaps that made it easier.

Alice talked of the King for even she was aware that Rosamund would know he was the father of the child.

He was a great good man, she told Rosamund, who was married to a wicked woman. The Queen was an advocate of the devil and the King was going to put her from him and marry Alice.

‘My dear,’ said Rosamund, ‘are you not betrothed to Prince Richard?’

‘I was, but it has no meaning now. The King says so and the King knows.’

So young Alice thought that she would soon be Queen of England. Once he had promised her the same. He had long hated the Queen. How often he had discussed getting rid of her! Divorce would not be difficult, he had said, for there were certain to be blood ties. He had then promised to make Rosamund his Queen.

And now it was Alice and here was Alice about to bear his child tended by her, Rosamund, the discarded mistress.

The months passed. They walked in the gardens; they talked; they stitched baby’s clothes and Rosamund brought out those which her own children had worn – half-brothers to this little one who was about to be born. Alice’s child should wear them. Why not, since there would be a strong tie between them?

‘The King is good to all his children,’ said Rosamund.

‘Is it not wicked of his sons to turn against him?’ cried Alice. ‘They have been ruined by their mother. But soon she will be put away from him. She has not long to bear the title of Queen of England.’

Rosamund was older and wiser; she had heard promises which had now been forgotten. There was no point in hinting to Alice that the King might not find it easy to gain his divorce.

In due course Alice was brought to bed and delivered of a girl-child who died a few hours after its birth.

Alice was heartbroken. When the King came to visit her he pretended to be also, but he could not help thinking to himself that perhaps it was all for the best.

‘When you are recovered, my love,’ he said, ‘you must return to the Court. And if you should appear a little wan, we will say that it was an exhausting journey to the North and the climate up there did not agree with you.’

Rosamund said quietly: ‘I have a mind to go into a convent.’

He answered: ‘I fancy it has been your wish for some time.’

‘I feel the need for solitude and meditation. I think the time has come for me to seek forgiveness of my sins.’

‘Rosamund, my rose of the world, you are a good woman. God will forgive your transgressions.’

‘All would not agree with you. I have heard that in some circles they speak of me as Rosa-immundi, the rose of unchastity.’

‘There will always be those to cast stones at others.’

‘Yet I feel my guilt heavily upon me and would spend my last years in repentance.’

‘Where would you go?’

‘To Godstow. I have already made arrangements. They are prepared to receive me.’

‘When they do I shall bestow gifts on them. They shall not lose when they take you in.’

She said: ‘You are as ever good to me.’ But she saw the relief in his face. It was what he wanted her to do. He would make gifts to Godstow because the convent offered sanctuary to his mistress. He no longer needed her, but he had loved her enough to wish to see her settled.

So with sadness in her heart Rosamund retired to the convent and Alice returned to the palace.

The King knew that he could not hope to divorce Eleanor, but at the same time he was determined not to give up Alice.